The Paper Chase by Julian Symons Page A

shore, very much as they had done an hour or two earlier. Hedda’s lips parted as she watched. “Wonderful, isn’t it? So sexy.” She began to sing:
     
    “When they dilute the bay gin, oh, oh, let them play,
    When the spire that was once a desire becomes a remember
    And our memories fade to the light of a lonely October,
    Then nobody knows the trouble I’m in
    When they dilute the bay gin.”
     
    The wind howled gently across the beach. Applegate shivered. “I’m cold. Let’s go.”
    “Man, there’s no romance in your heart.” They stumbled up the pebbles to the promenade and then over to the car. It started with the usual jolt and pan-clattering sound, but fortunately this time there was no hill to climb. Wind shrieked through the tattered hood. While they bumped their way back to Bramley Applegate shouted his ideas about the scenes they had witnessed.
    “That was Barney Craigen, the one Jenks said was a Fascist, and Eileen Delaney. What Jenks said about them seems to be true. Barney seems a fool, I wouldn’t back him against that boy. Obviously they’re two lots of cut-throats after the same thing.”
    Hedda had her head done up in a scarf. “What?”
    “Two lots of cut-throats–”
    “Yes, I heard that. What do you think they’re after?”
    “Bogue’s fortune.” He felt the lameness of the explanation. The car stopped with a sigh. “What’s the matter?”
    “I switched off the engine.”
    “Oh.”
    “Can’t hear ourselves talk. That’s a crackpot story about Bogue’s fortune. Why should everyone be hurrying round just now to find it? It’s something hidden at Bramley and connected with the people there, very likely. Do you suppose there are any nice rich skeletons in Uncle Jeremy’s or Aunt Janine’s cupboards that would be worth dragging out?”
    “I shouldn’t think so.”
    “Neither should I. And I thought you were going to buy me dinner.”
    “So I was. I forgot all about it.”
    “Doesn’t matter.” She leaned across, and he thought she was about to restart the car. Instead, a powerful arm coiled round his shoulders. Her face loomed before him, large as a cinema close-up. A mouth clamped itself upon his with the intensity of a rubber suction pad. His response to this forceful kiss was rendered less adequate by the fact that he had sunk down into the seat and some hard object was being pressed into his ribs. He wondered for a moment whether it could be her knee, and then realised that it was the gear lever. When he shifted in an attempt to get the lever out of his ribs her anaconda grip moved to his neck. He began to murmur inarticulately, afraid of being stifled. His feet frantically tapped the floor. Suddenly he was released and Hedda sat back on the other side of the gear lever adjusting her scarf. “You don’t know how to kiss.”
    He felt his neck. “That’s an extraordinarily powerful grip you’ve got.”
    “I told you I lived with a boxer who used me as a punching-bag. I had to develop some kind of resistance.”
    “You dug the gear lever into me.”
    “Sorry. Cars are never comfortable. What about it?”
    “What about what?”
    “It’s a fine night. There’s a rug in the back and an awful lot of grass out there.”
    “My dear girl.” He was horrified. “You call this a fine night. We should be frozen stiff, very likely catch pneumonia.”
    “I shouldn’t be frozen. Feel my hand.” He touched her hot fingers. “I’ve got an electric generator inside me, but I see you haven’t. Would you like the rug round your legs?”
    “That’s a good idea.” He got the rug from the back of the car and wrapped it round his legs. They drove the rest of the way home in silence.
    “Do you know what I think?” she said after they had put the car away. “I think you’re one of those.”
    “You’re wrong.” He added primly: “There’s a time and a place for everything. If I may say so it doesn’t seem to me that your uncle’s therapeutic measures have had