She sat up in alarm. “Don’t do that, Clive . . . you’re not to!”
“Don’t get excited,” I said. “You’ll get ‘em back.”
I folded the blankets so that I had only two over me. The rest I laid on her side. “How’s that?”
She curled down in the bed again. “Mmmmm,” she sighed. “I’ve got an awful head. Was I tight last night?”
“You ought to’ve been.”
“I think I was.” She stretched luxuriously. “Oh, I’m so tired. Do go to sleep, Clive.”
My mouth felt stale. I wished I could ring for Russell and have coffee. Obviously there was no service here.
She looked up. “Do you want coffee?”
I brightened. “Not a bad idea.”
“Well, put the kettle on. Marty’s left it all ready,” and she drew the blankets to her chin.
It was a long time since I had made coffee for myself, but I wanted it, so I went into the other room. It was sparsely furnished with only one easy chair. The small kitchen was just beyond. I put on the kettle and lit a cigarette.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I called.
“Upstairs on your right.”
I climbed the steep stairs. There were three doors leading off the landing at the top of the stairs. Cautiously I looked into all three rooms. Except for the bathroom, the other two rooms were unfurnished. Dust lay on the floor and obviously no one ever went into them.
I went into the bathroom, sponged my face and brushed my hair; then I wandered downstairs again and found the kettle was boiling. I made coffee. A tray was on the table in the sitting room containing cups, sugar and cream. Then I returned to the bedroom.
Eve was sitting up in bed, a cigarette between her lips. She looked at me sleepily and scratched her head.
“I bet I look awful,” she said.
“A little tousled, but oddly enough, it suits you.”
“Don’t lie, Clive.”
“One of these days you’ll get over your inferiority complex,” I said, pouring out the coffee. “If this is bad, don’t blame me.”
I gave her a cup and sat on the bed.
“I’m going to sleep after this,” she warned me. “So don’t start talking.”
“Okay,” I returned. The coffee was not bad and the cigarette began to taste less like brown paper.
She stared out of the window at the fading stars. “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?” she asked abruptly.
I nearly dropped my cup. “What on earth makes you ask that?” I said.
She looked at mc, pursed her mouth and looked away again. “Well, if you are, you’re wasting your time.”
Her voice was brutal in its cold, flat finality.
“Why don’t you admit it?” I said. “You’ve a hell of a hangover and you’re looking for someone to pick on. Finish your coffee and go to sleep.”
Her eyes darkened. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. There’s only one man in my life, Clive, and that’s Jack.”
“Just as it should be,” I said lightly and finished my coffee. “So he means a lot to you, does he?”
She put her coffee cup down impatiently on the bedside table. “Everything,” she said, “so don’t think you can mean anything to me.”
I found it difficult to control my rising irritation, but in her present sullen mood, so different from last night, I knew we would quarrel unless I humoured her.
“All right,” I said, taking off my dressing gown and sliding under the blankets. “I’ll remember that Jack means everything to you.”
“You’d better,” she snapped and turning her back on me, she curled further down in the bed.
I stared up at the ceiling, savagely angry. I was angry with her because she had seen through me. She had sensed that she now meant something to me. She did. I did not want to admit it, but, there it was. I found her exciting, mysterious and I wanted her for myself. I knew it was lunacy. Perhaps if she had encouraged me it might have been different; but her calculated indifference made me want her all the more. It went beyond sex. I wanted to break down the wall she had erected between us. I wanted to make her care for me.
I woke again when the sun streamed through the cream blinds. Eve was in my arms, her head on my shoulder and her mouth against my throat. She was sleeping peacefully and her body was limp and still.
I held her, feeling good. She was easy to hold, light and small and warm. I liked her breath against my throat and the smell of perfume in her hair. She slept like that for almost an hour and then she moved, opened her eyes, raised her head and looked at mc.
“Hello,” she said and smiled.
I touched her face with my fingers. “Your hair smells nice,” I said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Mmmmm.” She yawned and rested her head back on my shoulder. “Did you?”
“Yes . . . how’s the head?”
“All right. Are you hungry? Shall I get you something to eat?”
“I’ll get it.”
“You stay here.” She broke away from me and slid out of bed. In her blue nightdress, she looked slight and childish. She put on her dressing gown, looked in the mirror, grimaced and left me.
I went up to the bathroom, and after a leisurely shave, I returned to find her in bed. On the table by the bed was the tray containing fresh coffee and a plate of thinly cut bread and butter.
“You don’t want me to cook you anything, do you?” she asked as I stripped off my dressing gown and slid into bed beside her.
“No, thank you. Don’t tell me you can cook,” I said, reaching for her hand and turning it over in mine.
“Of course I can,” she returned. “Do you think I’m quite helpless?”
The palm of her hand was fleshless and hard and I could easily encircle her wrist in my thumb and forefinger. I examined the three sharply etched lines in her palm.
“You’re independent,” I said. “That’s the key to your character.”
She nodded. “I am independent.”
I released her wrist and she examined her palm herself. “What else?” she asked.
“You’re moody.”
She nodded again. “I have an awful temper. I go crazy when I’m really angry.”
“What makes you really angry?”
“Lots of things.” She dumped the plate of bread of butter on my chest.”
“Docs Jack make you angry?”
“More than anyone.” She sipped her coffee and stared blankly out of the window.
“Why?”
She pursed her lips and shrugged. “Oh, he’s jealous of me and I’m jealous of him.” She suddenly giggled. “We fight. Last time I went out to dinner with him, there was a woman he kept looking at. She was only a silly little blonde — she had a good figure though. I said he could go with her if he wanted to. He told me not to be a fool, but he didn’t stop looking. I got mad then.” Her eyes sparkled. “Do you know what I did?”
“Tell me.”
“I grabbed the table cloth and I jerked everything onto the floor.” She put down her coffee cup and laughed. “Oh, Clive, I wish you’d been there to see it. The mess — the noise — and Jack’s face! Then I walked out and left him. I was still mad when I got home so I went into the sitting room and smashed everything that would smash. It was marvellous! You have no idea how marvellous it was. I went up to the mantel-piece and swept everything off it. The clock, Jack’s glass animals.” she pointed across to the chest of drawers, “These are the only ones that survived. I keep them here because he thinks they’re all smashed. And there were photographs and — well you know — everything.” She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Of course he was furious when he came back. I’d locked myself in the bedroom but he kicked the door down. I thought he was going to kill me but he just packed his bag and walked out without even looking at me.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?”