Trouble on the Thames (2 page)

Chapter II

Ruth Barlow laid down her pen, and straightening up from the small desk at which she had been working, looked across at her partner. Sally was standing in the centre of the shop, her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes riveted thoughtfully upon an open book of wall-papers. A ray of sunshine fell across her red-gold hair, lighting it up so that it glinted like burnished copper.

The shop itself, though not very large, had been cleverly and attractively arranged. Against the cream-coloured walls and peacock-blue hangings such furniture as was on view stood out with remarkable effectiveness. The place of honour was assigned to an old lacquered Chinese cabinet, supported by four gilt cupids with outstretched wings. Two magnificent bowls of yellow and red roses filled the air with their comforting fragrance, while above the mantel-piece hung a quaintly carved oak panel displaying the announcement:

BARLOW and DEANE
Interior Decorators

At the back an unobtrusive flight of steps led down to the basement below.

“Well, that's done, anyhow.” Ruth stretched her arms and yawned contentedly.

“What's done?” inquired Sally.

“Balance-sheet for our first year. I've been grinding away at it the whole week.”

“Oh, how exciting!” Moving quickly across to the desk, Sally bent down over the long page of foolscap paper, on which an array of figures, accompanied by explanatory statements, was neatly set out in a clear and business-like handwriting. “I think you're an absolute marvel,” she continued. “When I see anything like that it always fills me with a kind of despairing envy. I could no more do it than jump over the moon.”

“It's perfectly simple really.”

“It may be to you. As far as I'm concerned, it's just so much double Dutch.” Sally wrinkled her forehead. “What does it all tot up to, and how do we actually stand?”

“Not too bad.” Ruth picked up the paper, and readjusted her spectacles. “Of course it will have to be checked by the accountants, but I don't think they'll find anything wrong. I make out that after paying expenses, deducting our salaries, and allowing two per cent for interest on capital, we wind up with the staggering profit of twenty-three pounds, fourteen shillings and sixpence halfpenny. What do you say to that? For a couple of lone females butting into a new business I call it pretty hot stuff.”

“It's almost fantastic.” Sally drew in a long breath. “Twenty-three pounds, fourteen shillings and sixpence half-penny,” she repeated. “Why, if we go on at this rate we shall end up by prancing around in mink coats.”

“We mustn't lose our heads. All the same, I think we can afford to celebrate just for once. How about dining out to-night and doing a show afterwards? We shall each have twelve pounds to draw, and—”

“Rubbish, darling.” Sally shook her head. “That money belongs to you, every blessed farthing of it. You put up the whole of the capital, and it's all wrong that you should only be getting two per cent on it.”

“But that was the agreement.”

“Agreement be blowed,” retorted Sally. “I get my expenses and three pounds a week, and if there's anything over—”

“It's no use arguing about it,” broke in Ruth calmly. “Two per cent is what we fixed, and two per cent is what I'm going to take. When the business really gets going we can make it a little more, if you like. At present it's halves, Partner, so just shut up and think about what you're going to have for dinner.”

“But it seems so unfair,” protested Sally. “If it wasn't for you there wouldn't be any profit. You sit here and do all the hard work—”

“Hard work my foot! Anyone can squat on their behind and just scribble down figures in a book.” Ruth patted the hand that was resting on her shoulder. “Don't be so fatuously modest, my pet. Any success we've had has been due to the fact that you're not only a genius at your job, but you've a way of handling people which simply makes me gasp. How you put up with some of these ghastly females I can't imagine. If it were me I should lose my temper and tell them to go and boil their heads.”

Sally laughed. “I'd like to see the water afterwards: it would be a funny colour in some cases.”

“Talking of that, how about the Greig woman?” Ruth glanced at her watch. “Didn't she make an appointment for eleven-thirty?”

“She did, but she's sure to be half an hour late. If one's absolutely dripping with money—”

“Sh! Here is the creature! At least, that looks like her car.”

