James Chase - More Deadly Than the Male

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.