As she fastened it at the waist, she smiled. “That’ll have to do me for tonight.” Brady nodded and suddenly his head seemed too heavy for his body. He took a deep breath and made an effort to sit up straight and she knelt down and started to untie his shoes. “You need some sleep, and badly,” she said.
Brady unfastened his collar at the neck and took off the jacket. She pulled off his shoes and pushed him back down on to the bunk.
“What about you?” he protested.
“There’s room for both of us,” she said and lay down on the bunk beside him and spread a blanket over them.
Brady was too tired to argue. He turned and looked at her dark head lying there on the pillow beside him and grinned. “You’re a funny girl,” he said softly.
She smiled and it was as if a light had turned on inside her and a radiance glowed out of the dark eyes. No woman had ever smiled at him quite like that before, drawing him in, enveloping him.
He leaned forward and kissed her once, very gently upon her parted mouth and she turned her face into his shoulder and after a while, they slept.
It was the knock on the door which awakened him, bringing him back to life from a deep, dreamless sleep. Anne was pulling her dress over her head and she turned quickly and nodded reassuringly. “Only the attendant knocking people up,” she said.
“Are we there?” Brady said in surprise.
She nodded and he swung his legs to the floor and pulled on his shoes. He felt completely refreshed and relaxed, but his stomach was hollow and empty and he realized, with a sense of shock, that he hadn’t eaten since leaving the gaol.
They dressed quickly and when they were ready, she opened the door and peered cautiously out into the corridor. She turned and nodded and Brady picked up the cases and moved past her.
As he went along the corridor, a door opened and a man emerged from a compartment carrying a small overnight bag. Brady paused to let him go first and then followed close behind.
There were no uniformed policemen standing at the barrier, but Brady noticed two large men in raincoats and soft hats leaning against the wall by the newspaper stand and they seemed to be examining faces as people moved out through the gate.
A yard or two in front of Brady, a porter drove a small electric truck loaded with sacks of mail and as he approached the barrier, someone opened the vehicle gate for him. Brady didn’t hesitate. He followed the truck through, nodded his thanks to the man on the gate, and moved straight across the hall towards the entrance to the Underground.
He joined the descending stream of people and after a while, was conscious of Anne at his shoulder. When they reached the hall below, he put down the suitcases in a corner and she handed him his trenchcoat.
“I’ll get the tickets,” she said and moved across to the machines.
The hall was crowded with people and Brady quickly pulled on the coat and belted it around his waist. Then, quite casually, he took off the cap and pulled the rain hat from his pocket.
He pulled it into shape and put it on as Anne returned. “All set?” she said.
He crushed the porter’s cap between his hands and thrust it into his pocket. “All set,” he replied, and picking up the cases, followed her to the barrier.
(7)
Her flat was on the third floor of an old, grey stone house overlooking a quiet square near Kensington Gardens. When she opened the door, the curtains were drawn and the room was in half-darkness.
She pulled them back and opened the window. “The place needs a good airing,” she said. “It hasn’t been lived in for three or four weeks.”
Brady put down the suitcases and closed the door. “It looks pretty good to me,” he said, taking off his trench-coat.
“How hungry are you?” she demanded.
He grinned. “Believe it or not, I last ate as a guest of Her Majesty.”
Her eyes widened perceptibly. “You must be starving. Why didn’t you mention food when we were at my digs in Manningham?”
He shrugged. “There seemed to be rather more important things to worry about.”
She smiled. “Never mind, there’s a little shop just round the corner. I’ll run down and see what they’ve got. You make yourself comfortable. I shan’t be long.”
When she had gone, he explored the small flat. There was the large living-room, a kitchen, one bedroom with twin beds and the bathroom. He turned on both taps and started to undress.
He was wallowing up to his chin in hot water, the room half-full of steam, when the door opened a fraction and a hand reached in to deposit a small package on one of the glass shelves.
“Breakfast in fifteen minutes,” she called and the door closed again.
The package contained a cheap razor, a packet of blades and a tube of shaving cream. He smiled to himself and quickly lathered his face. When he left the bathroom ten minutes later, freshly shaved, his hair combed, wearing the tweed suit, he felt civilized for the first time in months.
The table was laid for two in the bow window and a newspaper was propped against the sugar-bowl. He sat down and picked it up eagerly.
He was on the front page, down in the right-hand corner. The prison authorities hadn’t issued details as to how he had escaped. There was a brief account of the circumstances of his trial, a warning that he was dangerous, and an interview with the Chief Constable of Manningham who was quite certain he was still in the town and anticipated an early arrest.
The photograph had been taken from his record card and he examined it with a slight frown, wondering whether there could be any connexion between himself and this gaunt stranger.
“It doesn’t look much like you,” Anne said at his shoulder.
“It’s perhaps as well,” he told her. “They’re not going to look for me in Manningham indefinitely.”
She placed ham and eggs before him and a plate piled high with toast. “I’m strictly limited in the kitchen at the best of times,” she said, sitting down opposite him. “I hope that suits your transatlantic palate.”
He grinned. “Absolutely no complaints. I haven’t felt so hungry since I was a boy, coming in from fishing in the bay in the early morning.”
“Where was that?” she said.
“Near Cape Cod,” he told her. “My father had a farm right on the coast.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit the New England states,” she said.
“Until you’ve seen our fall, you haven’t lived,” he told her. “There’s nothing like it on God’s earth.”
They lit cigarettes and he gazed out of the window through the light rain down into the trees in the square, watching their leaves twist and fall in the slight breeze, thinking of home.
“Would you like to go back some day?” she said softly.
He nodded. “Funnily enough, I was going to go home after the Kuwait job. I’d had a letter from my brother-in-law. He’s an architect, senior partner in a large Boston firm. He wanted me to join them.”
“Perhaps you will when you get this thing sorted out.”
He turned and smiled. “Maybe you’re right, but sitting here on my backside isn’t going to help. I’d better get started.”
“Don’t be a fool.” She laid a restraining hand on his arm. “You can’t go walking round London for long and expect to get away with it. Sooner or later, you’ll turn a corner and walk right into the arms of some young constable, pounding his beat and just dying for quick promotion. What would that prove?”
“What do you suggest?” he demanded impatiently.
“I’ll hire a car for the day. It won’t cost much and there’s a garage just round the corner. You’ll be a lot safer driving round London than walking.”