‘A quarter of an hour.’
‘I will wait that long, but no longer.’ The drawl had sharpened
‘I’m on my way…’ I began, but she had hung up.
I went into the bathroom to inspect myself in the mirror, and decided I looked neat enough without being gaudy. As I straightened my tie, I wondered what she wanted: probably some first-hand information about the kidnapping. From the pictures I had seen of her and from the sound of her voice, she wouldn’t be satisfied with anything second-hand.
I got the Buick out of the garage and drove fast up Ross-more Avenue that skirts the golfcourse, where a couple of cranks were trying to play golf in the moonlight with the aid of luminous balls, turned left up Glendora Avenue and arrived I at the imposing entrance of the Country Club with four I minutes of the quarter of an hour in hand.
The wooded gardens were ablaze with lights, and as I drove up the drive I could see a bunch of half-naked men and women clustered around the swimming pool, while Glyn Boos’s Serenaders played under the arclights in a flower-decked alcove nearby.
The car park was around the back of the clubhouse. I edged my way in, and parked in what seemed to be the only vacant space left. I got out, looked up and down the long rows of cars, and decided it would be easier to pick the needle out of the haystack than find one particular black Cad. from this collection of luxury cars. There must have been over three hundred of them, and probably a third of that number were Cadillacs.
Parking lights flickered on and off, away to my left. I set off hopefully towards them. They continued to go on and off until I drew close enough to see they were attached to the glittering black car I had seen outside Ocean End two nights ago. I walked up to the car and looked in at the window. She was sitting behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette. The cold, hard light of the moon fell directly on her, and the first thing I noticed was the string of diamonds that flashed and sparkled like fire-flies in her hair. The moonlight gave her a sculptured-in-alabaster effect. She was wearing a low-cull strapless creation in gold lame, and she looked exactly what she was: the fourth richest woman in the world, from the diamonds in her hair to the cold, haughty expression on her rather long but distinctly lovely face.
While I was looking at her and thinking she had the largest eyes I have ever seen and that her long and silky eyelashes were probably her own, she was looking at me. In the few second of silence that followed we sized each other up with frank curiosity.
‘I have about a couple of minutes in hand, Mrs. Dedrick, I said. ‘But even at that I seemed to have kept you waiting. I’m sorry. Do you want to talk here or somewhere else?’