too, but she didn’t.
‘Was it the best ever, Chris? It was for me.’
He resigned himself. She was going to talk and he had to put up with it.
‘Yes . . . the best ever.’
A pause, then she said, ‘Would you say something for me?’
‘What?’ He tried to control the impatience in his voice, but didn’t quite succeed.
‘Please say this: I, Chris Patterson, consider Sheila Oldhill the best lay he has ever had.’
The ideas women get! he thought.
‘Look, darling, I’d like to sleep a little. Then we can start this all over again. How about it?’
‘Say it for me, please, Chris. I want to hear you say it, then we’ll sleep . . . I promise.’
God! Women! he thought, then for the sake of peace, he intoned without much enthusiasm, ‘I, Christopher Patterson, think Sheila Oldhill the most marvellous, wonderful and exciting woman I have ever slept with. How’s that?’
Thinking of Bromhead with his tape recorder, sitting in his Mini-Austin Cooper Mrs. Morely-Johnson had given him as a runabout, Sheila was satisfied.
‘Thank you, darling. Maybe I’m a little stupid, but I did want to hear you say that. . . now go to sleep.’
Patterson drifted off into a light sleep while Sheila waited.
She let him sleep for half an hour, then she got off the bed and took a shower. She thought of Bromhead waiting out there.
‘Don’t rush anything,’ he had said as he had given her the microphone. ‘Remember . . . this is a chance in a lifetime.’
As she came out of the shower room, leaving the door wide open so the light brightened the shadows of the bedroom, Patterson woke. He sat up.
‘What are you up to?’
‘I’ve had a shower.’ She came across the room, naked with the light behind her and he felt desire for her rise in him.
‘Come here.’
‘Chris . . . I want to talk to you.’
‘Not now . . . come here.’
She put on the bathrobe the motel supplied.
‘Chris . . . do you realize how dangerous this is and do you realize it can’t happen again?’
‘What do you mean . . . dangerous?’
‘Dangerous to you.’
‘Oh, come on, Sheila. You mean the bank? Nonsense. This place is a hundred percent safe.’
‘I don’t mean the bank. I mean Mrs. Morely-Johnson.’
‘Dangerous? What’s all this, Sheila?’
‘She’s in love with you.’
‘Oh, nonsense. I know she’s a sexy old thing. In her heyday, she had lovers by the dozens, but now she’s seventy-eight, for God’s sake!’ Patterson laughed. ‘Of course she regards me as her Prince Charming, but that means nothing . . . to me. I go along with her. I have to: it’s part of my job. I don’t mind telling you when she turns girlish she bores me sick.’ He suddenly
realized he was talking too much. ‘Come here, darling. We’re wasting time.’
‘There’s time.’ She came over to the bed and sat on it, keeping away from him. She wasn’t sure about the strength of the microphone although Bromhead had assured her that it would pick up every sound in the cabin. ‘If she ever found out about us, it would hurt her. You realize that, Chris?’
‘How could she find out? This isn’t the time for this kind of talk.’ He switched on the bedside lamp and half raised himself to stare at her. She had gone remote on him. Her quiet, calm expression had come back and he realized her barrier had come up again between them. For no reason he could quite put his finger on, he began to feel uneasy. ‘What’s the matter, Sheila?’
‘I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘I have seen you with the old lady. Are you acting all the time? You are so nice to her . . . so charming . . . yet you say she bores you sick.’
‘Do we have to discuss this stupid old woman right now?’ Patterson demanded, losing patience. ‘Come here! I want you!’
‘Do you think she’s stupid?’
‘Well, don’t you?’ Patterson was becoming exasperated. ‘Do you want me to spell it out? At the age of seventy-eight, she is vain, half-blind, gushing
‘Was it the best ever, Chris? It was for me.’
He resigned himself. She was going to talk and he had to put up with it.
‘Yes . . . the best ever.’
A pause, then she said, ‘Would you say something for me?’
‘What?’ He tried to control the impatience in his voice, but didn’t quite succeed.
‘Please say this: I, Chris Patterson, consider Sheila Oldhill the best lay he has ever had.’
The ideas women get! he thought.
‘Look, darling, I’d like to sleep a little. Then we can start this all over again. How about it?’
‘Say it for me, please, Chris. I want to hear you say it, then we’ll sleep . . . I promise.’
God! Women! he thought, then for the sake of peace, he intoned without much enthusiasm, ‘I, Christopher Patterson, think Sheila Oldhill the most marvellous, wonderful and exciting woman I have ever slept with. How’s that?’
Thinking of Bromhead with his tape recorder, sitting in his Mini-Austin Cooper Mrs. Morely-Johnson had given him as a runabout, Sheila was satisfied.
‘Thank you, darling. Maybe I’m a little stupid, but I did want to hear you say that. . . now go to sleep.’
Patterson drifted off into a light sleep while Sheila waited.
She let him sleep for half an hour, then she got off the bed and took a shower. She thought of Bromhead waiting out there.
‘Don’t rush anything,’ he had said as he had given her the microphone. ‘Remember . . . this is a chance in a lifetime.’
As she came out of the shower room, leaving the door wide open so the light brightened the shadows of the bedroom, Patterson woke. He sat up.
‘What are you up to?’
‘I’ve had a shower.’ She came across the room, naked with the light behind her and he felt desire for her rise in him.
‘Come here.’
‘Chris . . . I want to talk to you.’
‘Not now . . . come here.’
She put on the bathrobe the motel supplied.
‘Chris . . . do you realize how dangerous this is and do you realize it can’t happen again?’
‘What do you mean . . . dangerous?’
‘Dangerous to you.’
‘Oh, come on, Sheila. You mean the bank? Nonsense. This place is a hundred percent safe.’
‘I don’t mean the bank. I mean Mrs. Morely-Johnson.’
‘Dangerous? What’s all this, Sheila?’
‘She’s in love with you.’
‘Oh, nonsense. I know she’s a sexy old thing. In her heyday, she had lovers by the dozens, but now she’s seventy-eight, for God’s sake!’ Patterson laughed. ‘Of course she regards me as her Prince Charming, but that means nothing . . . to me. I go along with her. I have to: it’s part of my job. I don’t mind telling you when she turns girlish she bores me sick.’ He suddenly
realized he was talking too much. ‘Come here, darling. We’re wasting time.’
‘There’s time.’ She came over to the bed and sat on it, keeping away from him. She wasn’t sure about the strength of the microphone although Bromhead had assured her that it would pick up every sound in the cabin. ‘If she ever found out about us, it would hurt her. You realize that, Chris?’
‘How could she find out? This isn’t the time for this kind of talk.’ He switched on the bedside lamp and half raised himself to stare at her. She had gone remote on him. Her quiet, calm expression had come back and he realized her barrier had come up again between them. For no reason he could quite put his finger on, he began to feel uneasy. ‘What’s the matter, Sheila?’
‘I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘I have seen you with the old lady. Are you acting all the time? You are so nice to her . . . so charming . . . yet you say she bores you sick.’
‘Do we have to discuss this stupid old woman right now?’ Patterson demanded, losing patience. ‘Come here! I want you!’
‘Do you think she’s stupid?’
‘Well, don’t you?’ Patterson was becoming exasperated. ‘Do you want me to spell it out? At the age of seventy-eight, she is vain, half-blind, gushing
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