More Deadly Than The Male

"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.