Читать книгу The Green Pack - Edgar Wallace - Страница 6

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Jacqueline walked home from Creet's flat. It took her the best part of an hour, but she felt that to sit still in a taxi was more than she could endure. She must keep moving. She did not want to think, and walking made thinking less compulsory. And she hoped that by walking she would arrive too late for the usual goodnight gossip with her father and mother. She could not face that half-hour of commonplace chatter tonight. She wanted to be alone—to slip upstairs unobserved and lock her door and cry. Above all else she wanted to have a bath. She felt mentally and physically soiled; and though tears might wash the dark thoughts from her mind, she was obsessed with the idea that only soap and water could cleanse her from the touch of Louis Creet.

But It was not to be. As she noiselessly opened the front door, Dr. Thurston came into the hall; a white-haired man with genial blue eyes, tall, with a pair of massive shoulders and hands as gentle as a woman's.

"Hullo, Jackie, you little devil!" he greeted her. "Do you know it's nearly half-past twelve?"

"Sorry, Father. I've been out with Louis."

Dr. Thurston nodded.

"Had a good time?"

She wrinkled up her nose.

"A bit Creetish."

"Creetish?"

"Stodgy," she explained. "Louis can be dreadfully middle-aged."

Thurston smiled.

"Louis is a good chap," he said. "Good-night, my dear."

He kissed her, and she was turning away when he caught her by the arm and gazed anxiously into her face.

"Nothing wrong, Jackie?"

"No, Father. Why?"

"You looked fagged out—almost middle-aged yourself instead of twenty-two."

"Blame Louis," she laughed. "Perhaps middle age is catching. Good-night, Father."

She was halfway up the stairs when her father called to her.

"By the way, Jackie," he said, "you can tell Louis when you see him that if he makes any more appointments and doesn't keep them I shall charge them up to him. He was supposed to be here at three o'clock for me to examine him, but as usual he didn't put in an appearance."

"All right, I'll tell him," laughed Jacqueline, and hesitated. "Father, what really is wrong with Louis?" she asked. "Anything?"

"I haven't examined him, so I can't say, Jackie. He's always imagining he's ill, but if you want my real opinion he's a bit of an old woman who fusses over his health when all he's really suffering from is a swollen bank balance and enlarged leisure."

"I see," said Jacqueline. "Then there's not really any chance that he'll suddenly drop dead?"

He shook his head.

"People don't drop dead from those troubles, Jackie. Why?"

"I wondered," sighed the girl. "Good-night, Father."

When she had bathed, Jacqueline felt better, and when she had locked the door of her bedroom she did not cry. Instead, she seated herself in an armchair before the glowing gas fire, lighted a cigarette, and tried to take a calm look at the situation.

She had, of course, been a perfect little fool, but it was no use wasting time in reviling herself, and Louis Creet was not even worth reviling. Somehow she must find a way out of the tangle in which she had become involved. Useless as it was, she could not help wishing that Larry were there. If Larry had been there, she would never have played the idiot as she had done during the last few months. Even if he had written, all this could never have happened. But when, six months ago, his letters had suddenly ceased, nothing had seemed to matter; and because thinking of Larry had hurt her so unbearably, anything had been welcome that had helped her to forget.

For some time her thoughts clung to Larry, and a smile hovered round her lips. And then she suddenly remembered that she would never see him again, and once more nothing seemed to matter. Monty must do what he liked; if he told her father she couldn't help it; she could not be bothered with Monty now. She could not be bothered with anything. She just wanted to sit where she was in front of the fire. She was dreadfully tired.

A soft tap on her door roused her, and she rose, crossed to the door, and opened it. It was Mrs. Thurston, in dressing gown and bedroom slippers.

"Not asleep, darling?"

She seated herself on the edge of the bed and scrutinized the girl keenly.

"Anything wrong, Jacqueline?"

"No, Mother. Why?"

"Your father said you seemed rather upset, dear, and I thought I'd run along and see if anything had happened."

