Tell It To The Birds

His pale brown eyes shifted once again to Mrs. Van Hertz's arrogant back. He lifted his hand and licked the warm blood from bis fingers.

Chapter 3

As Anson reached the top of the dirt road, he saw the double gates leading to the Barlowe house were open and so too were the doors of the garage. Taking the hint, he drove his car into the garage, got out, shut the garage doors and then walked back and shut the double gates.

A light was on in the sitting-room. As he walked to the front door, he saw Meg's shadow pass the blind as she crossed the room, to let him in.

She opened the door and for a moment they stood looking at each other.

"You're very punctual," she said. "Come on in."

He followed her into the sitting-room.

In the shaded lamp light, as he took off his overcoat, they again looked at each other. She was wearing a flame coloured dress with a wide, pleated skirt. She was even more sensational looking than when he had first met her.

"Let's eat, shall we?" she said, "Then we can talk, I don't know about you but I'm starving. I've been working all day and haven't bothered to eat since breakfast."

"Sure, I'd like to," he said, aware that he had no appetite.

"How's the work going?"

"Oh, so ... so." She waved towards the table. She had pushed aside her typewriter and her papers and had set two plates on which lay some cold cuts of beef and pickles. The cutlery was dumped anyhow. There was a bottle of whisky, ice and charge water at hand. "It's a bit of a picnic. I'm no cook."

They sat down at the table and she poured two stiff drinks.

"So you have an idea for me?" she said, beginning to eat quickly and ravenously. "I'm terribly excited; I do want a good idea."

Anson sipped his drink, then making an effort, he too began to eat.

"It's something we can talk about," he said, paused, then went on, "Mrs. Barlowe... it interests me... have you been married long?"

She glanced up.

"A year ... the end of the month will be our first anniversary. Why do you ask?"

"I guess I get interested in people's backgrounds. I was in Framley's store this afternoon, Your husband seemed to be very busy."

"He's always busy. He's the original busy bee."

Was there a note of contempt in her voice? Anson wondered, suddenly alert.

"Meeting so many people as I do, I'm often surprised at the odd, unexpected married couples I run into. Seeing your husband, I should never have imagined you would have married him." He paused and looked at her, wondering if he had gone too far. Her reply sent a hot rush of blood up his spine.

"Goodness knows why I did marry the poor fish," she said. "I guess I should have my head examined."

She continued to eat, not looking at him and he stared at her. Then aware of his concentrated stare, she looked up.

"You're not eating... is there anything wrong?" He put down his knife and fork.

"I haven't been too well over the week-end. I'm sorry. It's just I'm off my food."

"But not your drinking, I hope?"

"No."

"Why not go over to the fire? You don't have to watch me eat. Go on ... I won't be long."

He carried his drink to the settee. He sat down and stared into the flickering flames.

Goodness knows why I did marry the poor fish.

This could be the green light he was hoping for.

"Have I shocked you?" she asked suddenly. "You asked me, so I told you. Phil is a poor fish. All he thinks about is his garden. He has only one ambition: to set himself up as a florist with a greenhouse and to sell flowers. He will never do that because he will never make enough money to find the necessary capital. He would need at least three thousand dollars to start a business of his own."

"I should have thought he would have needed more than that," Anson said.

Meg grimaced.

"You don't know my darling Phil. He thinks small. All he wants is a greenhouse and an acre of land."

"Just why did you marry him?" Anson asked, staring into the fire.

There was a long pause. He could hear her cutting the meat on her plate.

"Why? Ask me another! I thought he had money. I thought I was escaping from the things girls like me want to escape from. Okay ... I made a mistake. Now I'd like to be a widow."

Anson leaned forward. He felt the need of the flickering flames. His body had suddenly turned cold.

He heard her push back her chair, then she came and sat near him.

"You're interested in me, aren't you?" she said. "Why?"

"Why?" Anson gripped his glass so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Because I think you are the most exciting woman I have ever met."

She laughed.

"I haven't had anything said to me like that since I was stupid enough to get married."

"Well, there it is. I'm saying it."

"Come to that if we are going to hand out compliments, I think you're pretty nice yourself."

Anson drew on a long, slow breath.

"The moment I set eyes on you I thought you were wonderful," he said. "I've had you on my mind every hour since we first met."

"These things happen, don't they?" She reached for a cigarette, lit it and blew the smoke towards the fire.