walked restlessly over to the window. A policeman passed under the lamp outside, his cape streaming with rain, and Jenny Green said quietly, ‘You’re in some sort of trouble, aren’t you? Real trouble, I mean.’
He turned and faced her with a slight smile. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’
She nodded slowly. ‘You look the kind of man who could handle most things.’
There was an expression that was almost amusement in her eyes and his throat went dry. He drew a deep breath and said, ‘I suppose I’d better be going. It’s getting late.’
She smiled faintly. ‘Must you? You can stay here. I’ve got plenty of room.’
He shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer, but there might be an important message waiting for me back at my hotel.’
She moved very close to him and looked up into his face. ‘I saw you in the mirror watching me undress.’
He clenched his hands and tried to keep his voice steady. ‘I just happened to be passing the door.’
She chuckled deep down in her throat. ‘Why do you think I left the door open?’
His palms were moist, and in his stomach a knot slowly hardened. When he gripped her arms, his hands were trembling. ‘It’s been a long time, Jenny. A hell of a long time.’
She reached up on tiptoe and gently kissed him on the mouth. ‘Give me two minutes,’ she said and disappeared into the bedroom.
He stood gazing into space for a moment, and then he picked up his trench-coat and walked to the door. As he started to open it she called softly to him. He hesitated for a moment, and then, with a smothered curse, threw down his coat and crossed to the bedroom in three quick strides.
For a moment, as he stood in the doorway, he caught a breath-taking glimpse of her lying there waiting for him, and then she switched off the lamp and laughed softly at him from the darkness.
10
H E awoke shortly after dawn. Rain had drifted in through the partly opened window during the night, and damp curtains flapped listlessly in a slight breeze. The girl was sleeping, head turned slightly away from him, black hair spread across the pillow. He felt completely relaxed and content, and after a while he drifted into sleep again.
When he next awoke he was alone. There was a note on the pillow to say that she’d gone to the club for the lunch-time show. He glanced at his watch. It was almost twelve-thirty and he swore softly, remembering his appointment with Laura Faulkner.
He dressed quickly, and then went into the kitchen and snatched a hasty breakfast of coffee and toast. Twenty minutes later he left the flat and walked briskly into the centre of the town until he came to a taxi rank.
The fog had lifted a little, but it was still raining steadily when he left the cab outside her house and walked towards the front door. Somehow the place looked more neglected and run down than ever, and he followed the path around to the back of the house and walked down towards her studio.
He mounted the steps, and as he paused outside the door the Dobermann growled. He opened the door and stepped inside.
She was working at the easel, a look of concentration on her face, and as he entered she blushed like a young girl, as if remembering how they had parted the previous night.
‘Hallo, Martin,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you could come.’
She was wearing the tartan trews and the Spanish shirt knotted at her waist, and it came to him, almost with a sense of wonder, that she was beautiful.
When he spoke his voice sounded calm and easy. ‘I almost didn’t make it. I overslept.’
She raised her eyebrows slightly. ‘Didn’t you go to bed when I left you?’
He lit a cigarette and said calmly, ‘As a matter of fact I had rather an unsettling night. When I got back to my room I found I’d had a visitor.’
Her eyes were suddenly wary, but she kept her gaze studiously on the painting. ‘And who was that?’
He moved across the room until he was standing looking over her shoulder. ‘Whoever it was,
He turned and faced her with a slight smile. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’
She nodded slowly. ‘You look the kind of man who could handle most things.’
There was an expression that was almost amusement in her eyes and his throat went dry. He drew a deep breath and said, ‘I suppose I’d better be going. It’s getting late.’
She smiled faintly. ‘Must you? You can stay here. I’ve got plenty of room.’
He shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer, but there might be an important message waiting for me back at my hotel.’
She moved very close to him and looked up into his face. ‘I saw you in the mirror watching me undress.’
He clenched his hands and tried to keep his voice steady. ‘I just happened to be passing the door.’
She chuckled deep down in her throat. ‘Why do you think I left the door open?’
His palms were moist, and in his stomach a knot slowly hardened. When he gripped her arms, his hands were trembling. ‘It’s been a long time, Jenny. A hell of a long time.’
She reached up on tiptoe and gently kissed him on the mouth. ‘Give me two minutes,’ she said and disappeared into the bedroom.
He stood gazing into space for a moment, and then he picked up his trench-coat and walked to the door. As he started to open it she called softly to him. He hesitated for a moment, and then, with a smothered curse, threw down his coat and crossed to the bedroom in three quick strides.
For a moment, as he stood in the doorway, he caught a breath-taking glimpse of her lying there waiting for him, and then she switched off the lamp and laughed softly at him from the darkness.
10
H E awoke shortly after dawn. Rain had drifted in through the partly opened window during the night, and damp curtains flapped listlessly in a slight breeze. The girl was sleeping, head turned slightly away from him, black hair spread across the pillow. He felt completely relaxed and content, and after a while he drifted into sleep again.
When he next awoke he was alone. There was a note on the pillow to say that she’d gone to the club for the lunch-time show. He glanced at his watch. It was almost twelve-thirty and he swore softly, remembering his appointment with Laura Faulkner.
He dressed quickly, and then went into the kitchen and snatched a hasty breakfast of coffee and toast. Twenty minutes later he left the flat and walked briskly into the centre of the town until he came to a taxi rank.
The fog had lifted a little, but it was still raining steadily when he left the cab outside her house and walked towards the front door. Somehow the place looked more neglected and run down than ever, and he followed the path around to the back of the house and walked down towards her studio.
He mounted the steps, and as he paused outside the door the Dobermann growled. He opened the door and stepped inside.
She was working at the easel, a look of concentration on her face, and as he entered she blushed like a young girl, as if remembering how they had parted the previous night.
‘Hallo, Martin,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you could come.’
She was wearing the tartan trews and the Spanish shirt knotted at her waist, and it came to him, almost with a sense of wonder, that she was beautiful.
When he spoke his voice sounded calm and easy. ‘I almost didn’t make it. I overslept.’
She raised her eyebrows slightly. ‘Didn’t you go to bed when I left you?’
He lit a cigarette and said calmly, ‘As a matter of fact I had rather an unsettling night. When I got back to my room I found I’d had a visitor.’
Her eyes were suddenly wary, but she kept her gaze studiously on the painting. ‘And who was that?’
He moved across the room until he was standing looking over her shoulder. ‘Whoever it was,
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