A glittering limousine had come to a halt outside, and a moment or so later its owner, an expensively dressed, middle-aged lady, drifted vaguely into the shop. She was heavily made up and her hair looked as though it had been dyed in orange juice.

“Good morning, Mrs. Greig. How delightful to see you again!” With a dazzling smile Sally moved gracefully forward. “Until I got your note I thought you were still up in Scotland.”

“We came back last week.” The visitor sank languidly into a chair, and producing a slim platinum case, extracted a gold-tipped cigarette.

“Can you find me a match, my dear? Thanks terribly.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Positively loathsome.” Mrs. Greig gave a faint shudder. “No one in the place seemed to be able to talk about anything except killing birds. My husband, of course, was enraptured. He adores shedding blood.”

“Most men are like that.” Sally nodded sympathetically. “It must have been very trying for you, though, with your artistic and sensitive temperament.”

“Absolutely devastating. If I had stayed there another week I should have passed out from sheer boredom.” The speaker shuddered again. “What I need is a spiritual tonic. I am thinking of redecorating the drawing-room.”

“What an inspiration, and how typical of the true artist!” Sally clasped her hands admiringly.

“I thought that we might work out something in collabor-ation. I was very pleased with the room which you did for Lady Jocelyn. It struck me as having soul and imagination.”

“That cheers me up tremendously. It's so encouraging to be appreciated by anyone who has real taste and understanding.”

Ruth, who was seated behind the visitor's back, made a vulgar gesture with her fingers.

“Have you an idea for any particular colour-scheme?” pursued Sally hastily. “I always feel that one should start from that and then build up stage by stage until one gets a complete and harmonious picture.”

“Yes, I know what I want.” Mrs. Greig closed her eyes. “A warm, slightly golden effect—something that suggests sunshine and happiness.”

“But how wonderful!” Sally paused as though overcome by the brilliance of the conception. “You know, if you had left it entirely to me, that's just what I should have chosen myself. I feel that for a personality like yours it would be the absolutely ideal background.”

“It is the only atmosphere in which my soul can really expand.” Mrs. Greig sighed delicately. “You have seen the room, of course, but you must come round to-morrow and we will go into the whole question together. Four o'clock would be a convenient time. I like to rest and meditate for an hour or so in the afternoon.”

“That will be quite thrilling.” Sally picked up a notebook from the desk and jotted down the appointment. “In the meantime I will see if I can make some sketches and bring them along with me. It will be so stimulating to work with you. I am certain that between us we shall be able to create something marvellous.”

With a gracious smile Mrs. Greig consulted the diamond-studded watch which decorated her wrist. Then, dropping her still-lighted cigarette into the adjacent bowl of roses, she flicked aside a speck of dust and rose wearily to her feet.

“I shall have to be going now. I have promised the dear Princess faithfully that I will be at the Albert Hall to-night, and I must call in at the bank to collect my emeralds. Such a nuisance, but my husband will insist upon my leaving them there when we are out of Town. He has burglars on the brain—definitely.”

Moving toward the door which Sally had politely opened, she stepped out into the busy world of the King's Road. A trail of exotic scent lingered behind her, and almost before she was safely out of earshot Ruth had risen from her chair with a disgusted sniff.

“Blast the scented pole-cat!” she exclaimed. “Like her confounded cheek, dropping her filthy cigarette into our roses.” As she spoke she fished out the offending stub, and flinging it viciously into the fireplace, wiped her fingers on her skirt.

“Simmer down, darling.” Sally smiled soothingly. “Think what a nice little packet we can make out of it. Why, if I can jolly her along properly we ought to pull in at least thirty or forty pounds.”

“That's the only thing that stopped me from boxing her ears.” Ruth gave a scornful shrug. “Rest and meditation indeed! What she means is that she stuffs herself full of lunch and then lies down to sleep it off. Snores like a grampus, too, I'll bet.”

“Does a grampus snore?” inquired Sally. “I thought it only blew.”

“Ordering you about, too, as if you were a skivvy! ‘You must come round to-morrow—four o'clock will be a convenient time.' 'Pon my soul, some of these rich women ought to be taken out and ducked.”

