When the brassiere dropped below her breasts, he whistled appreciatively, and tugged the garment around so that he could get at the clasp. The panties snapped at one side, rather than depending on elastic, and he tugged them off in their turn.
He pursed his lips and murmured, “Someday you’re going to make your husband awfully happy.” He went to the closet and located a nightgown and after a certain amount of further difficulty, got it onto her, and then put her under the covers.
He turned to go, beginning to feel the champagne creeping up on him, and desiring his own bed, but for some reason he looked out the window down to where his trailer was parked.
There was a light showing in it.
For a moment he stared, uncomprehending, then he understood. Fay was still there. She had awakened from her sleep of sex saturation and was now awaiting his return.
His revulsion for her spread over him. He couldn’t bear the thought of even seeing Fay now. He couldn’t bear the possibility of her touching him, trying to arouse him to further love play. And he knew that was why she had remained.
He shook his head. The champagne was really creeping up on him and after the excitement and action of the day, he was utterly fagged. He looked back at Nadine and came to a quick decision. He undressed, threw his clothes over a handy chair, and slipped into bed next to her.
Steve Cogswell was asleep in a matter of seconds, the smile of content on his face matched only by that of Nadine Whiteley.
Chapter Eight
Friday, August 12th
Nadine Whiteley drifted upward from asleep and into the half-land between sleep and wakening. Even in this dream world she had a feeling of contentment and lazy comfort. She sleepily wondered why. What had happened to all the problems which beset her?
What problems? She vaguely tried to orientate herself. Ah, yes, her trip to the Riviera in her deliberate attempt to find a lover. But that problem was still with her. She had been unable to carry through her plan. Now she remembered — half-remembered — she was going to take Dr. Levine’s advice and go to a psychiatrist. Yes, she and Steve had decided that would be best.
And then Jerry Silletoe came back to her thoughts. Ah, yes, that was a reason for her to feel relief. That problem had been solved when she recovered the negatives. When Steve had recovered them for her.
And then, flooding back to her came the memory of the night before. The celebration and the champagne, and the fun and the laughter, and how, toward the end of the evening, everything had seemed so bubbly to her, so amusing.
She laughed, awoke completely, and opened her eyes.
There on the pillow next to her was the head of Steve Cogswell.
Her eyes circled. For a split moment, there was panic in her, but then it was gone and nothing remained but shocked surprise. Frantically, she cast her memory backward.
It went no further than that night club. What was its name — Le Knickerbocker? They had gone there to dance but she had taken too much champagne. She vaguely remembered Steve getting her out to the car, and her calling him darling. And that was all.
And now here she was in bed with him, the morning’s light streaming in upon both of them. She had never been in bed with a man before. And now — Steve lay there, a smile of contentment on his face.
It was unbelievable.
But … but … shouldn’t she feel something? Feel different? Possibly more adult, or mature, or something? She didn’t feel any different at all, but, of course, that meant nothing.
Steve’s own eyes opened and he looked at her, puzzled for a moment. Then he remembered.
“Morning, honey bun,” he said sleepily. “Christ, we really hung one on, didn’t we?” Then he realized she was bug-eying him as though he were a king cobra about to strike.
He began to explain, then pulled himself up short. He looked at her narrowly. Finally he said, his voice soft, “What’s the matter, darling? Regrets, this morning?”
“Regrets?” She almost choked on the word.
He reached his hand out for his clothes, fished a package of Gauloises from a shirt pocket, located his matches and then punched his pillow hard and sat up in the bed, yawning. He lit the cigarette, drew smoke deep into his lungs and grinned at her.
She blinked, taking in his bare chest. She said, “I …” then stopped.
He grinned again and said, “Darling, you were wonderful.”
The flush slowly rose from her neck to suffuse her face. “I … I was?” she said unbelievingly.
He nodded. “Wonderful. And you liked it, too, didn’t you? I could tell.”
“I did?”
“Well,” he murmured with masculine superiority, “there’s nothing like champagne to loosen up the libido.”
She relaxed on her pillow, closed her eyes. “Good heavens,” she said.
“What’s the matter?” he said to her. He watched her narrowly.
“Nothing,” she said finally. “Nothing is the matter, Steve. Everything has worked out. Everything is solved.”
“You’re wonderful,” he said. “Come here, Nadine.”
Her eyes shot open again, round as before. He put away his cigarette and turned to her.
She stuttered, “Again? In the morning, like this?” Her tongue moistened her lips.
“Why not?”
“I — why, I don’t know. I just thought — well, isn’t that something you do at night?”
His laugh was friendly and soothing, and he reached out and stroked her hair, spilling out as it was over the pillow’s whiteness. “It’s something you do any time when you’re in love, honey bun.”
All of a sudden, everything seemed to fit together for her. She was in his arms and she was saying, “Do you mean that really? Are you really in love with me?”
“Uh-huh, really.”
“And … and am I in love with you?”
“Well, you certainly acted like it last night,” he lied easily.
“I suppose I am, Steve. Oh, darling, I do love you.”
