No Escape (5 page)

She carried a few of the female nudes to the window to get a clearer view of them. Yes, as she thought, Sheila had been the model for several. So what? So, nothing. They were totally harmless and the girl had a pretty figure.

Having put the photographs back on top of the chest Jane pulled open the drawers and began to pack. It did not take her long to collect a reasonable set of clothes. The wardrobe held two town suits, a few dresses and a top coat. Also several pairs of cheap, fashionable shoes all looking very uncomfortable to wear. Jane put in two pairs and finding some flat-heeled sandals under the bed added them to the collection.

It was more difficult to decide about the oddments. A stiff nylon hair brush, a comb, all the cosmetics on display among the photographs, washing things from the old-fashioned wash basin behind a screen in one corner of the room, handkerchiefs, a headscarf. What else?

Searching in the top drawer Jane found a small jewel case, little more than a decorated wooden box. It appeared to be locked, but as she turned it on its side to fit it into the suitcase, the lid fell open and the contents scattered on the floor and roiled about the room.

With a muttered curse Jane stooped, to gather them up. There were strings of beads of varying lengths and colour, earrings to match some of the beads, an artificial pearl necklace, a very pretty marquesite bracelet and brooch. Besides all these there were a few worthless objects, bits of table decoration, trinkets from Christmas trees, obviously sentimental souvenirs of dances and parties that girls of Sheila's disposition hoard and treasure.

When Jane had filled and fastened the suitcases she took them on to the landing. There was no sign of Mrs Coates either there or on the stairs, but she heard voices from the hall, one a man's, and concluded rightly that another visitor must have arrived.

She hesitated. Perhaps the man would carry down the suitcases, while she took the overcoat and mackintosh. She could not possibly manage the lot in one journey. But if it was only a tradesman below, or worse still a prospective lodger, he would almost certainly be unwilling to help. Moreover, Mrs Coates would be annoyed and might become disobliging. Besides, the cases were not locked. If the man came up and handled them he would probably discover this and might help himself to some of the contents while she went upstairs again to take a final look at the room before leaving. Jane reproved herself for taking such a poor view of her fellow-men, but she carried the two suitcases down herself.

A man several inches taller than the tall Mrs Coates was standing in the hall, supporting his weight by a hand against the wall, and smoking a cigarette. He had a thin face with regular features and dark grey eyes, well-brushed dark hair and a neat suit, with a shabby raincoat pushed back from his shoulders. If he had not been standing in such a careless, negligent fashion, Jane would have thought she recognised a plain-clothes policeman. But unless he was putting on a very careful act, she decided, she must be mistaken.

His first words supported this, also his behaviour. For he heaved himself away from the wall, pulled up the raincoat, which was hampering his arms and stepped forward.

“Let me take those,” he said, quietly. “You oughtn't to have lugged them both down at once.”

The voice was pleasant, the manner agreeable, if a little too confident.

“I'm a friend of Miss Burgess's,” he said forestalling Jane, answering the question that had leaped at once into her eyes. “Mrs Coates tells me she's ill in hospital and you are also a friend of hers. Did she get in touch with you? None of us—I'm a friend of the family, you see—have had a word from her.”

Jane hesitated.

“Actually I hadn't seen her for ages,” she said, stalling, not answering his question. “I was very surprised when—when I did see her.”

This was true, if not explicit. The stranger frowned. Mrs Coates intervened, holding out a folded piece of paper.

“Here's the receipt you wanted, miss. I've told Mr Stone she's paid up her room to the end of the week.”

She fixed a stern eye on Jane.

“I'd be obliged, miss, if you'd see the rest of her things is taken out by Saturday. I'll be wanting the room come Monday.”

“Oh, but—” Jane was too shocked to go on.

“It's no use your arguing,” Mrs Coates said. “She's not sent hut one week's rent and how do I know when shell be back or how she'll pay in future, if she's ill and that?”

It was hard sense and clearly Mrs Coates was not a woman to be swayed by sentiment of any kind. Jane was roused by the man's voice.

