One for the Devil

Baines had knocked several times on the mahogany door that morning but no response. You never knew with Mr. Lavery he could be a real devil, give you hell. Yet when mother was dying, he’d been so kind. You had to handle him carefully. Not everyone would suit the job.

Ricky Lavery finally rolled out of bed at eleven o’clock. His plump hands and stubby fingers ranged over the night’s detritus on the bedside table, empty glasses, half a bottle of whiskey, a gold cigar box, a scattering of white powder like early morning frost. At last, the pale, fleshy fingers found the bell he’d been searching. The ringing sound echoed through the house. 

A few minutes passed. Lavery pulled himself up. Fat, hairless white legs hung over the bed, like lumps of tripe from a butcher’s hook. A soft knock on the door and his breakfast tray was carried in by an old, grey -haired manservant who looked too frail to have carried his burden from the kitchen. Baines was getting old, but you could always trust him.

“Ok Baines, just pour me a strong, black coffee and clear away the rubbish. After a light lunch, washed down with a couple of cocktails, Ricky glanced at the list of girls waiting for the auditions scheduled for later that April afternoon at Wayward Studios. A redhead and a tall, slim blond looked possibles and worth a punt. The rest he could hand over to one of the Juniors to interview and to reassure them – they’d at least had a screen test.

***

“Well, it’s been great meeting you, Chrissy. Make sure you’ve left all your contacts with my secretary. Ricky stood up to shake the elegant, perfectly manicured hand of the willowy blond. He noted the black dress, a little too high in the neck, the hem far too low over, it had to be said, decidedly skinny legs. Even the limp hand was unresponsive to Ricky’s suggestive squeeze. One of the lettuce leaf brigades, he thought, as the door closed behind her.

The redhead who followed was a very different type. Perfectly applied scarlet lipstick to full, pert lips, long eyelashes, lightly touched with mascara and a firm, responsive handshake from the brightest, longest crimson nails that Ricky had seen that afternoon. Confident and articulate, Lilith filled all the roles that Ricky had been considering. The low-cut red Amani dress was just that tiny bit tight, enough to sustain the illusion that, given time, the full, seductive breasts might escape their velvet restraint. 

“Now, Lilith, your CV and your portfolio fit, just what I,” he hastily added, “Wayward Studios, I mean, have been looking for to take the part of Dorina. As you can see, I’m very busy this afternoon. I should like you to call round at my personal address about six this evening to settle the matter. My secretary will give you the directions.

That evening, just before six, Ricky Lavery sat in his dining room.  His chef had been asked to prepare Beef Wellington with an assortment of spring vegetables and a number of salads. Just as the last stroke of six sounded in the hall, a knock came at the front door. A few minutes later Lilith was ushered into the room by Baines who looked frailer than ever. I shall ring when we want dinner, just tell chef, Baines,” ordered Ricky as Lilith sat down. She was wearing the same bright red dress with a fine, georgette scarf over her elegant shoulders. Her long, luxuriant red hair hung loose down her back, held by a brilliant diamond clip. She sipped a glass of champagne, while Ricky was already on his third or fourth.

“I’ve recently purchased two paintings by Georges Braque at a London auction. I’m sure you’ll be interested. “Without waiting for an answer, Ricky took Lilith’s arm and propelled her upstairs.

Ricky opened the bedroom door and indicated the Braques on the wall. “They are a pair, “Mephistopheles tempting Faustus” I was told. For the first time, Ricky noticed the girl’s eyes glowing red as coals as she gazed at him. Ricky was about to gather her in his arms but he was strangely paralyzed. A knock on the door broke the tension.

A handsome, suave young man in black evening dress entered the room. Ricky looked up in angry surprise.” Who the hell are you? Where’s Baines?”       

“I am Nick, sir. The agency replacement for Baines who’s been taken ill.”

It was late that night by the time Ricky had ushered Lilith out and the front door shut behind her. He felt a failure as he rolled into bed. All his usual tricks and charms had failed to seduce the elusive redhead! He blamed the presence of Nick and the young man’s arrogance. All would have been plain sailing with poor old Baines. Ricky fell into an uneasy sleep in which the events of the day took an increasingly frightening turn . . . trussed up on the back seat, Ricky trembled as the car accelerated once they were clear of Ealing.

They seemed to be following narrow, country roads and travelling much too fast in the darkness. Pulling himself into a half-sitting position, Ricky could see Nick’s face reflected in the driving mirror. His eyes too were red and glowing. A cynical smile flickered over his face every time he rounded a sharp bend on two wheels. Lilith urged him to go ever faster and more perilously. A flock of black birds flew beside them. Every so often their huge wings struck the roof or windows of the car.