“Still, they
are
rich,” commented Sally. “That's the only thing that really matters to us.” With a deft touch she rearranged one or two of the roses which her partner's impulsive action had slightly displaced. “I think I'll go down and have a scout round the basement. We've quite a lot of odds and ends stuffed away, and with any luck I might be able to work some of them off. By the way, Sheila rang up while you were out and said she was going to blow in this morning. If she does, you can send her down.”

“What does she want now?” inquired Ruth suspiciously.

“Haven't an idea. She only said that it was very urgent and would I make a point of being in.”

“That means she is going to ask you to do something for her.”

“Shouldn't be surprised.”

“I don't see why she should always come bothering you when she's in a mess. You're too unselfish and good-natured, Sally, that's the truth. If she were my sister I'd soon tell her off.”

“One can't be brutal to Sheila. It isn't her fault that she's constantly getting herself into jams: with a face like hers that's practically bound to happen. She'll be all right as soon as she's married Julian. He'll make her drop the whole of the crowd she knows at present, and she'll settle down in state as the wife of a future Prime Minister. Can't you picture her standing at the top of a marble staircase shaking hands with ambassadors?”

“Men are fools,” declared Ruth contemptuously. “If Julian Raymond had any sense he'd have fallen for you instead of Sheila. You'd have made him a wonderful wife, while the only thing she'll do is to lounge around and spend his money.”

“And a very nice way of passing the time.” Sally's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. “No, my dear, you needn't waste your sympathy on me. I haven't the remotest ambition to be a political hostess, and as for living with a pompous prig like Julian—why, I should be so bored I should probably take to drink. Fancy having to lie in bed and listen to him rehearsing his speeches.”

“Now you're getting crude.” Ruth grinned and sauntered back leisurely to her desk. “Very well, I'll send her along if she turns up: only for Heaven's sake don't let her be too much of a nuisance. You've quite enough to do without setting up as a wet nurse.”

“I will remember that my first duty is to the Firm.”

Making a mock obeisance, Sally walked to the head of the staircase, and descending the short flight, unlocked a door in the narrow passage below. It led into a long, low-ceilinged room about the same size as the shop, the windows of which looked out into a small backyard.

Though at some former period in its existence it had apparently been a kitchen, it was now fitted up partly as a store-room and partly as a workshop. The big table in the centre was littered with a variety of objects, including scissors, paints, pencils, drawing-pins, and at least half a dozen rough, unfinished sketches. In one corner stood an ancient but comfortable-looking divan, while round the walls, still covered by an atrociously hideous Victorian paper, were ranged other pieces of contemporary furniture, interspaced with shelves and cupboards.

Taking down a dark blue overall from a peg behind the door, Sally slipped it on over her neat black frock. Then, with a purposeful air, she turned up her sleeves, and moving briskly across to the opposite end of the room, swung open the door of a big mahogany wardrobe. It was stacked full of what is inelegantly referred to as “junk.”

***

“Oh, good morning, Miss Barlow. Is Sally here?”

The visitor advanced towards the desk, and favouring her with an inhospitable glance, Ruth blotted the letter she had been writing and pushed back her chair. The superficial resemblance between the two sisters always had the effect of arousing her resentment: it was so obviously and annoyingly in favour of the younger. No one, of course, could deny Sally's attractiveness; but while she was merely pretty, Sheila possessed that starry, heart-arresting beauty that made men turn round and gape after her in the street. In Ruth's eyes this appeared to be a blunder on the part of Providence for which there was no conceivable excuse.

“Sally is in the basement looking through some stuff,” was her grudging response. “We have just had a new commission, and she is pretty busy this morning.”

“I'll go down, then: I must talk to her for a minute or two. If anyone else asks for her you might tell them that she's engaged.”

Without waiting for an answer the speaker crossed over to the back of the shop, and making her way quickly down the staircase, pushed open the door of the store-room. There was a kind of nervous tension about all her actions which suggested that she was labouring under some strong emotional strain.