“Mrs Coates should have introduced me properly to you. My name is Stone. Gerald Stone. I know the Burgesses. Have known them for years. Sheila's parents live in Reading.”

This was correct. An address in Reading had been on the letter Jane had posted the night before. She felt relieved. Some of her strange unwanted responsibility could be shared.

“I see.” she said. “Well, I wonder if you'd mind very much getting hold of a taxi for me while I run up to Sheila's room to get her mac and coat. I won't be a minute.”

“I have my car outside,” Stone said. “It's entirely at your service.”

“Oh, but I can't—”

No one must know I'm leaving hospital, Sheila had said. No one must know I'm going from Paddington. But that was absurd, Jane thought, as she hurried upstairs again. Mrs Coates must guess, had already done so and as for Mr Stone, Gerald Stone, nice name, he knew her parents. He was a valuable link, surely? He ought to speak to Tim.

Back in Sheila's room Jane, feeling more alive, more strenuous than when she first entered it, took a swift look round, partly to see what was left to take away before Saturday, partly to check on anything she had forgotten. Gloves. Better take the warm ones. The others were very fancy, very horrid. Anything under the bed, anything that had rolled away out of the jewel box?

She got down on her hands and knees. The light was poor, but she saw something near the wall beside one of the legs of the bed. She pulled it out. It was a roll of film, used but undeveloped, of a make she did not know, probably not retail, tightly fastened with an extra strip of plain green paper to make sure it could not come undone. Jane slipped it into the pocket of her jacket, fastened her duffle outside, hung Sheila's coats over one arm and ran downstairs again.

Gerald Stone was in the hall, waiting. The suitcases had disappeared.

“They're in my boot,” he said. “Come along.”

Mrs Coates had gone.

“She was tired of waiting,” he said, one hand under Jane's elbow.

“Good-bye, Mrs Coates!” the girl called. “And thank you!”

Outside in the road a long low sports car stood at the kerb. Jane got into the passenger seat.

“Where to, Miss Wheelan?”

Mrs Coates must have given him her name. She was sure she had not. She hesitated. If she gave the name of the hospital she would have to take the big suitcase to Paddington later, because Sheila had asked her to leave it there and also to buy her a ticket. It would mean less bother and delay tomorrow, Sheila said, though how that worked out except in relation to the ticket, Jane did not understand. But if she asked him to go to Paddington first he would know Sheila's intention. Jane had promised to tell no one.

“The West Kensington Hospital,” she said. “That's where Sheila is at present.”

He said nothing, did not even look round at her, but drove off swiftly with almost ostentatious skill. At the first red lights he turned to her, his face lit now with boyish pride.

“Like my car?” he asked and laughed.

“Of course,” she answered, laughing too. Bless his heart, she thought, he's human, after all.

Jane led the way into the front hall of the hospital, her companion following with the two suitcases. As he put them down she said, holding out her hand, “I can't thank you enough. Don't wait. You're parked in the Staff reserved bay, so the sooner you're out of it the better. I'll tell Sheila of all your kindness.”

A shade of annoyance crossed Stone's face.

“No. Don't do that. She might think I was interfering. Unless—” He paused and went on, “unless I could just see her for a minute. Literally one minute.”

“I'm sorry. She's not allowed any outside visitors at all. And anyway it's right out of visiting hours at the moment.”

“Then don't say anything. Not even that I went to her digs.”

He took Jane's hand, holding it still when the formal leave-taking clasp was over.

“It is good to know Sheila has a friend like you, Miss—”

“Wheelan. Jane Wheelan.”

“Of course. Jane. I'd like—”

She was aware of a presence behind them. Pulling her hand away she turned to see Timothy Long in his white coat, moving out of the head porter's office near the front door.

“Thought I knew the voice,” he said, cheerfully. “What's that? Sheila's luggage?”

“Yes.” she answered, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. “This is a friend of hers. We met at her place. Mr Stone, Dr Long.”

The two men shook hands warily.

“I'm glad to know she has
some
London friends,” Tim said. “Outside the hospital, I mean.”

