Read Online Stranger At Home by George Sanders - Free Book Online

“Cigarette?”
    â€œThanks.” He went over and let her hold the lighter for him. Her eyes studied the shape of his mouth.
    â€œWell,” she said, “now Angie’s got a man of her own, maybe the rest of us can relax. Not that I cared about Harry. Like I said. But Harriet’s sure got the axe out for her, and I know one of Bill’s babes split with him on her account.” She walked away with a lazy swing of the hips. “Me, as soon as the funeral’s over, I’m going to take a trip. A long one, with all the trimmings.”
    â€œYou’re forgetting the police.”
    â€œOh, yeah.” She reflected, then smiled. “Oh well, it won’t be for long, and it’s kind of exciting anyway. That Trehearne guy – he’s cute.”
    â€œPractically devastating.”
    She came back and stood in front of Vickers. “Were you and Harry real good friends?”
    â€œWhat did Harry say about it?”
    â€œOh, he never said much. Nobody ever told me much about you. I guess they’d all sort of forgotten about you by this time. Only thing I remember him saying was once when he was crying on Bill’s shoulder over some deal that was going sour on him and Bill said if you were here you could tell him how to swing it, and Harry said yes, you could, and that was the trouble with you. You were so goddamned sure of yourself, and so goddamn right.” She laughed. “Are you?”
    â€œI don’t know, Jennie.” He was looking at her, but not seeing her. He said slowly, “I’ve been a very unlucky man. I could always do everything too easily, and too well.”
    â€œEven love?”
    He ran the tip of his finger from her ear down under her chin and tilted it up. “Even that.” She stood waiting for his kiss, and he stood looking down at her. “In South America I had a woman,” he said softly. “She nursed me through the fever. It’s not a nice kind of nursing. She stole food for me. Sometimes she sold herself for a few centavos – the men were all poor down there – to buy quinine, or some goat’s milk for me. Would you do that, Jennie?”
    She said angrily, “Why should I do it? You got Angie, haven’t you? Besides, that’s silly.”
    â€œYes,” he said. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He took his hand away from her chin and stepped back. “But then we’re all silly at times, aren’t we? Even you, Jennie.” He bowed with courtly grace. “Good day, Mrs. Bryce. Don’t let widowhood sit too heavily upon you. Remember you’re still young, and life goes on.” At the door he paused and glanced back at her. “I’ll give your love to Angie.” He went out. She was still trying to think of something to say.
    On the steps Vickers met Joe Trehearne. They stopped and eyed each other with friendly smiles that went no farther than the lips. Trehearne said,
    â€œI didn’t expect to see you so soon again.”
    â€œJust offering further condolences to the widow, poor little thing. Be easy on her, old boy. She’s the fragile sort.”
    â€œYes,” Trehearne said dryly. “I had her pegged that way.”
    â€œAny further news?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œLet us know.”
    â€œI’ll do that.”
    Trehearne went in. Vickers walked down Bedford Drive to Wilshire and one block east to Roxbury and stood looking at his store.
    It was a beautiful thing. It was functional and clean and proud. The windows glistened, the displays were the last and final word in swank. There wasn’t a thing inside you could afford to buy if you made less than a hundred thousand a year. Vickers crossed the street and went inside.
    It was just as it had been the last time he saw it. A new coat of paint, perhaps, but it was the same discreet and quiet gray. Thick carpeting, indirect lighting, the floor space divided into salons presided