Miss Callaghan Comes To Grief

“Tootsie's been bumped. Raven's taken over. And this dame knows a hell of a lot more than she should do.”

“Mendetta's dead?” Carrie repeated.

“Yeah. About a couple of hours ago. They haven't found his body yet. You're not to know anythin' about it.

The news mightn't break for a couple of days.”

“What's this about Raven?”

“He's moved in. You've got a new boss now, Carrie.”

Carrie's fist tightened on the phone. “Why the hell did you let him move in? I tell you, Grantham, that guy's goin' to cause a lot of trouble.”

“Never mind about him. You look after the girl.”

Grantham hung up before she could reply.

Carrie put the phone down slowly. She stood looking at the opposite wall with blank eyes. So Raven had got there at last. She had watched him closely ever since Mendetta had turned him down. She knew that Raven would be a very different boss from Mendetta. Maybe he wouldn't be so mean, but he was going to be a lot more ruthless. Carrie suddenly found herself anxious for her girls. She didn't mind how she treated them herself, but it made her feel dismayed to think that Raven was going to control them all in the future.

She went back into the reception−room and sat down to wait for Lu.

14

June 6th, 9.30 a.m.

JACK CASTON, under−manager for the local branch office of Preston Motors, walked into the Preston building with a light springy step.

The commissionaire saluted smartly and escorted him to the elevator.

Caston was the kind of guy who got up early in the morning and did breathing exercises in front of an open window. He was bouncing with good health and his big pink face was torture to anyone with a morning hang−over.

He walked into his office, rang the buzzer on his desk, and then hung up his hat. He walked over to the mirror and adjusted his tie and smoothed down his hair. He was very satisfied with what he saw in the mirror.

The door opened and his secretary walked in. She was a ritzy−looking dame, with corn−coloured hair, blue eyes, and a neat little figure.

Caston smiled at her and sat down at his desk. She thought he looked like a very nice good−humoured pig.

“Well, well,” he said, stretching out his hand, “and very nice too!”

She kept her distance and inclined her head. She knew Caston.

“Now, Marie, don't be high hat. Come over here and let me look at you,” he said, still keeping his hand out.

“You can see me just as well here, Mr. Caston,” she said. “Did you want anything?”

Caston withdrew his hand and fiddled with a pencil. His pink face lost a little of its brightness. “Sit down,”

he said, “I want to talk to you.”

Marie sat down, carefully adjusting her skirt as she did so. Caston leant a little forward and watched the operation with considerable interest. He considered any girl with a nice pair of legs should show them at every possible occasion.

“That's the beginning of a ladder you're getting there,” he said. He leant forward, staring at her leg with fixed concentration.

Marie bent forward to investigate. She could see nothing wrong with the faultless silken hose.

“Look, just there, a little higher up. Too bad with socks as expensive as those.”

Marie lifted her skirt a trifle and couldn't find anything. Caston got out of his chair and came round.

“You're not lookin',” he said severely. “Look, here.” He pulled her skirt well above her knees, and she promptly smacked his hand and hastily pulled it down.

“I might have known it,” she said bitterly. “Just another of your tricks.”

Caston beamed at her. “Well, maybe I was mistaken,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk and reaching for her hand. “But I might not have been, you know.”

She allowed her hand to remain in his big pink fingers, and she waited, her neat shoe tapping impatiently on the polished boards. “When you're through with all this,” she said, “suppose we get to work?”

Caston shook his head. “I'll never train you,” he said sadly. “You know, baby, you and me might get somewhere if only you'd co−operate.”

Marie sniffed. “The one place I'd get to if I did would be a maternity hospital,” she said acidly, snatching her hand away. “Shall we get to work?”

Caston sighed. You never knew with women. Some mornings Marie was quite willing for a little fun and games. He got off the desk and sat down in his chair. He looked at her closely. She certainly looked tired and irritable. Being a man of the world, he didn't pursue the matter, and began to dictate the few letters that required his attention.

It was ten o'clock by the time he was through, and he dismissed her with a kind smile. “Listen, baby, if you don't feel well take the rest of the day off. I've got to go out in a while and I don't think I'll be back. Just please yourself, will you?”

She looked at him suspiciously and then went out. Caston sat back in his chair and frowned. This was not starting the day well. Why the hell couldn't people be a bit more lively?