Jacqueline kissed her and returned to her armchair.

"You and Father are a couple of old fusspots," she laughed. "What could happen?"

"Louis hasn't—asked you anything?"

The girl glanced round sharply.

"Louis? What on earth should Louis ask me?"

"Well, my dear, I've been hoping... He has been paying you very marked attentions... no girl could want a better match."

Jacqueline smiled.

"Have you got out of bed at half-past one in the morning to come and discover if Louis has asked me to marry him? Well, he hasn't, and I don't suppose he ever will."

Mrs. Thurston sighed again.

"I don't agree with you, Jacqueline," she said. "Louis would make a splendid husband, and I'm surprised he hasn't asked you before this. I'm sure I've invited him to dinner and left you alone together often enough. I suppose I must persevere, and I do hope, my dear, you will back me up."

"The next time Louis comes to dinner, Mother, I promise you I'll squeeze his hand under the table."

"And when he does ask you, I hope, dear, you won't refuse him without thinking very carefully about it. I do feel that if you and he could make a match of It

"All right. Mother," interrupted the girl. "If Louis should ever ask me to marry him, I promise you I'll think about it. Marriage isn't much in my line, though."

Mrs. Thurston glanced at her, then rose, stood behind her chair, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Tell me, Jackie," she said gently, "you're not still fretting over Larry, are you?"

The girl's hand found her mother's and pressed it.

"We won't talk about Larry, please, Mother."

Mrs. Thurston stood for a time gazing thoughtfully at the fire, while her fingers fondled Jacqueline's hair. Then she stooped, and her lips touched the girl's cheek.

"Poor Jackie!" she whispered.

She returned to the bed and sat down.

"I want you to remember, dear," she said, "when Louis does ask, that your father and I both think very highly of him. He has been very good to your father."

Jacqueline's eyebrows were raised.

"Louis—good to Father? How?"

Mrs. Thurston nodded.

"Your father said I was on no account to tell you, Jacqueline, but it's only right that you should know.

If it hadn't been for Louis, Father would still have been curing colds and bringing babies into the world in that poky little village. Of course, somebody has got to bring babies into the world, and I'm sure he did it very well, but he was always fretting to be in Harley Street, and it was Louis who made it possible. It seems to cost a dreadful lot of money to be a Harley Street specialist. I wonder how any of them afford it. It needed more than your father got for his country practice even to make a start."

"And Louis supplied it?"

The older woman nodded.

"A very handsome check, dear," she confided. "And of course it's a dreadfully slow business getting known in Harley Street, and you can't hope to make enough to live on for the first few years, and if it weren't for Louis's generosity I'm sure I don't know where we should be."

Jacqueline's eyes were troubled.

"You mean, Mother, that Louis is still giving Father money?"

"Well, dear, not exactly giving it," said Mrs. Thurston. "He did it very tactfully, I must say. He said he had always been accustomed to pay his medical adviser a fixed sum every year to look after his health—he's very nervous about his health, you know, although your father says there's nothing at all the matter with him—and as his former doctor had just gone abroad he'd be very grateful if your father would look after him instead. Five hundred a year isn't a fortune, but as things are now it's a godsend. If it weren't for Louis's five hundred a year your father would have been obliged to give up Harley Street long ago, and that would break his heart now—just when he's beginning to get a footing."

"I see," said Jacqueline thoughtfully. "Then it comes to this. Mother, that to all intents and purposes we're living on Louis's money?"

Mrs. Thurston nodded.

"Your father would be very angry if he knew I'd told you, Jacqueline, but I thought it right that you should know. And now I must get back to bed, dear, or he will have rolled the bedclothes all round him and gone to sleep, and I shall shiver all night. He always does if I don't cling to them. Good-night, my dear."

As Mrs. Thurston closed the door behind her, Jacqueline rose and stood for a time motionless, frowning. And then she suddenly flung her cigarette into the fireplace.

Living on Louis Creet's money! The web was woven more tightly than she had feared.