Cherry Orphan

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Thursday turned into a complete flop. Right at nine o'clock James phoned Coachbuilt Motors. An unrecognized voice answered.

"Is who expected in?"

"Calley—Calley Nameth. She's the owner's daughter."

"I'm sorry, sir, I have no idea. There's no one else here yet. Can I take a message?"

"No it's alright. I'll call again."

Like a fool he'd forgotten to ask for her flat phone number. Strange she wouldn't just give it to him. After their intimate parting encounter on Chelsea Embankment he assumed this had to be more than... what was that rude American phrase again? Cock teasing? Yes, that's it.

James went into the High Street shops and bought the parts he needed for his bicycle as if he were in a trance. He didn't much care about the bike one way or the other now, he'd be gone to America with Calley in a few days. She occupied every corner of his brain.

Two schoolgirls about his age were looking him over and giggling as he chained-up his bike to a railing and went into Curry's. They were pale, skinny, with bony knees and one had braces on her teeth. A few days ago he'd have found them very interesting.

Mid-morning he tried Coachbuilt again. Dorothy Sandista had the day off. DuPree was there, but busy with a prospect that might take all day. James felt stumped. Unless she got in touch there be nothing more he could do.

He'd known Calley less than two days. Their time together amounted to hours not days, yet those few hours were impacting his life like nothing had before. In the back of his mind he now understood the word infatuation and further understood it represented his infatuation not hers. There'd be no particular urgency on her part to make contact. Was he even a blip on the radar?

Thursday ended as it had begun—without Calley. With overcast dispersal the day had turned warmer, becoming almost sultry by evening. He opened the bedroom sash window to the night air and rested his forearms on the sill. The town lights glimmered, like the impudent light in her eyes. She had plans for him, yes, but they were only games. How could it be otherwise? He sighed. If games were all he could expect, then games it would be.

***

Friday proved a complete contrast. Again the noisy beer delivery had him up and about too early. James busied himself with bar preparations to take his mind off things, helping out as best he could. About two-thirty in the afternoon the phone went as he carried a carton of crisps into the Lounge Bar. Old George the cellar man got to it first.

"Cock!" George never announced the full name. "Who? Just a minute, please." The receiver clunked unceremoniously onto the bar. "James," he hollered louder than necessary. "A Henry Silverman wants to talk to you."

Silverman sounded his usual metered self. "Hello, James. I've been in touch with Robert Nameth again. Your uncle wants to speak with you on a long distance line. He also wants his daughter to be part of the conversation. We should do it from my office later today. I'll set up a conference call with the London dealership and California. Can you come over for five?"

Five? Why five? It's the busiest time to be traveling on a Friday. His mind started racing. Silverman's office was some distance away in Wimbledon and awkward to get to from Staines. He'd have to take the suburban train. The tube routes were useless. It meant mainline connections at Twickenham, and since he'd never done it before he had no idea how long all this would all take. He guessed Silverman assumed someone like the matronly Mrs. Blackwell would have the time to bring him over by car. Not a chance during Friday evening madness.