More Deadly Than The Male

She flicked the cigarette butt into the empty fireplace. "If I liked to go on the streets," she said, "I could earn a hundred pounds a week. I don't have to have specialized knowledge to do that."

"Why don't you?" George asked, interested to hear what she would say.

She smiled secretly. "Because it's too easy."

"I wonder."

"All right. Because I'm too proud. I've got other ideas."

"I don't understand how you two live. Does Sydney keep you?"

"You're curious, aren't you?"

George nodded. "I suppose I am. Well, perhaps I shouldn't ask."

"We get along. We've been getting along like this for a hell of a time . . . getting nowhere."

George stood over her. "You can't go on like this, Cora," he said. "I can't go on the way I'm going on now much longer. Couldn't we get together? You and me might do well if we stuck together."

"Think so?" she said, looking out of the window. "Well, there're things to do first. I've got other things on my mind . . . important things," and her hands closed into tight little fists.

She's thinking about tonight, George decided uneasily. In his burst of activity he had forgotten about Crispin and the two Greeks. Instantly his old fears returned.

"I say, Cora," he said, moving over to the fireplace, "shouldn't we leave had alone? I mean there might be more trouble." He glanced in the mirror at the plaster strips on his face. "They're a pretty rough crowd."

"If you expect us to stick together," Cora said slowly, "you'll have to show a little more guts. I don't like men without spine." She stood up and, turning her back, she pulled her dressing-gown aside. "Take a look, George."

He had one momentary glimpse of the red and black marks on her white flesh before she jerked the dressing- gown into place: a sight that sickened him, angered him and embarrassed him.

She faced him, her eyes probing and cold. "Well?"

"Oh, Cora," he said, going to her. He put his arms round her, but she was hard and resisting. She pushed him away.

"Not now, George," she said impatiently. "All that can come when this business is over." She glanced up at him. "If you really care for me, you're not going to let Crispin get away with this. You've talked a lot about what you did in the States. I want to see what you can do here. When I've seen that, I could be very nice to you." Her eyes came alive for a moment. "Very nice to you," she repeated.

This was too important to George for any misunderstanding. He clutched her hands.

"I'll do anything for you, Cora," he said, looking wildly into her eyes for her assurance. "If I do that, you will be nice to me? You will be really nice?" He wanted to say, "You're promising to give yourself to me?" but he hadn't the courage to come out with it as bluntly as that.

She seemed to know what was in his mind, because she gave him an unmistakable look of promise.

"You won't he disappointed, George," she said. "I don't like men messing me about, but you're different. You'll get your reward."

Later, they went out for a snack. George wanted to take the gun, but Cora wouldn't let him "Leave it there," she said, a little sharply. "It won't run away."

He walked a step behind her, and glanced from time to time at her with secret pride. The pale blue sweater had shrunk a trifle, but it looked bright. The slacks had a knife- edge crease which he had put in with great care, using an old-fashioned flat-iron he had found in the kitchen. Her hair was sleek and glossy. She had taken pains to put her lipstick on neatly. He thought she looked lovely.

Although she did not complain, she walked stiffly, but she held her head high, and she had lost none of her arrogance.

They went to the pub at the corner of the street and leaned up against the bar. They ordered pints of bitter and sausage rolls.

"This is fun, isn't it?" George said, in seventh heaven.

She flicked a flake of pastry from her mouth and grimaced. "Think so?" she said, biting into the sausage roll again.

"I suppose it's nothing to you," he said, hurt; "only I've been lonely for a long time. Having a girl like you for company means a lot to me."

She raised the beer glass and drank, gazing at him with thoughtful eyes over the top of it. She put the glass down and drew a deep breath.

"You're a sentimental fool, aren't you?"

He looked to see if she were jeering at him, but she was serious in an unexpectedly kind way.

"I suppose I am." He brooded, looking down at his shoes. "But there's nothing wrong in that. I know people sneer at sentimentality, but they're usually pretty unhappy themselves."

She wasn't listening to him. Her attention was centred on a short man who had just come in. George followed her gaze. He recognized the man. It was Little Ernie.

Little Ernie joined them. "My word!" he said, staring at George, "has she been making love to you?"

George didn't say anything.

"For Gawd's sake," Little Ernie went on to Cora, "what's 'append to the bloke? Saw 'im a week ago, and 'e was as lovely as an oil painting. Look at 'im now."

"Dry up, Ernie," Cora said. "He's been in the wars."