Well Now My Pretty

She looked thoughtfully at him, thinking this was a step in the right direction. At least he was becoming co-operative.

"We wait. In a few months' time it will be safe to move it out of here. They can't keep the road blocks going for ever. When things cool down, we'll blow."

Tom ran sweating fingers through his hair.

"So? What the hell do we do with this right now? Leave it here?"

"No . . . we'll bury it. That patch of ground under the kitchen window . . . we'll bury it there."

He stared at her, worried. She seemed to have an answer for everything.

"You realise we could go to jail for twenty years?"

"You realise we now own two and a half million dollars?"

Tom got to his feet. She was too strong for him. Maybe she could steer this thing right. He knew he was doing wrong, but even against his pricking conscience, the thought of owning all this money was too much for him.

"Okay. This is your funeral. I've got to go. Look at the time. I'm late already. What are we going to do with this box right now?"

Sheila hesitated, then said, "Let's put it in the spare bedroom. We can cover it with the eiderdown."

"If we are going to go through with this, you will be chained to this house. You can't go out. You realise this?"

"Do you think that's so rough? Keeping watch over this kind of money isn't a hardship."

"It could go on for months."

"So, okay. I'll stay right here for months."

He hesitated, then gave up.

"I still think we're playing this wrong. We should tell the police."

"I told you . . . I'm handling this. We don't tell the police."

He stared at her, then raised his hands helplessly. He knew he was being weak . . . stupid . . . but all this money. . .

"Well, all right."

"Let's get it in the bedroom."

They dragged the carton into their bedroom and pushed it against the wall. Sheila took the eiderdown off the bed and draped it over the carton.

"You get off. You'd better bring something in for supper." Tom felt a sudden overpowering desire for her.

"If we are going through with this together," he said, his voice shaking and husky, "then we'd better go the whole way."

She recognised the despairing desire in his eyes and she once again recognised her complete power over him.

"Oh, well . . . if you must."

She slid down her slacks and stripped off her panties. Then she dropped back flat across the bed. When he thrust into her with desperate urgency, she clutched hold of him, making a response to please and control him. As he shuddered, clinging to her, she stared up at the fly-blown ceiling, so bored with him she could scream.

When he had gone, she took a shower. Then walking, naked, into the bedroom, she took the eiderdown off the carton and squatting on her heels, she spent a long time fondling the money.

Here, she thought, was power . . . the key to unlock the door that would lead into the world she had always dreamed about. Her first buy would be a mink coat, then a diamond necklace, and then every other jewel that caught her eye. She thought of a six-bedroom house with a bathroom to every bedroom, a vast lounge, a big garden, immaculately kept by Chinese labour. Then a maroon-coloured Bentley car and a Japanese chauffeur in a maroon-coloured uniform. There would be a motor-boat, of course: possibly a yacht. She wasn't sure about this as she had never been on the sea. She had it all planned: it was a dream she had had ever since she could remember. Well, now it was within reach.

She stood up, running her long fingers over her body, lifting her breasts, and sighing. Then she began to dress.

Somewhere along the line, Tom would have to go. He didn't fit in the picture. He was too small-time . . . too narrow . . . too scared. She had in mind a dark, tall, well-built man who would know how to handle money, who would have the respect of head waiters, and who would know how to take care of a girl. Yes, some time in the future, she must lose Tom, but the time hadn't come yet.

Unable to resist the temptation, she took three five-hundreddollar bills from the carton, then she closed the lid and replaced the eiderdown. She slid the folded bills down the top of one of her stockings. It was exciting to feel so much money pressing against her skin.

She went to her wardrobe and regarded the contents with contempt. God! What a collection of ghastly rags! She put on a pleated grey skirt and a cream-coloured sweater.

Having done her face and hair, she walked into the sitting-room. She looked at her cheap wristwatch. It was a few minutes after eleven-thirty. Tom wouldn't be back until six. Usually, she went out, but now she found herself chained to the bungalow. There was nothing to read in the house. She frowned, suddenly realising that from now on until they left the bungalow for good she would be a prisoner here. With all that money to spend . . . what a waste of time!