Suddenly, Nick turned right off the road down a stony track. Ricky imagined his car with the tires ripped to ribbons as it sped through a gate into a grassy field.  The car lurched from side to side. Lilith turned to look at him. Ricky trembled in terror. The beautiful face was now a ruin. Her complexion a strange, sallow, sickly green, her eyes dying embers, her toothless mouth screaming in triumph. The thick red hair was now a series of green snakes, writhing madly.

Ricky could see a broad river looming ahead. He closed his eyes in terror. He felt the car take off, then nosedive into the gloomy water. Severed arms and legs floated past, a decapitated green head with writhing snakes. Then suddenly, the bodies reassembled. Nick and Lilith pressed their faces against the windows. Inside, Ricky was suffocating as they floated slowly upwards. He tried to touch the seat belt, but it was just out of reach. Odd, grotesque faces pressed against the windows. His feet suddenly felt wet…

Ricky woke up still feeling very tired. He looked at the bedside clock with sleep- filled eyes. He couldn’t believe it. Blearily, he registered three pm! Luckily, he had no studio appointments that day. He rang the bell by his bed impatiently. Instantly Nick appeared, smartly dressed with his dark hair slicked back. 

“Where’s Baines, still too ill to work? I seem to be the last person to be consulted.”

Nick had already cleared and wiped the small table. “I’m sorry but it’s bad news sir. Baines suffered a fatal heart attack last night.”

Ricky felt as if a strange battle was being fought somewhere deep inside him. He didn’t trust Nick, too slick and confident, rather Baines, for all his slowness and confusion. Yet Ricky heard himself saying, “Poor old Baines; things were getting beyond him. You’re much quicker, more competent too. What’s your surname then?”

“Horn, sir, but I prefer “Nick” sir, if you don’t object.”

Ricky did object. Who was this arrogant youngster to set conditions? Yet he heard himself saying, “No not at all. “Nick” it shall be. On your way to the kitchen just take a couple of photos of my Jaguar. I’m thinking of selling it.  You’ll need my phone and this.” Ricky waved a key at Nick.’

As he watched him shutting the door, Ricky tried to remember the details of last night’s terrifying dream. Every time he got as far as Nick arriving to replace Baines, a mist seemed to descend. Try as he might, he couldn’t penetrate the fog. Ricky was still struggling in the mist when Nick returned with a snack and the phone.

“Thanks, I’ll ring if I want anything. I’ve got some paperwork to finish.”

As soon as he heard the lift going down, Ricky looked at the photos of his car. The wheels were covered in thick mud, as if the Jag had been through floods or over muddy fields.  Images of the car had floated vaguely through the nightmare but the last time he had driven any distance was on the A22 to Brighton! Where could the mud have come from? When Nick brought his late lunch, a few hours later, Ricky mentioned the mystery of the mud on the car wheels.

“That’s odd sir, I didn’t notice that.”

“Well, look at the pictures.” Ricky passed Nick the phone.

“Sorry sir, I can’t see any mud,”

Ricky found himself gazing at four bright shining chrome hub caps and spokes. “Oh well, I must have drunk too much champagne last night.”

“Talking of last night, sir, I was wondering if you’d like to meet Lilith again, on business of course. That’s if you're not busy.”

Ricky wondered what the connection was between Nick and the stunning redhead. He felt it was something to do with the dream but again the mist descended. “Well as a matter of fact, I am thinking of casting her in a new production. I need to contact her again to discuss contracts.”

“Perhaps you would like to join us at a private club this evening, sir? We could leave here at about eight, if that suits you.” 

The club room was in the dock area near the river, an area to which Ricky would never have ventured after dark. That evening a strange stillness and silence hung over cargo vessels anchored by heavy chains which barely moved with the calm ebb and flow of the river. A mist hung over the dark warehouses. Ricky shivered in a chill which seemed to rise from the cobbled boat yards. He found himself constantly looking over his shoulder.

“It will feel warmer once you’ve had a couple of brandies,” Nick’s voice echoed as he turned into a narrow alley between dark offices. He stopped in front of a shabby black door which looked in dire need of repainting. Nick knocked discreetly. Footsteps could be heard approaching before the door opened to reveal a tall, thickset man who looked as if his nose had been broken more than once and whose front teeth were missing.

“Evening Sol, I’ve just brought a friend along to join us this evening.”