This was the first time he had used her name. It gave him great pleasure. Cora! It was a lovely name
She looked up at him and yawned.
“And you don’t mind sleeping in the chair?”
He stood very still.
“The chair?”
“Perhaps you’ve got another bed somewhere,” she said, and then, seeing the expression on his face, she sat up abruptly. “Oh, God!” she went on. “Did you think you were going to sleep with me?”
George could only stare at her, dumb, embarrassed misery in his eyes.
She swung her legs off the bed.
“I’m going,” she said. “I was forgetting you don’t know me very well.”
George shook his head.
“No, don’t. It was my fault. Please stay. The chair’s all right.”
He crossed to the window and stood looking out, trying to recover from the shock and disappointment.
Of course she was right. He was glad in a way that she hadn’t meant it. Only it was such an odd way of putting it. He couldn’t be blamed for misunderstanding. She was really quite fantastic. What confidence she had in herself!
And how like Sydney! Taking his bed, making him sleep in a chair, no thought for his comfort. Had she managed to guess that he was easily scared, that he was timid and uneasy with women? Was that the reason why she was pushing him out of his bed—because she knew very well he wouldn’t have the nerve to force his attention on her? He didn’t think so. How could any girl be sure of that?
She was standing at his side.
“I’ll go if you want me to,” she said. “You mustn’t let me impose on you. I’m selfish. If you don’t want to sleep in the chair, turn me out.”
As if he would.
“Of course not,” he said eagerly. “I’m awfully pleased to have you here. I mean that. I’m sorry I was so stupid. I’m really ashamed of myself…”
She looked at him Was that odd expression contempt? He looked again, but her eyes had become expressionless.
“All my friends know about me,” she said. “I’d forgotten that you don’t. Still, you don’t want me, do you? You must have dozens of women.”
“But I haven’t…”
“I don’t sleep with men,” she went on, ignoring his interruption. “It’s part of my independence. I’m very independent. I never take and I never give.”
He didn’t say anything. What was there to say?
“You’ll probably think I’m lying, but I’m not. My bed life is very exclusive. I hate being mauled. It’s inconvenient sometimes. I suppose I shouldn’t be so damned poor if I wasn’t so damned fussy.”
George flinched. There didn’t seem to be anything further to say about the subject. They stood side by side looking out of the window at the street lights, the rain and the wet pavements. They remained like that for a long time.
8
George was asleep when Ella brought him his morning tea. He raised his head as she drew the curtains, and blinked round the room.
”’Ave you been using scent, Mr George?” she asked, her shiny little face tilted up as she sniffed the air. “It’s ever so nice.”
Scent? What did she mean? George gaped at her.
“No,” he said, yawning “Of course not.” Then he remembered Cora, and a guilty flush rose to his face. Ella was watching him.
“Well, I am surprised at you, Mr George,” she said, her eyes wide. “’Oo was she?”
It was no use lying to Ella. She could see his embarrassment too clearly.
“Oh, a friend,” George returned, sinking back on the pillow. “She only looked in for a moment last night. I must say her perfume was pretty strong.”
Ella wasn’t so easily fooled.
“Well, I never!” she ejaculated. “Fancy you bringing a young lady…”
“Now, look, Ella,” George said a little shortly. “I want to rest. I didn’t sleep very well. Be a good girl and run away.”
“All right, Mr George,” Ella returned. “But I’m surprised at you all the same.”
George closed his eyes, and after a moment’s hesitation Ella went away. George knew that he hadn’t heard the last of it, but at the moment he didn’t care.
As soon as she had gone he slipped out of bed and opened the door for Leo. He still felt stiff, and his neck ached after the night in the armchair, but he didn’t mind. It had been a wonderful evening and a wonderful night.
He got hack into bed and drank his tea.
It really seemed like a dream. Looking round the small, sordid room, he could scarcely believe that Cora had been there. He could smell her perfume on the pillow. Her hair had rested there. It had been all very exciting and marvellous, and he was mad about her.
Just then Leo stalked into the room.
“Come on, old boy,” George called, snapping his fingers.
But the cat was suspicious, sniffing the air and looking at George with big, uneasy eyes. Obviously it didn’t like the smell of Cora’s perfume.
“Puss! Puss!” George called. “Come on. Up you come.”
Silently Leo turned and slid out of the room. George called, but the cat had gone.
A little distressed, he settled down once more. Well, if Leo wanted to be stupid, then he would have to go his own way, George thought. There were other things to think about besides Leo. He had been longing for the time when he could think hack on last night and savour all its excitements, brood over what Cora had said, and dwell on Cora herself.
It had been a wonderful night, in spite of the bad beginning. George hadn’t talked so much in his life. It was extraordinary how easy it was to talk to Cora. She led him on. Not that she said much herself, but she knew how to listen. And he had thought that he wouldn’t have been able to amuse her! Even now he found it difficult to believe that he had been such a success.
She had wanted to know about his life in the States. That was after she had got into bed. Her getting into bed was exciting. She hadn’t been a scrap self-conscious. It was he who had been embarrassed.
“What can I sleep in?” she had asked, “Or do I have to sleep in my skin?”
