Eve by James Hadley Chase Page A

I’m supposed to starve?” I said crossly. “Isn’t there anything else coming in? How about my books?”
    “You know there’s nothing until September, Clive.” She sounded startled. “Sellick’s don’t make up their accounts until September . . .”
    “I know — I know,” I said sharply. “Well, if you can’t do anything for me, Merele, at least listen to my news. Gold’s offered me a contract. I ought to have told you before. I outlined a story to him a couple of weeks ago and he’s offering fifty thousand dollars for it.”
    “Why, that’s wonderful.” Her voice sounded even brighter and more metallic. “Do you want me to look after the arrangements?”
    “I suppose so,” I said, a little doubtfully. Ten per cent meant parting with five thousand dollars, but Merle did know her job and if Gold was going to try a double cross, she would know how to handle him. “Yes, you’d better look after it. I’ll send you the correspondence when I get it.”
    “How’s the new book going?”
    “Never mind about the new book. I’ve got Gold on my mind right now.”
    “But, Clive,” her voice signalled alarm, “Sellick’s are expecting it by the end of the month.”
    “Then they’ll have to expect it,” I returned. “I tell you I’m busy.”
    There was a pause, then she said, “But haven’t you begun it yet?”
    “No, I haven’t. To hell with Sellick’s. I’m after Gold’s fifty thousand.”
    “I shall have to tell Mr. Sellick. He’ll be very disappointed. They’ve advertised it, you know, Clive.”
    “Tell whom you like. I couldn’t care less. Tell the President if it’ll make you feel any better, but for God’s sake, Merle, don’t bother me with Sellick’s headaches,” I snapped, feeling suddenly irritated with her. “Isn’t Gold a better proposition?”
    “The money’s better, of course,” she said slowly, “but, its some time since you wrote a book and you must think of your name.”
    “I’ll look after that,” I assured her. “Don’t worry about my name.
    She remembered something. “Oh, Clive,” she said, “I’ve an offer from the Digest. They want an article on the “Women of Hollywood”. Three thousand dollars. Fifteen hundred words. Would you like to do it for them?”
    It wasn’t often Merle put anything in my way. I was pleased. “Sure,” I said. “When do you want it?”
    “Can you do it today? I’ve been holding it and it’s urgent now.”
    That rather spoiled the offer. What she really meant was she had been trying to get someone to write it and had so far failed. “Well, all right. Leave it with me. I’ll get Russell to bring it over first thing tomorrow morning.” I said good-bye and hung up.
    Russell came in just then to clear the breakfast things.
    “I have an article to do for the Digest,” I said. “Have I any dates today?”
    Russell liked to be consulted about my appointments. “You promised to see Miss Selby at three, sir,” he said. “And you’re dining with Mr. and Mrs. Henry Wilbur tonight.”
    “Well, Miss Selby isn’t important. She’s a damn little nuisance anyway. Tell her I’ve had to go out of town. If I have the afternoon to myself I should be able to manage. I’ll dine with the Wilburs.”
    I left him pottering about the living room and went upstairs to dress. By the time I was through it was twenty to twelve. It was time to ring Eve.
    The bell rang for quite a while before she answered. She sounded sleepy.
    “Hello there,” I said. “Did I get you out of bed?”
    “You did, Clive,” she said. “I was fast asleep.”
    “Well, I’m sorry, but look at the time. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
    “I never get up before twelve. You ought to know that by now.”
    Well, anyway, she was at least stringing some sentences together for a change.
    I drew a deep breath. “Eve,” I said, “you wouldn’t like to spend a week-end with me, would you?”
    There was a long pause, then she said in a flat, indifferent