Eve by James Hadley Chase Page B

voice. “If that’s what you want.”
    “We might take in a theatre. How about this week-end?”
    “All right.”
    If she should only sound just a little enthusiastic, I thought angrily. “Fine,” I said, keeping the disappointment out of my voice. “Where would you like to dine?”
    “I’ll leave it to you.” There was a pause and then she said, “But it mustn’t be . . .” and she ran through a bewildering number of restaurants and hotels which left me gasping.
    “But there’s nothing to choose from after that little lot’s been eliminated,” I protested. “For instance, why on earth can’t we go to the Brown Derby?”
    “I just can’t,” she said. I could imagine the two furrows above the bridge of her nose deepening. “Or any of the other places I’ve told you.”-
    “Well, all right,” I said, feeling that if I pressed her she would refuse to go altogether. “I’ll send you a line. Then we definitely meet on Saturday?”
    “All right,” and down went the receiver before I could say how pleased I was.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    As I drove round the corner of Fairfax and Beverley I saw a big crowd ahead. The boulevard was blocked with cars and people. It looked as if there had been an accident so I pulled into the curb and waited; but the crowd increased.
    I said, “Hell!” and jumped out of my car and went to see what it was all about.
    A small roadster was crossways in the street; one of its front fenders was crumped up. Four men were pushing a big Packard over to the curb; it had a broken headlight and lot of scratches on its immaculate body and a flat tyre.
    Peter Tennett stood in the middle of the group of arguing men. He was speaking to an elderly man, and I could see he was worried and angry.
    “Hello there, Peter,” I said, shouldering my way through the crowd. “Anything I can do?”
    His face brightened when he saw me. “Got your car with you, Clive?” he asked hopefully.
    “Sure,” I said. “It’s parked over there. What happened?”
    He waved his hand at the Packard. “I was pulling from the curb when our friend here cut across and hit me head on.”
    The elderly man muttered something about his brakes. He looked white and scared.
    Just then there came the wail of a police siren and a radio car pulled up. A big red-faced policeman got out and pushed his way through the crowd.
    He recognized Peter. “What’s the matter, Mr. Tennett?” he demanded.
    “I got clipped,” Peter said, “but I don’t want any trouble. I’m satisfied if this gentleman is.”
    The policeman looked coldly at the elderly man, “Well, if Mr. Tennett’s satisfied, I am. Do you want to make anything of it?”
    The elderly man backed away. “It’s all right with me, officer.”
    Peter looked at his watch. “Will you take care of this, officer?” he said. “I’m late for the Studio as it is.”
    The policeman nodded. “That’s okay, Mr. Tennett. I’ll call the Studio garage for you.”
    Peter thanked him and then joined me. “Can you run me over to the Studio, or will it be out of your way?”
    “Glad to,” I said, pushing through the crowd. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
    Peter laughed. “Yes, but the old fellow looks bad. I hope they take care of him.”
    I heard a girl who was standing nearby say to a little blonde with a bicycle, “That’s Peter Tennett, the director.”
    I glanced at Peter with a grin, but he hadn’t heard.
    When we were driving towards the Studio, Peter said, “Where’ve you been, Clive? I haven’t seen you for days.”
    “I’ve been around,” I said. “How’s the picture going?”
    Peter lifted his hands expressively. “We’re getting down to it,” he said. “The first few weeks are always the worst. It’s too early yet to say what’s going to happen.” He waved casually to Corrine Moreland, the movie star, as she passed us in a cream roadster. “I’ve been meaning to ring you, Clive. I’m damn pleased you’re working for R.G.”
    I