He had cupped one of her rounded breasts in his right hand. Now he worked his fingers over it ever so gently until he could feel the nipple harden. She sighed, closed her eyes and relaxed.
She felt the fires commence to burn in her again as he began to play on her ready senses — at first subtly, compassionately, then with increased urgency as his own fires rose with their own savage demands.
With his hands, his lips, and finally with every taut muscle of his quivering body, he caressed her stiff-nippled breasts, the pulsing softness of her belly, the satin smoothness of her thighs — holding back nothing, yet never forcing her to take more than she was ready for….
Until, in full arousal, she began to moan incoherently and to drive her burning body against his, and he knew that this time she was really ready.
In the extremity of her need she seemed to writhe in almost semiconscious delirium as he lowered himself upon her. For one panicky instant he felt her go rigid as tender flesh merged with tender flesh…. Then, as his arms enfolded her in total, protective warmth, and her body closed finally around his, it was as though a dam inside her had broken open, and she was flooded with wave after wave of sensation, dizzying, all-consuming.
Now his carefully controlled movements brought her pulsing rhythm into exact harmony with his, and she found herself climbing, from height to height of unbelievable joy, toward a blinding pitch of awareness — until the fire which drove them both, almost unendurably, exploded over them in a sunburst of glory.
Afterward she lay back, almost in half-sleep again.
“It is wonderful, isn’t it, Steve?”
He was up on one elbow, looking down at her, and now it was his turn for amazement. For the first time in more than five years, he realized, he had bedded a woman and then, afterward, felt only affection and tenderness toward her.
More than one trauma had ended in this bed, this morning.
She said sleepily, “Darling, when are we going to be married?”
He lit up and said thoughtfully, “As soon as I can get reorganized, sweetheart.”
“Reorganized?” She opened her eyes.
He said, reasonably, “I’ve got to get out of this job and back into my own field. All of a sudden, this life I’ve been leading nauseates me. I’ll have to get back to the States, possibly take a few refresher courses, then get a job.”
“But … that might take years.”
“I can’t see any alternative. But it shouldn’t take that long.”
“But, Steve, I own a whole town. A factory, all the houses, every store, every service station. Everything but the post office, which belongs to Uncle Sam.” She laughed happily. “Don’t you see? We’ll have everything, even during the time you’re getting readjusted. For that matter, why not take over management of the furniture factory? There’s nothing to — ”
“No,” he said flatly.
“But Steve — ”
His voice was emphatic. “I’ve spent five years associating with gigolos and the type of women who marry them, Nadine. I’m not going to become one. I’ll come to you when I’m successful.”
She said in irritation, “That’s ridiculous. We both know you’re no gigolo.”
He climbed from the bed, began getting his clothes together.
“Where are you going?” she wailed, in alarm.
“I’m a working man,” he explained. “This is Friday, my busiest day. I’ve got to get the old bunch of tourists off back to London, and greet the new batch, incoming at eleven o’clock.”
“But today, of all days?”
He was slightly impatient with her. “A job’s a job, Nadine. Somebody has to do it. You’ve got to remember that most people aren’t born with money and consequently have to hold down jobs.”
“That was a nasty thing to say.”
“Sorry, but nevertheless I’ve got to start things rolling.”
Her lips tightened in chagrin and she came out of the bed on her own side. “I suppose I’m one of your tourists that has to be put on the plane back to London, too. I suppose this sort of thing happens to you every week.”
He took time out to look at her in exasperation. “Don’t be ridiculous, honey. I just finished telling you that I loved you and want to marry you.”
“You just finished telling me you wouldn’t marry me. I’m beginning to suspect that this was just one more roll in the hay for you.”
• • •
There had been no time for reconciliation. They had remained in bed so late that Steve had time only to get dressed and up to Monaco to organize the gathering of the Far Away Holidays clients and make arrangements to get them to the airport on time.
He had hoped that Nadine would reconsider, get over her pique and remain at the Pavilion Budapest at least long enough for them to discuss future plans. It hadn’t worked out that way.
When he got back from Monaco in the station wagon to pick up those clients who had spent the week at the contessa’s villa, Nadine Whiteley wasn’t among them.
He said to Carla, who was on the front veranda saying good-bys, “Where’s Miss Whiteley?”
Carla said, “She took a cab to the airport. Said something about your station wagon being too crowded with so many.” She added, “Carla thinks you have had a quarrel with Nadine.”
“Well, Carla’s right,” Steve grumbled.
The contessa said carefully, “Women in love are not always so rational, Steve. Particularly if you are a woman who has gone for many years without love.”
Steve said, “How did you know?”
She twisted her shoulders, characteristically. “Carla is a woman, too.” She added with a return to her pixie quality, “And perhaps I have gone too long without love also, no?”
“But on the other hand, you’re not irrational,” Steve said. “Thanks, Carla. I’m trying to do what I can.”
But there evidently was nothing that he could do. Carla had been right. A woman frustrated in love for as long as Nadine had been was not apt to be adjusted at this stage.
