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.

George had sat by the window with his overcoat over his legs and his feet up on a chair They finished the beer and had talked. She had asked him to tell her about his adventures in the States. George was too happy to be cautious. So he began to talk. Everything he had read about the gang wars of America was marshalled and trotted out as his own adventures. Never had he been so inspired. He had described how he had been one of the first to arrive at the little cabin in the hills where Ma Barker and her son had made their last stand.

“I’ll never forget that day,” he said, looking out of the window as he tried to remember what he had read of Ma Barker’s death. “We arrived early one morning. There was a ground mist, and we got right up to the cabin without being seen. I was with a bunch of G-men, and they were jittery. I didn’t blame them, because hell was likely to break loose any minute.

“I’d had some experience working on both sides of the fence, and I had been in some pretty tough spots. If Fred Barker hadn’t played me a dirty trick, I wouldn’t have been hunting him with the Feds. At that time I was out for excitement, and I didn’t care which side I was on, so long as I got into a scrap.

“The Feds didn’t want a battle, but they hadn’t the nerve to call on Ma to give up. So I offered to do it. I wanted to show them I had more guts than they.

“I walked to the door of the cabin. I don’t mind telling you my knees were knocking.

“I hammered on the door. Ma Barker, a Tommy-gun half hidden behind her back, appeared at the window. I could see her wrinkles, her narrowed eyes and the wattles on her sagging neck.

‘’Come on, Ma,’ I said. ‘You know me. You’re caught, and you might just as well come quietly.’

‘To hell with you!’ she yelled and ducked out of sight.

“Then Fred opened up with a machine-gun. I thought I was a goner. Slugs nipped at my clothes and splattered my shoes with dust. It was a pretty tough moment. One of the Feds started grinding his machine-gun, and that put Fred off. I got under cover with slugs still chasing me.

“We fought it out for over an hour, but they didn’t stand a chance A burst of automatic rifle fire caught Ma as she was peering through the window. When we found Fred, he had fourteen slugs in his carcass.”

So he had gone on. He paraded them all before her—BabyFace Nelson, Frank Nash, Roger Touhy, Jake Fleagle; violence, shooting, racing cars, police sirens. He had never done better.

“And they took me for a ride,” he went on, scowling at the ceiling. “Me! They took me in a wood, and they said I was washed up. There were three of them. There was a guy called Wineinger. I can see him now. A pot-bellied little runt, with a scar where someone had bashed him with a bottle. There was Clyde Barrow, thin and mean, with ears like a bat. And Gustave Banghart. They were a dangerous, tough mob, and it didn’t look so good. I hadn’t anything to lose, so I jumped Wineinger and got his rod. It was the fastest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I came out of that wood on my feet, and I came out alone.”

Oh yes, he had never been better, and she had listened without moving, absorbed, excited. Her intent interest had been a spur to his imagination.

“I’m glad you told me,” she had said, when he finally stopped talking. “It was what I expected of you.”

Then he had edged the conversation round to Sydney. He wanted to know more about Sydney—what he did, where he lived, how Cora and he got on together.

But she didn’t tell him much. She suddenly became guarded. She said she didn’t know much about Sydney herself. He didn’t tell her things. Look at that nine pounds! He hadn’t told her about that. Didn’t that show how secretive he was? They never had any money—at least, that was what Sydney always told her. He was supposed to be the breadwinner. She didn’t do anything except keep the flat. Yes, they had a flat off Russell Square. George must see it one day. Sydney didn’t welcome visitors. He wasn’t sociable, but when he was away, George must come.

George had a vague feeling that Cora was frightened of Sydney. “He’s very domineering,” she said, “and we fight.”

But when he pressed her for details, she rather pointedly changed the subject.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” she said, settling further down in the bed. “I was late last night.”

George eased himself in his chair. It wasn’t a bit comfortable now he was trying to make a bed of it.

“I hope you sleep well,” he said. “What time do you want to be called in the morning?”

“Oh, I’ll wake up. I always do,” she returned.

“I say…” George said, after a moment’s silence, “won’t Sydney worry where you are?”

“He doesn’t worry about me. He doesn’t worry about anyone,” Cora said. “He’s a bit touched, if you must know.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” George protested.

“Well, I would.”

“How did he get that scar?” George asked, at last screwing up courage to ask something that had been worrying him for days. “He’s very sensitive about it, isn’t he?”

“He had an accident,” Cora said shortly.

“I thought it was something like that,” George said, still curious. “It was pretty recent, wasn’t it?”

Cora didn’t say anything.

After a moment’s hesitation, George went on, “How did it happen?”

“He’s got enemies,” Cora said.

George looked up, startled. “Enemies?” he repeated blankly.

“Look here, I want to go to sleep,” Cora said sharply. “I wish you’d turn out the light.”

George got up from his chair and crossed the room to the light switch. He paused as he passed her bed. “Comfortable?” he asked, thinking how lovely she looked.

