Rooms. If I’d been arrested like Roger, he’d have made a fuss.’
It seemed to him that there was something evasive about her answer. ‘You’re quite sure you’ve not told anybody, anybody at all, about me?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said irritably, ‘don’t be so –’
‘So what?’
‘Nothing.’ She kissed him. ‘But tell me. Are we going to do it or not?’
They were in a boat on the river, just below Richmond Bridge. She wore a white sleeveless frock that made her look cool, beautiful, young, and infinitely desirable. What are you hesitating for, he asked himself, you’re a lucky man.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re going to do it.’
Chapter Fifteen
Now that it was decided – although, as he continually reminded himself, he still retained the possibility of choice – he rang up Charlie Cash.
Charlie seemed pleased to hear from him. ‘Bill, boy. How’s tricks?’
‘All right. Charlie, do you remember talking to me a few weeks ago about currency fiddlers, saying it might be an idea to build a programme round one?’
‘I remember. But there isn’t a hope in hell of your doing that now, Bill.’
‘I know that. I’ve got an idea for a couple of newspaper articles that I might sell. What do you think?’
‘I suppose you might.’ Charlie did not sound encouraging.
‘You said at the time that you could get me an introduction to a couple of them.’
‘That’s right. Westmark and Dawes.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Nothing easier. But I honestly don’t see what you’ll get out of it. These are tough boys, you know. They play around with other things besides currency fiddling. It was a pretty crummy idea in the first place.’
‘Let me worry about that. If you can arrange for me to see one of them, Charlie, I’ll appreciate it. The name’s Smith, Bill Smith, and just say it’s a business deal, nothing more than that.’
‘What are you up to, Bill?’
‘I told you, I may be able to write a couple of articles.’
‘I know what you told me. It’s no skin off my nose, but I don’t like the sound of it. I’ll give you Westmark’s telephone number, that’s Theo Westmark. It’s an ex-directory number. You can say you got it from me. That’s as far as my name will take you. If you don’t have any luck with Westmark, try Dawes. I’ll give you his number too.’
He took down the numbers. ‘Thank you, Charlie. That’s a great help.’
‘You’re welcome.’ There was curtness, less in the words than in the way they were spoken.
Theo Westmark lived in a penthouse at the top of a small block of flats in Park Lane. There were gilt cupids in the lift, and three of its sides were covered with striped wallpaper. A Chinese girl opened the door of the flat. Her face was a cosmetic mask. The shape of her lips was completely obscured by a thick mass of lipstick formed into a huge, grotesque cupid’s bow. The effect was rather as though a moustache had been scrawled on to the photograph of a film star. The girl wore a long coat embroidered with what seemed to be some sort of shining stones. It was cut away at top and bottom like a morning coat, to reveal her breasts and thighs.
The girl murmured something, and left him. Inside the flat there was a rich, warm smell. Hunter felt as though he were inside a particularly spicy fruit cake. The little hall he stood in was dimly lighted by indirect shades on the walls. They illuminated, more than anything else, several pornographic drawings.
The Chinese girl came back and murmured again. Hunter followed her down a dimly-lighted corridor with more drawings on the walls. He walked through an open door into a huge room flooded with light. This room was furnished with elegant chairs and spindly sofas, all covered with striped brocade. There were several small, finicky, perfectly respectable paintings. China ornaments, shepherdesses and milkmaids, stood on shelves. One wall of the room was a great sheet of glass, a vast window
It seemed to him that there was something evasive about her answer. ‘You’re quite sure you’ve not told anybody, anybody at all, about me?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said irritably, ‘don’t be so –’
‘So what?’
‘Nothing.’ She kissed him. ‘But tell me. Are we going to do it or not?’
They were in a boat on the river, just below Richmond Bridge. She wore a white sleeveless frock that made her look cool, beautiful, young, and infinitely desirable. What are you hesitating for, he asked himself, you’re a lucky man.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re going to do it.’
Chapter Fifteen
Now that it was decided – although, as he continually reminded himself, he still retained the possibility of choice – he rang up Charlie Cash.
Charlie seemed pleased to hear from him. ‘Bill, boy. How’s tricks?’
‘All right. Charlie, do you remember talking to me a few weeks ago about currency fiddlers, saying it might be an idea to build a programme round one?’
‘I remember. But there isn’t a hope in hell of your doing that now, Bill.’
‘I know that. I’ve got an idea for a couple of newspaper articles that I might sell. What do you think?’
‘I suppose you might.’ Charlie did not sound encouraging.
‘You said at the time that you could get me an introduction to a couple of them.’
‘That’s right. Westmark and Dawes.’
‘Can you do that?’
‘Nothing easier. But I honestly don’t see what you’ll get out of it. These are tough boys, you know. They play around with other things besides currency fiddling. It was a pretty crummy idea in the first place.’
‘Let me worry about that. If you can arrange for me to see one of them, Charlie, I’ll appreciate it. The name’s Smith, Bill Smith, and just say it’s a business deal, nothing more than that.’
‘What are you up to, Bill?’
‘I told you, I may be able to write a couple of articles.’
‘I know what you told me. It’s no skin off my nose, but I don’t like the sound of it. I’ll give you Westmark’s telephone number, that’s Theo Westmark. It’s an ex-directory number. You can say you got it from me. That’s as far as my name will take you. If you don’t have any luck with Westmark, try Dawes. I’ll give you his number too.’
He took down the numbers. ‘Thank you, Charlie. That’s a great help.’
‘You’re welcome.’ There was curtness, less in the words than in the way they were spoken.
Theo Westmark lived in a penthouse at the top of a small block of flats in Park Lane. There were gilt cupids in the lift, and three of its sides were covered with striped wallpaper. A Chinese girl opened the door of the flat. Her face was a cosmetic mask. The shape of her lips was completely obscured by a thick mass of lipstick formed into a huge, grotesque cupid’s bow. The effect was rather as though a moustache had been scrawled on to the photograph of a film star. The girl wore a long coat embroidered with what seemed to be some sort of shining stones. It was cut away at top and bottom like a morning coat, to reveal her breasts and thighs.
The girl murmured something, and left him. Inside the flat there was a rich, warm smell. Hunter felt as though he were inside a particularly spicy fruit cake. The little hall he stood in was dimly lighted by indirect shades on the walls. They illuminated, more than anything else, several pornographic drawings.
The Chinese girl came back and murmured again. Hunter followed her down a dimly-lighted corridor with more drawings on the walls. He walked through an open door into a huge room flooded with light. This room was furnished with elegant chairs and spindly sofas, all covered with striped brocade. There were several small, finicky, perfectly respectable paintings. China ornaments, shepherdesses and milkmaids, stood on shelves. One wall of the room was a great sheet of glass, a vast window
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