The Saint in the Sun by Leslie Charteris Read Free Book Online Page A

idols-on the set, of course-and papers her bathroom with mash notes from millionaires, and I could go for her myself, but she falls for his intellectual act. He’s hired to work on my script, and she wants to play the lead in it, but he goes and marries her. That’s what you do with brains.”
    “You promised me the part before that,” said Dominique Rousse sullenly.
    “I said you were the best bet I’d seen. But what am I betting on now? All you’ll be thinking about is what Lee wants, not what I want. I’m kidding, of course.”
    If he was, it was with a touch that tickled like a club.
    “Does that mean you were kidding when you asked me to come here for an interview?” Maureen Herald asked.
    “Get me another cigar, Wilbert.” Undine brought his opaque gaze back to her. “Listen, you remember in ‘Ollywood about six years ago, right after the premeer of your first picture, which I saw-I was giving a party, and I sent you an invitation, but you didn’t come then.”
    “I’d never met you, and I happened to have another date.”
    “I knew it couldn’t ‘ve been because you felt too grand for the likes of me. After all, you came all the way here this time, didn’t you?”
    “So all this was just your way of getting even?” she asked steadily.
    “Now why would I go to all that trouble? I’m reminding you, that’s all. I didn’t let it make any difference when I told my lawyers to go ahead and draw up a contract with everything your agent was able to get out of me. I rang ‘em up this afternoon and they said they’d already sent it off. It should be here in the first post tomorrow. Then all I got to do is make up my mind to be big-‘earted and sign it.”
    “But if—”
    “Who said you and Dominique couldn’t both be starred? There’s two female parts in the script that could be built up equal, if we can stop Lee trying to give all the best of it to his wife.”
    “I’m sorry,” Carozza said, speaking at last. “But I don’t see that.” He had only a trace of accent, which was as much Oxford as Latin. “Unless Messalina dominates everything-“
    Sir Jasper clutched his temples.
    “There ‘e goes. Just like I told you.” He turned to Maureen again, and dropped a heavy hand on her knee. “But don’t worry -he’ll come ‘round when he thinks about all that lolly I could stop paying him every week. So let’s you and me go to dinner and talk about this part.” He stood up, royally. “Wilbert, order one more round and pay the bill. So long, everybody.”
    Simon met Maureen’s eyes as they looked at him, letting her take the cue, and they said as plainly as if she had spoken: “Forgive me, but I guess I am stuck with it. What else can I do?”
    The Saint smiled his understanding, and said: “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    He accepted another Peter Dawson without compunction, and made it a double just to reciprocate the courtesy with which it had been offered. The Carozzas also shrug-nodded acceptance; but the two starlet types, after ogling the Saint speculatively and receiving little encouragement, twittered obliquely to each other and took their leave.
    While Wilbert (whether that was his first or his last name, it fitted his function and personality like a glove) was twisting one way and another trying to flag down a waiter, Dominique Rousse exploded in a furious aside to her husband which was pitched too low for any other ear; but Carozza silenced her with a warning down-drift of his brows. He was studying the Saint now with the undeviating concentration which he seemed to aim at its objects like a gun.
    “Did I hear Miss Herald say you were Mr Simon Thomas?” he inquired.
    “You did,” Simon replied easily.
    “I was wondering if it should have been Simon Templar.”
    “Why?”
    “You have a great resemblance to a picture I saw once-of a person who is called the Saint.”
    “Have I?”
    “I think you are being modest.”
    The Saint grinned at him blandly and indulgently,