“Yes. Now please put out the light.”

George sighed. How much nicer it would have been if she wasn’t quite so matter of fact. It was as if she was used to sleeping in strange men’s rooms. George didn’t want to go to sleep. It was all too exciting. He wanted to sit on her bed and watch her, even if she didn’t wish to talk.

But he put out the light and groped his way back to his chair.

“I don’t suppose this means anything to you,” he blurted out after a long silence.

“Oh, God!” she said impatiently. “Can’t you sleep? What means nothing to me?”

“Being here…” George was glad it was dark. He felt the irritating flush mounting to his face. “I’ve never had a girl in my room before.”

“You’re a simple soul, aren’t you?” she said. “Are you getting a kick out of this?”

George warmed to her immediately. So she could be kind in a rather patronizing way!

“Of course I am,” he said, and encouraged by the darkness, he went on, a little haltingly. “This has been a marvellous evening for me. I don’t suppose you realize what it means to me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, perhaps you do; but you’re not lonely like I am. I spend most of my time on my own. I don’t know why, but I just don’t seem to make friends. I haven’t met anyone I wanted to make my friend— until now.” He coughed nervously, alarmed at his own rashness. Well, he had said it now. He almost cringed while waiting for her to reply. Was she going to be kind?

She didn’t say anything.

George waited anxiously, and then realized, with a sense of frustration, that she wasn’t going to reply.

“I expect you think I’m a hit of a fool,” he said, a little bitterly. “I suppose I am really. I suppose most people would think I’m a bit soft being so fond of Leo—he’s my cat. It’s funny about Leo. I used to think people were a bit soft myself, being fond of animals; but somehow Leo’s different.” He stared into the darkness, trying to see her. “It’s when you’re lonely, you know. Animals seem to understand. They don’t demand anything from you. If you don’t feel like talking, they just sit with you. If you want to go out, they don’t mind. Leo’s jolly good company, but of course it isn’t the same as having someone you can really talk to. Is it?”

She still didn’t reply.

He waited a moment and repeated a little louder, “Is it?”

“Is what?” she asked sleepily.

“Oh, nothing; you’re nearly asleep, aren’t you? I’m sorry. But it’s not often I get anyone to talk to.”

“That’s pretty obvious,” she said tartly, turning on her side. “You’d talk a donkey’s hind leg off.”

But he couldn’t let her go to sleep just yet. It was only eleven o’clock, and it seemed such a wicked waste of a marvellous opportunity, just to sleep.

“I say, Cora,” he said, lighting a cigarette.

“Hmmm?”

“Shall I see you again after this?”

He could just make out her head lifting off the pillow. “If you’re going to smoke I may as well have one, too,” she said. “Then I am going to sleep, and if you disturb me again I’ll throw you out of the room.”

He hurried across the room and gave her a cigarette. The flickering flame of the match lit up her face. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and tired, expressionless.

“You don’t mind me calling you Cora, do you?” George went on, bending over her.

“Call me what you like,” she said, lying back on the pillow. The tip of the cigarette glowed red, and he could just see her straight, small Roman nose.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Shall I see you again after this?” he repeated, because it was something important, something that was preying on his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing her again.

“I suppose so,” she returned indifferently; “only Sydney doesn’t like people hanging around.”

“Doesn’t he?” George was startled. “Why not?”

“You’d better ask him.”

“But that needn’t mean we won’t see each other again, will it?”

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. “Surely a fellow like you has got dozens of girls.”

“I haven’t,” George said, too anxious to keep in character. “I don’t like women as a rule. But you’re different.”

“Am I?” There was a slight note of interest in her voice. “What do you mean?”

George hesitated. What exactly did he mean? He wasn’t sure himself. She was beautiful, of course. But was that all that mattered so much to him? He didn’t think so. There was something else. There was something strong about her, independent; she was someone he could rely on.

“I think you’re wonderful,” he said slowly. “You’re the most astonishing person I have ever met.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said, almost gently. “Of course I’m not.”

Encouraged by her tone, George said, “But you are. You’re lovely. You’re so independent and headstrong. You know your own mind. You—you’re interesting.”

She lay silent for a long time. George wondered uneasily if he had offended her. Then she said, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”

George clenched his fists. In love with her? He was mad about her!

“Oh yes,” he said. “I’m in love with you. The moment I saw you…”

“Men are fools, aren’t they?” she said in a confidential tone, as if she was speaking to another woman “The men who have said that to me! Hundreds of them!”

“I’m sure of that,” George said, sighing. “But it needn’t matter to you, need it? I mean a girl like you wouldn’t be bothered with anyone like me.”

“You’re a bit spineless, aren’t you?” Cora said, flicking ash on the floor. There was contempt in her voice.

“I suppose I am,” George said, crushed. “You see, I’m not used to women. I don’t understand them.”

