Dryden started speaking in a rush. ‘I’m the guy who’s meeting Goldengirl,’ he blurted out. ‘Dr. Serafin sent me. Told me to wait. Those got attached to my shoe. They were on the floor. You understand? I found them on my shoe.’ Ridiculously, he was lifting his foot and pointing.
Serafin had said she was a mute. Did he mean she was deaf as well?
He backed away as Ingrid lurched toward him, heaving stertorous, outraged breaths. There was no chance of cover if she turned violent. Dodging into the shower could only make his predicament absurd. The glass shower door was no defense against a woman built on this scale. His eyes caught the stool, but Ingrid, too, had seen it and veered sideways.
Instead of lifting it to poleaxe Dryden, she picked off Goldengirl’s tracksuit, folded the trousers with concentration and carried them to the wardrobe, where she found a hanger and put them away. Then she motioned to him to sit on the stool.
The crisis was over.
‘Thanks. I’m Jack Dryden. I don’t believe I mentioned my name.’
It made no impact on Ingrid. She took a last look round to check that no other personal items remained on the floor, and left as suddenly as she had arrived.
Goldengirl did not appear for another ten minutes. By that time, Dryden had ventured off the stool and as far as the schedule. The adjacent rooms could remain unexplored until he knew Ingrid better.
‘Hi.’ Goldine was pink from the workout. A pleasant yeasty smell came with her. She tilted her head and took stock of him with wide blue eyes.
He introduced himself.
‘I heard about you. Would you turn on my shower, please?’
‘Cold,’ he inquired, going to the taps.
‘You bet.’
When he turned, she had one arm out of the leotard.
‘Would you like me out of the way?’
‘Why so?’ She was genuinely surprised. ‘I asked you to be here. You’d like to see me shower?’
His English upbringing had taught him the basics of chivalry. ‘If that’s an offer, I’m not turning it down.’
‘Anyone ever tell you about leotards? They’re a lot of fun to wear, but hell to get out of. It’s the arms.’ She gathered the thin fabric, persuaded it over her right shoulder and freed the other arm. With a wriggle of pleasure she peeled it to her waist. ‘Are they okay?’
‘Superb,’ he said, so quickly that the force of the compliment was lost. Jesus Christ, she wasn’t the first to flaunt a pair of breasts in front of him, but she was so casual with it for a first occasion that he was jumpy. Yes, they were charming, pink from the heat of her exercise, glistening damply, full enough to bob delightfully as she drew her shoulders back, but he had paid his tribute. If he added anything, she might take it for a pass. More crucially, Ingrid might, if she was listening through the door.
‘I met your... er... companion just now.’
‘Ingrid?’ She slipped her fingers inside the leotard and eased it over her hips. ‘She was civil, I hope. She can’t speak, you know, but she’s very protective. I told her to expect you.’
‘Thanks. I wouldn’t care to be found here without an appointment. Isn’t she supposed to be in attendance when we...?’
‘Sure.’ She let the garment fall in a small heap at her feet. ‘There’s the rest of me — and Ingrid will come if I call her.’
‘Cozy.’ He hadn’t decided whether she was simply exhibitionistic, or under orders to reduce him to a slavering wreck. Either way, he would treat this like a minefield. He knew enough about the way the training camp was run to put sex with Goldengirl right out of the question. This was strictly an information-gathering exercise. He needed to satisfy himself that she was just as committed to the project as everyone claimed. It was pure chance that the first steps in securing confidences and making a sexual conquest were identicaclass="underline" humor the subject.
‘Possibly Ingrid wouldn’t hear you with the shower going,’ he suggested.
‘It’s a hypothesis,’ she said, passing so close as she crossed to the shower that he felt her warmth on his face. She pulled the shower guard fully open and stepped under the jets.
Dryden returned to the stool and talked from there, watching as she scooped her hair forward to let the water penetrate the back of her scalp. ‘I was looking at the schedule on the wall — before you showed up, that is. It looks tough to me. How do you stand it?’
She tossed the hair back, with the spray cascading on her neck and breasts. ‘This is a soft week. Taking it easy for San Diego tomorrow. I had three rewards and a facial.’
‘What’s a reward?’
She grinned, half stepping out of the shower, so that it played only on her back. With a strand of blond hair, she flicked water from her nipples, pinched into prominence by the cold. ‘Do you want a straight answer to that? For me, it’s time off, an hour to do as I please.’
‘I get the picture,’ said Dryden. ‘But how do you earn the rewards?’
‘Gee, you’re a suspicious guy!’ said Goldine, turning her back to him. ‘I earn them by working hard in training, reaching objectives.’
‘And if you don’t work hard?’
She dipped forward and slapped herself sharply on the bottom. ‘No reward. But I’m smart. I don’t cop out easy. There’s generally something to work for at the end of a day — a facial, a sauna, ultra-vi. Motivation — it’s a well-tried principle. There should be a towel hanging on the wardrobe rail. Would you be so kind?’
‘Don’t you ever rebel against it?’ He found the towel and prepared to hand it to her, but she was already out of the shower and turning for him to put it around her shoulders.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Tell them you’ve had enough — you want to be taken down to L.A. to see a movie or look at department stores?’
‘But I don’t,’ answered Goldine. ‘I want to win the Olympics three times over. I can watch movies for the rest of my life.’
And buy the stores, never mind what’s in them, she might have added.
‘You’re dedicated to it, then. What do you expect to get out of it — setting aside the Wall Street Journal for once?’
‘That’s unfair!’ she chided him, and tossed her hair, flicking water in his direction. ‘It’s my right. I was born to do this. I’m a natural.’
She said it in a categorical way that made him think of the Teutonic side of her parentage, but it didn’t irritate him. She had been brought up to believe in a birthright.
‘If you have a talent, why neglect it?’ she went on, and added as a taunt, ‘What’s yours?’
‘Making money for talented people. That’s why they sent for me.’
‘Name one.’
‘Have you heard of Jim Hansenburg?’
‘The Grand Prix driver?’ She picked a small towel off the rail and made a turban for her damp hair. ‘He’s a dream! You’ve actually spoken to him?’
‘I’m his agent,’ Dryden answered. ‘How did you hear of him up here?’
‘I have a portable TV in my bedroom. I get too tired at night to watch much, but I’ve seen him on ABC news. And that gasoline commercial. Could I get to meet a guy like that, do you think?’
‘After Moscow, who knows?’ said Dryden. ‘You could be into commercials yourself.’
She finished drying herself and wound the towel round her body. ‘I’d have to work on that. I get a little uptight about PR.’