He argued with her at the airport, when he could find a few moments off from the demands of his one batch of tourists who were leaving, and the new batch coming in, but it did no good. She simply couldn’t believe that if Steve loved her he wouldn’t throw his job up and return immediately with her to the States to take a position at her furniture plant and live happily ever after.
He watched her plane take off bitterly.
• • •
Steve had forgotten Fay Gunther. Forgotten her completely. When he entered his trailer he found her curled up on the couch reading an Olympia Press book. She had evidently not left the place since the day before. He could see dirty dishes and opened cans in the small kitchen that lay between living room and bedroom. The years hadn’t changed Fay when it came to housecleaning, he noted glumly.
He was in no mood for her.
“Darling,” she gushed. “I’ve waited for you.”
“So I see. In this country, you’ll have ants in that open food in a matter of hours.”
“Ants! What difference does that make?”
“I live in this trailer,” he said grimly.
She laughed. “Not any more,” she said.
“Oh?” He put his hands on his hips and looked down at her. It was inconceivable to him that he could ever have loved this woman. Certainly inconceivable that he could have thought he did after what she had done to him and after five years.
Fay said, happily, “I’ve figured it all out while you were gone, darling.” Her eyes narrowed. “By the way, we’ll go into where you’ve been, later on.”
She was being possessive yet! he told himself sourly.
She said, “We’ll go back to New York and either you’ll buy Mart out, or he can buy you out. And you’ll go back into business.”
“Using what for money?” Steve demanded, looking down at her wonderingly.
“Darling, you weren’t taken in by Mart’s story, were you? Why, Gunther & Cogswell is rolling in money. Simply rolling.”
There was a quick knot in his stomach, but he said, “I rather figured out that things were going a little better than he said, but even so I haven’t participated in the work for five years. I don’t exactly bleed for Mart, but I haven’t it in me to take him for the product of his work.”
She laughed scornfully. “Product of his work! Why, everything that’s developed since you left was the result of the outlines and plans you’d figured out for outfits like the Hammett chain in New England. You hadn’t been gone a week before they signed up, and as a result of that success, the other papers you’d done layouts for signed up, too. The firm is riding high now, with a dozen employees and more assignments than it can handle.”
“I see,” Steve said.
“So there you are.” Fay tossed her hands up happily. “I admit I was wrong, Steven. Completely wrong. You were the right man for me, all along. I just didn’t know it.” She looked at him archly. “You’ll admit, until yesterday you hadn’t let me know about your potentialities.”
He said without bothering to attempt kindness, “No, Fay. I have no feeling for you whatsoever.”
He couldn’t have been more emphatic had he slapped her face. She said, “But yesterday … you proved you loved me.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t come under the heading of love,” he said. “It’s no dice, Fay.”
For the second time in his life, he saw the self-possession that was usually Fay Hanlon’s dissolve into a shrieking, shrilling, hating, madwoman. The filth and obscenities flowed in an endless, breathless continuity from the white gash of her mouth.
Steve watched her a moment, wonderingly, unaffected and above it all. He wondered what kind of hell Mart Gunther had been through the past five year
s. Not that he cared.
He turned finally and left the trailer.
Steve Cogswell checked his wristwatch, then got back into the Citroën and drove to Nice and the Negresco Hotel. Mart Gunther hadn’t returned from Marseille, so Steve phoned Elaine, in Monaco, and gave her some routine instructions.
He sat in the lobby, smoking quietly, thinking things out.
When Mart Gunther entered, Steve called to him. The heavy-set man came over, a grin on his lardy face. “All set, Stevie,” he said. “I’ve got the papers and the five thousand. All I need is your signature, and the money is yours.”
Steve didn’t waste time on preliminaries. He said, flatly, “Fay told me the real worth of the firm, Mart.”
The other’s jaw dropped.
Steve pressed on. “I’m still willing to sell my half of the partnership, but not for five thousand.”
It had come too quickly for Mart Gunther to adjust to the situation. He sputtered now, “You named the figure yourself. You said five thousand. A deal is a deal.”
Steve didn’t even bother to smile. He shook his head. “Don’t be a fool, Mart. You were trying to cheat me. It didn’t work. What I’ll do is sell out to you for one-third of the real value of the firm.”
Mart still tried. “I’d say that was about five thousand.”
“Not from what Fay says, Mart. Just guessing, I’d say Gunther & Cogswell is pushing the million mark. At any rate, we can hire lawyers to take care of such details. My interest is getting out and the quicker the better. I’m demanding only one-third, rather than a full half because, admittedly, I’ve been out of it for the past five years. But give me any argument and I can get tougher in my stand.”
Mart Gunther’s plump lower lip went out in a pout, but he wasn’t stupid and knew when he’d had it. “I’ll kill that bitch,” he muttered.
Steve nodded pleasantly, “Good idea,” he said.
Mart snapped. “All right, it’s a deal. Can you come back to the States immediately and work out the details with me?”
Episode on the Riviera Page 13