He had given her a pair of his pyjamas. Of course, they had been ridiculously big, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“And now I want to spend a penny,” she had said, and he couldn’t help going as red as a beetroot. He had to show her where the bathroom was, and he had to hang about outside in case someone spotted her coming out. Although he was shy about it, he secretly enjoyed the intimacy between them.
Then he stayed outside the door until she was in bed. He thought she looked absolutely smashing in bed. She had rolled up the sleeves of the pyjamas, and somehow they seemed to fit her quite well. There she lay, her hair like spilt ink on the pillow, the sheet adjusted above her breasts, and her red nailed hands folded on her tummy.
George had sat by the window with his overcoat over his legs and his feet up on a chair They finished the beer and had talked. She had asked him to tell her about his adventures in the States. George was too happy to be cautious. So he began to talk. Everything he had read about the gang wars of America was marshalled and trotted out as his own adventures. Never had he been so inspired. He had described how he had been one of the first to arrive at the little cabin in the hills where Ma Barker and her son had made their last stand.
“I’ll never forget that day,” he said, looking out of the window as he tried to remember what he had read of Ma Barker’s death. “We arrived early one morning. There was a ground mist, and we got right up to the cabin without being seen. I was with a bunch of G-men, and they were jittery. I didn’t blame them, because hell was likely to break loose any minute.
“I’d had some experience working on both sides of the fence, and I had been in some pretty tough spots. If Fred Barker hadn’t played me a dirty trick, I wouldn’t have been hunting him with the Feds. At that time I was out for excitement, and I didn’t care which side I was on, so long as I got into a scrap.
&nbs
p; “The Feds didn’t want a battle, but they hadn’t the nerve to call on Ma to give up. So I offered to do it. I wanted to show them I had more guts than they.
“I walked to the door of the cabin. I don’t mind telling you my knees were knocking.
“I hammered on the door. Ma Barker, a Tommy-gun half hidden behind her back, appeared at the window. I could see her wrinkles, her narrowed eyes and the wattles on her sagging neck.
‘’Come on, Ma,’ I said. ‘You know me. You’re caught, and you might just as well come quietly.’
‘To hell with you!’ she yelled and ducked out of sight.
“Then Fred opened up with a machine-gun. I thought I was a goner. Slugs nipped at my clothes and splattered my shoes with dust. It was a pretty tough moment. One of the Feds started grinding his machine-gun, and that put Fred off. I got under cover with slugs still chasing me.
“We fought it out for over an hour, but they didn’t stand a chance A burst of automatic rifle fire caught Ma as she was peering through the window. When we found Fred, he had fourteen slugs in his carcass.”
So he had gone on. He paraded them all before her—BabyFace Nelson, Frank Nash, Roger Touhy, Jake Fleagle; violence, shooting, racing cars, police sirens. He had never done better.
“And they took me for a ride,” he went on, scowling at the ceiling. “Me! They took me in a wood, and they said I was washed up. There were three of them. There was a guy called Wineinger. I can see him now. A pot-bellied little runt, with a scar where someone had bashed him with a bottle. There was Clyde Barrow, thin and mean, with ears like a bat. And Gustave Banghart. They were a dangerous, tough mob, and it didn’t look so good. I hadn’t anything to lose, so I jumped Wineinger and got his rod. It was the fastest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I came out of that wood on my feet, and I came out alone.”
Oh yes, he had never been better, and she had listened without moving, absorbed, excited. Her intent interest had been a spur to his imagination.
“I’m glad you told me,” she had said, when he finally stopped talking. “It was what I expected of you.”
Then he had edged the conversation round to Sydney. He wanted to know more about Sydney—what he did, where he lived, how Cora and he got on together.
But she didn’t tell him much. She suddenly became guarded. She said she didn’t know much about Sydney herself. He didn’t tell her things. Look at that nine pounds! He hadn’t told her about that. Didn’t that show how secretive he was? They never had any money—at least, that was what Sydney always told her. He was supposed to be the breadwinner. She didn’t do anything except keep the flat. Yes, they had a flat off Russell Square. George must see it one day. Sydney didn’t welcome visitors. He wasn’t sociable, but when he was away, George must come.
George had a vague feeling that Cora was frightened of Sydney. “He’s very domineering,” she said, “and we fight.”
But when he pressed her for details, she rather pointedly changed the subject.
“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” she said, settling further down in the bed. “I was late last night.”
George eased himself in his chair. It wasn’t a bit comfortable now he was trying to make a bed of it.
“I hope you sleep well,” he said. “What time do you want to be called in the morning?”
“Oh, I’ll wake up. I always do,” she returned.
“I say…” George said, after a moment’s silence, “won’t Sydney worry where you are?”
“He doesn’t worry about me. He doesn’t worry about anyone,” Cora said. “He’s a bit touched, if you must know.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” George protested.
“Well, I would.”
“How did he get that scar?” George asked, at last screwing up courage to ask something that had been worrying him for days. “He’s very sensitive about it, isn’t he?”
“He had an accident,” Cora said shortly.
“I thought it was something like that,” George said, still curious. “It was pretty recent, wasn’t it?”
