William McGivern: The Seven File

Duke listened with a convincing show of interest, but all the while he was noting the position of doors and windows and light switches. He drew a plan of the room in his mind so that he could walk through them in the dark if necessary. Or run...

In the kitchen he opened a door that led onto a small porch. Steps went down to a garden, in which there was a playpen and sandbox.

“That’s wonderful for the kid,” he said, estimating the height of the brick wall at the back of the small yard.

“Yes, she loves it,” Kathleen said.

Duke stopped and raised his hand. “Hey, I think I hear her.”

She turned, listening, and then walked lightly and quickly down the hall to the foot of the front stairs. Duke took a key from his pocket and eased it into the lock of the kitchen door. The tumblers turned under pressure of his fingers.

“Maybe I imagined it,” he said, when she came back to the kitchen. Smiling at her, he shook his head. “When we had our first I never got a full night’s sleep. I used to keep popping in to see that he was still breathing.”

She laughed and said, “I know how that is.”

She was quite a dish, he thought, looking at her with more interest. A very nice bundle, but not for him. She had long, silky black hair, dark blue eyes and a complexion that was white and soft as doeskin. In the immaculate white uniform her body was excitingly virginal, lovely and trim and vulnerable. She was obviously one of the world’s innocents, he thought. But worth cultivating in spite of that. Or because of it, rather. It would be fun to take off her rose-colored glasses and let her take a good look at what the world was like. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with him anyway. He felt a little stab of envy for the man who would be in charge of that stage of her education.

“The nursery is at the head of the stairs,” she said, leading him along the hallway. “The phone is just beside it, in Mr. and Mrs. Bradley’s room.”

Duke let her move ahead of him on the stairs so that he could enjoy the view of her ankles. And it was quite a view, he thought. Even in low-heeled shoes and white nylons her legs were slim and beautiful. There were few girls who could do as well in sheer stockings and high heels. This was talent. She stopped at the landing and looked back at him. “I’m sorry,” she said, with a quick compassion in her voice. “I didn’t mean to rush you.”

It was difficult not to laugh; he could have taken these stairs in three strides. “I can get around as well as the next guy,” he said sharply. This went right through them, he knew. Proud, hating pity — it melted them down like butter.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, helplessly.

He put her at ease with a smile. “The guy who nicked me is even sorrier.”

“Was it the war?”

“Germany, a long time ago.” Still smiling, he said, “And now I’m more interested in what’s wrong with your boss’s phone. What’s over is over. That’s the nursery, eh?” he said, nodding at a door that stood a few inches ajar.

“Yes.”

Duke stared at the creamy white paneling, the shiny brass knob and hinges. Little Jill was sleeping in there — little Jill, the granddaughter of Oliphant Bradley, whose name was synonymous with directorates, banking firms, brokerage office and money — mustn’t forget plain, vulgar old money. Jill was a million-dollar baby without a doubt. Duke felt excitement stirring in him. The next time he stood here the house would be dark and silent...

“The phone is in the bedroom,” she said quietly.

“Sure,” he said, wondering if she had attached anything to his interest in the nursery.

The Bradleys were living it up, Duke thought, as he entered their bedroom. Housekeeper (off today, as he well knew), nurse, cute little baby, cute big house, money in the bank — living it up, yes indeed. There was a fireplace opposite the bed, and wall-to-wall carpeting that felt a foot thick under his heavy shoes.

The décor of the room was pink and black — humorously erotic, sex with a broad smile, modern and uninhibited. Real cute kids, he thought. This was information he could do without.

While he checked the phone and wiring Kathleen contributed a few more bits about the Bradleys. None of it struck him as essential or significant. They were delightful people, wonderful to everyone.

“Democratic, eh?” he said.

She felt the edge to his voice. “It’s not something they put on,” she said.

“Sure,” Duke said. He studied her with a crooked little smile. “You know something? You were smart to come to America.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because people in America like beautiful things.”

“And people in other countries don’t?”

“We put a higher price on them,” he said. “You’ll find that out.”

“Well, thanks for the warning,” she said lightly; but his words had brought a flush of color to her cheeks. She was aware of the hard and speculative interest in his eyes.

Duke knew he was behaving stupidly. Worse than that, dangerously. But the stillness of the house, the faint perfume of the bedroom, her innocent vulnerable beauty — they were working in him like whiskey on a cold day. A sensuous warmth was blunting the edge of his caution. “A girl like you could have the world for a cupcake,” he said. “You know that, I guess.”

“I haven’t thought about it,” she said evenly. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “Are you through in here?”

“Not quite,” he said, studying her with a hard, intent smile. His instincts warned him to clear out, but the call was muted and distant. He wasn’t thinking about playing it smart now. He was thinking that she had the whitest skin he had ever seen. And that his two hands would almost circle her waist.

Turning slowly, he moved between her and the door. And it was then the baby woke and began to cry. The girl stepped around him and hurried across the room. “I’m coming, honey,” she said in a cheerful, reassuring voice.

Duke let out his breath slowly and walked into the hall. His heart was pounding hard. “I’ll be leaving now,” he said, watching the half-open nursery door. He could hear the sleepy gurglings of the child.

“Did you find the trouble?” Her voice was friendly and impersonal. An act? He didn’t think so. She wasn’t that clever.

“No, it’s probably across the street on another circuit.”

“Will you let yourself out, please? I’ve got my hands full with Jill.”

“Sure thing. So long.”

Outside in the bright spring sunshine Duke took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his damp forehead. Fool, he thought, but without anger or rancor. Risking a deal that had been in the works for three months. And for what? A pair of good-looking legs and a healthy body. A real prize, he thought. There were probably only a million girls in the city with the same qualifications for immortality. But he wasn’t really annoyed with himself. He had always taken what he wanted — ignoring circumstances and consequences — and he wasn’t likely to change now. It was the exact moment of the present that he knew and savored.

Crossing the city to his hotel, he enjoyed the warm sun on his face and the sense of excitement generated by the hurrying crowds and noisy traffic. He felt absorbed in the millions of lives that were flowing around him, pleasurably sustained by the limitless promise of the city. Luxury, women, sensation — all of it crammed for convenience into a few square blocks. And all of it for sale; the city kept its promise to the rich. He knew that much. Only to the rich...

His hotel was in the west forties, a narrow, soot-colored building that looked as if it had been squeezed into place in the block. The street itself was gaudy and illicit, with its cheap bars and strip joints, suggesting the cleverly camouflaged entrances to a huge trap. At the lobby desk Duke picked up his keys and asked the clerk if there were any messages for him.