“Well, at the rate you’re going on, you never will,” she returned. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be bothered with you?”

George shrugged. “Well, you won’t, will you?”

“What does that mean? You won’t, will you?”

“What’s the good of talking about it? You asked me if I loved you, and I said I did. You don’t love me, do you?”

“Of course I don’t,” she returned, “but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t love you, does it?”

George stared at her. “What was that?”

“Don’t he so dumb!” There was an impatient note in her voice. “I said that doesn’t mean I couldn’t love you, does it?”

“Could you?”

“Not if you behave like a stuffed hull. A girl likes a little action now and then.”

George could scarcely believe his ears. “Action?” he repeated blankly.

“My God!” she exclaimed, and suddenly laughed. “I don’t believe it’s possible! You’re nothing but a schoolboy! Why don’t you grow up?”

He began to tremble. God! He was making a mess of this, he thought desperately. What a stupid fool he was! She was inviting him to make love to her, and all he could do was to sit and tremble!

“What’s the matter?” she asked sharply. “Aren’t you well?”

“I’m all right,” he said, and suddenly reached out for her hand. It felt cool and slim in his burning great paw. “Cora! I say, Cora…” and he pulled her upright and kissed her clumsily.

She made no move, leaning back against his arm, her face a white blur in the darkness. Her perfume intoxicated him, the touch of her smooth cheek against his lips sent blood pounding in his ears.

“I do love you so,” he said, and kissed her throat, holding her against him tightly.

They remained like that for a minute or two, then she pushed him away.

“All right, George,” she said, “now back to your chair. That’ll do for one night. It seems you can grow up when you want to.”

He didn’t want to go, and took hold of her hand.

“Be nice to me, Cora,” he pleaded. “Let me kiss you again.”

“I said that’s enough,” she said sharply. “Here, put this somewhere,” and she gave him her cigarette butt. He took it and crossed the room to the fireplace. His legs felt weak, and he was in a kind of stupor. When he had got rid of the cigarette butt he stood at the foot of the bed, looking into the darkness where she was.

“We will meet again, won’t we?” he said, terrified now that this experience was going to slip through his fingers, like all the dreams he had ever had.

“We’ll meet,” she returned, yawning, “and now I’m going to sleep.”

“But what about Sydney? What shall we do about him?”

“He needn’t know.”

This excited him almost as much as when she had said that she might cone to love him. Having a secret between them—a secret from Sydney—seemed to seal the bond of their relationship.

“Are you on the ’phone?”

“Yes I am.”

“Can I ring you sometimes? We might go out one night.”

“All right.”

“I’d better make a note of the number,” George felt feverishly in his pocket for a pencil.

“It’s in the book, Harris & Son, greengrocer. We’ve got a place above the shop.”

“That’s wonderful. Harris & Son. That’s easy to remember, isn’t it?”

“Now for God’s sake go to sleep,” Cora said. “If you dare say another word I’ll really be angry with you!”

“All right,” George said, satisfied. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she returned shortly, and he heard her turn over in the bed.

He groped his way to the chair and settled down. He glanced out of the window. It had stopped raining, and a misty moon floated in the sky. The pavements looked black and shiny in the street lights. In the distance a clock struck the half hour after eleven.

George shut his eyes. He was too excited to sleep. The whole of his cramped, lonely world had suddenly opened up like a gay sunshade. What an evening it had been! His life was going to be very different now. With Cora, he need never be lonely again. Whenever he wanted someone to talk to, he could ring her up. If he hadn’t enough money to take her out, he could always have a few words with her on the ’phone. There was a telephone box at the corner of his street. There would be no need to stand in the passage in the basement, for everyone to hear what he had to say to her. Marvellous things, telephone boxes, he thought. Little houses of glass where you could talk to the one you loved, see the people passing, and knowing they could not overhear what you had to say. You need never be lonely if there was a telephone box handy and a girl like Cora at the other end of the line.

He had been a hit of a fool with her. But he had been lucky. Or rather she had been pretty decent about it. “A girl likes a little action now and then.” Fancy her saying that! Well, he wouldn’t wait for such an invitation again. Not he! He’d take her in his arms and kiss her right off next time they met. What was it she called him a stuffed hull? Well, she wouldn’t have to call him that again. She was marvellous! Simply smashing! And Sydney wasn’t to know about it. Queer about Sydney. What did she mean about “enemies"? What enemies? “He’s got enemies,” she had said when he had asked how Sydney had got the scar. What an odd thing to say! He looked furtively across the room at the bed. He wanted to ask her to explain. Better not, he thought. She’s got a temper all right, and it wouldn’t do to provoke her again. No, that was something he would ask her the next time they met. He’d ring her tomorrow, just to show that he hadn’t forgotten her… as if he ever could! Yes, he’d ring her tomorrow.

Eventually he went to sleep, and when he woke at six o’clock the next morning, feeling stiff and cold, she had gone.