Cora didn’t say anything.
After a moment’s hesitation, George went on, “How did it happen?”
“He’s got enemies,” Cora said.
George looked up, startled. “Enemies?” he repeated blankly.
“Look here, I want to go to sleep,” Cora said sharply. “I wish you’d turn out the light.”
George got up from his chair and crossed the room to the light switch. He paused as he passed her bed. “Comfortable?” he asked, thinking how lovely she looked.
“Yes. Now please put out the light.”
George sighed. How much nicer it would have been if she wasn’t quite so matter of fact. It was as if she was used to sleeping in strange men’s rooms. George didn’t want to go to sleep. It was all too exciting. He wanted to sit on her bed and watch her, even if she didn’t wish to talk.
But he put out the light and groped his way back to his chair.
“I don’t suppose this means anything to you,” he blurted out after a long silence.
“Oh, God!” she said impatiently. “Can’t you sleep? What means nothing to me?”
“Being here…” George was glad it was dark. He felt the irritating flush mounting to his face. “I’ve never had a girl in my room before.”
“You’re a simple soul, aren’t you?” she said. “Are you getting a kick out of this?”
George warmed to her immediately. So she could be kind in a rather patronizing way!
“Of course I am,” he said, and encouraged by the darkness, he went on, a little haltingly. “This has been a marvellous evening for me. I don’t suppose you realize what it means to me.”
“Why not?”
“Well, perhaps you do; but you’re not lonely like I am. I spend most of my time on my own. I don’t know why, but I just don’t seem to make friends. I haven’t met anyone I wanted to make my friend— until now.” He coughed nervously, alarmed at his own rashness. Well, he had said it now. He almost cringed while waiting for her to reply. Was she going to be kind?
She didn’t say anything.
George waited anxiously, and then realized, with a sense of frustration, that she wasn’t going to reply.
“I expect you think I’m a hit of a fool,” he said, a little bitterly. “I suppose I am really. I suppose most people would think I’m a bit soft being so fond of Leo—he’s my cat. It’s funny about Leo. I used to think people were a bit soft myself, being fond of animals; but somehow Leo’s different.” He stared into the darkness, trying to see her. “It’s when you’re lonely, you know. Animals seem to understand. They don’t demand anything from you. If you don’t feel like talking, they just sit with you. If you want to go out, they don’t mind. Leo’s jolly good company, but of course it isn’t the same as having someone you can really talk to. Is it?”
She still didn’t reply.
He waited a moment and repeated a little louder, “Is it?”
“Is what?” she asked sleepily.
“Oh, nothing; you’re nearly asleep, aren’t you? I’m sorry. But it’s not often I get anyone to talk to.”
“That’s pretty obvious,” she said tartly, turning on her side. “You’d talk a donkey’s hind leg off.”
But he couldn’t let her go to sleep just yet. It was only eleven o’clock, and it seemed such a wicked waste of a marvellous opportunity, just to sleep.
“I say, Cora,” he said, lighting a cigarette.
“Hmmm?”
“Shall I see you again after this?”
He could just make out her head lifting off the pillow. “If you’re going to smoke I may as well have one, too,” she said. “Then I am going to sleep, and if you disturb me again I’ll throw you out of the room.”
He hurried across the room and gave her a cigarette. The flickering flame of the match lit up her face. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and tired, expressionless.
“You don’t mind me calling you Cora, do you?”
George went on, bending over her.
“Call me what you like,” she said, lying back on the pillow. The tip of the cigarette glowed red, and he could just see her straight, small Roman nose.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “Shall I see you again after this?” he repeated, because it was something important, something that was preying on his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing her again.
“I suppose so,” she returned indifferently; “only Sydney doesn’t like people hanging around.”
“Doesn’t he?” George was startled. “Why not?”
“You’d better ask him.”
“But that needn’t mean we won’t see each other again, will it?”
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “Surely a fellow like you has got dozens of girls.”
“I haven’t,” George said, too anxious to keep in character. “I don’t like women as a rule. But you’re different.”
“Am I?” There was a slight note of interest in her voice. “What do you mean?”
George hesitated. What exactly did he mean? He wasn’t sure himself. She was beautiful, of course. But was that all that mattered so much to him? He didn’t think so. There was something else. There was something strong about her, independent; she was someone he could rely on.
“I think you’re wonderful,” he said slowly. “You’re the most astonishing person I have ever met.”
“Don’t be a fool,” she said, almost gently. “Of course I’m not.”
Encouraged by her tone, George said, “But you are. You’re lovely. You’re so independent and headstrong. You know your own mind. You—you’re interesting.”
She lay silent for a long time. George wondered uneasily if he had offended her. Then she said, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”
George clenched his fists. In love with her? He was mad about her!
“Oh yes,” he said. “I’m in love with you. The moment I saw you…”
“Men are fools, aren’t they?” she said in a confidential tone, as if she was speaking to another woman “The men who have said that to me! Hundreds of them!”
“I’m sure of that,” George said, sighing. “But it needn’t matter to you, need it? I mean a girl like you wouldn’t be bothered with anyone like me.”
More Deadly Than the Male Page 10