I Jane began, “It was Dr Long who—” but a savage look from Tim silenced her. Gerald Stone smiled.

“I'm not to be allowed into the mystery, I see. Never mind. I'll get it from the Burgesses—in Reading.”

“He knows her parents,” Jane explained.

“I see. Are you going down there?”

“I'm not sure. I want to help any way I can.”

“Well, she leaves here tomorrow and as far as I know she's going straight home. She's written to her people to say so. At least I presume that's what she put in her letter. So if you ring them up you can get all the latest gen, can't you?”

Timothy's voice was perfectly polite but there was unveiled antagonism in the look with which he regarded the other man.

“Thanks,” said Stone, quietly. “Thanks a lot.”

He nodded briefly and turned away. Jane went with him to repeat her thanks for the lift and see him start his car. Timothy, left alone in the hall with the two suitcases, stood looking after them.

He was raging inwardly and his surprise at finding himself in this state only augmented it. That smooth operator was no surprise acquaintance as Jane had led him to believe. A man you had only met a couple of hours before did not hold your hand and gaze into your eyes with a goofy expression. And that was what he had seen from the porter's office when he was on the telephone there, listening to words of wisdom from Beech-Thomas. No, she knew him all right. After all, why shouldn't she, since she was a friend of Sheila's? He reminded himself that the friendship had been broken for several years, according to Jane. So perhaps— He swung round, still angry, still puzzled and walked off to the common room in the residents' quarters.

Having seen the sports car sail away through the main gates Jane went in again to the hall. She found the head porter stooping over the suitcases with an expression of strong disapproval on his face.

“I haven't abandoned them,” she said, gaily.

“I'm glad of that, miss.” The porter smiled at her. He liked Miss Wheelan and was sorry for her and for the other girls under Miss Gleaning, who was not loved by any of the non-medical staff.

“They belong to Bed 12 in Alexandra,” she said.

“Miss X. I know. The Press have been up again. Can't seem to lay off. Inquisitive—” He sought for the polite equivalent of what he would naturally say, but let it go.

“Quite,” said Jane. “Anyway, she's leaving tomorrow, so can I park the big case with you until then? I'll take the other one up to the ward.”

The porter tried the locks on the case.

“This here's open,” he said, severely.

“I know. She lost her keys with her handbag in the—er—the accident.”

“It'll be at her own risk,” the porter said. “I'm not down here all day. I'll tell my mate to keep an eye, but with the comings and goings—you know what it is.”

“Of course,” Jane assured him. “But Sister would have a fit if I tried to take it into the ward.”

“Alexandra? You're right there. You take the little one, miss, and I'll put this fellow out of sight somewhere. Tomorrow morning, did you say?”

She had not said it to him, but Tim had told Gerald Stone, and no doubt the porter had heard. The porters heard everything that went on in the hall. Everyone knew that. It spoke well for their loyalty that they never gave anything away to outsiders.

“Well, yes, tomorrow morning as far as I know,” she answered cautiously. “I mean, unless there's a relapse or she alters her plans.”

Jane went away and changed into her white coat, though she was off-duty. Then she went up to Alexandra Ward. Sister was pleased to see her.

“Yes, you can go in,” she said, with relief in her voice. “She's been getting hysterical again. Really, I think they ought to persuade her to go away for treatment as a voluntary patient. It's obviously mental.”

Jane disagreed but said nothing. She found Sheila sitting up in bed staring in front of her, the old listless expression on her face again.

“Well, here I am,” Jane said, cheerfully.

“Pull the curtains,” Sheila answered sinking back on her pillows.

Jane did so and in the seeming privacy of the cubicle drew her chair close to the bed and described her afternoon, her conversation with Mrs Coates, her success with the packing and her encounter with Gerald Stone. In spite of his instructions she felt she was justified in disregarding them. Something must be done to pull Sheila out of her present apathy.

She was only too successful. At the first mention of his name the girl shrank down in the bed, covering the lower part of her face with her hand in a gesture Jane had seen several times and which appeared to express an extreme horror.