More Deadly Than The Male (11 page)

Obediently George followed her down the stairs to the street. The sudden decision to leave, the complete indifference to his own plans, and her take-it-for-granted attitude that he wanted to go with her reminded him of Sydney Brant. That was how he behaved. Both of them knew what they wanted. They led: others followed.

Neither of them spoke as they walked along the pavement together. Cora's small head, level with George's shoulder, moved along smoothly before him, as if she were being drawn along on wheels. She left behind her the faintest smell of sandalwood.

The evening light was beginning to fade. Storm clouds crept across the sky. The air in the streets had become stale, like the breath of a sick man, and sudden gusts of hot wind sent dust and scraps of paper swirling around the feet of the crowd moving sullenly along the hot pavements.

At the corner of Orchard and Oxford Streets, Cora paused. She glanced along the street towards Marble Arch: a street thronged with people all making a leisurely way to the Park.

"I'm hungry," she said. "Let's get something to eat."

"That's an idea," George said eagerly, conscious of Robinson's eleven pounds in his wallet. "Where would you like to go? The Dorchester?" He was quite willing to spend his last penny on her if it would help to create a good impression. He had never been to the Dorchester, but he had heard about it. It was the smartest place he could think of that was close at hand.

"The what?" she asked, staring at him blankly. "Do you mean the Dorchester Hotel?"

He felt himself flushing. "Yes," he said. "Why not?"

"What, in those clothes?" she asked, eyeing him up and down. "My dear man! They wouldn't let you past the door."

He looked at his worn shoes, his face burning. If she had struck him with a whip she couldn't have succeeded in hurting him more.

"I—I'm sorry," George said, not looking at her. "I just wanted to give you a good time. I—I didn't think it mattered what you wore."

"Well, it does," she said coldly.

There was a long, awkward pause. George was too flustered to suggest anywhere else. She'll go in a moment, he thought feverishly. I'm sure she'll go. Why am I standing like this, doing nothing? I can't expect her to suggest anything—it's my place to make the arrangements.

But the more he tried to think where he could take her, the more panic-stricken he became.

She was eyeing him curiously now. He could feel her eyes on his face.

"Perhaps you have something else to do . . ." she said suddenly.

"Me? Of course not," George said, over eager and almost shouting. "I—I've got nowhere to go. I just don't go anywhere, that's all. I—I don't know where you'd like to go. Perhaps you'll suggest something."

"Where do you live?"

Astonished, George told her.

"Let's go to your place," she said. "I'm tired of the heat and the crowds."

George could scarcely believe his ears.

"It's somewhere to sit, isn't it?" she said, staring a little impatiently at him. "Or can't you take women there?"

He hadn't the faintest idea. It was something he had never contemplated doing. He had visions of Mrs Rhodes' disapproving face, and he flinched away from the thought. Then he remembered once seeing one of the other boarders bring a lady visitor to his room. Of course, the visitor hadn't been like Cora; but if one boarder could do it, wily couldn't he? Besides, if they went at once, Mrs Rhodes would be in the basement having supper. She wouldn't even see him.

"Oh, that's all right," he said eagerly. "Nothing like that. We can go if you would like to. It's only the room isn't much . . ."

She was beginning to move towards Edgware Road. Now that that was settled, she seemed to have lost interest in him. She walked on as if he wasn't with her.

George tagged along behind. Of course he was excited. To have a girl like Cora in his room! He thought at least she would want to dance, or go to the pictures, or do something extravagant.

She suddenly stopped outside a snack bar.

 "Let's take something in with us," she said, looking at the appetizing show in the window. Without waiting for him to agree, she entered the shop.

"Two chicken sandwiches, two cheese sandwiches and two apples," she said to the white-coated attendant behind the counter. 

George planked down a ten-shilling note while the attendant packed the sandwiches and apples in a cardboard container.

"How much?" Cora asked, ignoring George's money. "That'll be two and six, miss," the attendant said, looking first at her and then at George.

"Here you are," George said, pushing the note towards the attendant

Cora put down one shilling and threepence. "That's my share," she said shortly, and picked up the cardboard container.

"I say!" George protested. "This is my show." And he tried to give her back her money.

"Keep it," she said, turning towards the door. "I always pay for myself."

"You can't do that . . ." George said feebly, but she was already moving away, and by now had left the shop.

"The sort of girl I'd like to go out with," the attendant said wistfully. "Most of 'em take the linings from your pockets."

George, his face burning, snatched up his change and ran after Cora.

When he caught up with her, he said, "You really must let me pay . . ."

"Now shut up!" Cora said. "I never accept anything from any man. I'm independent, and if I'm going to see you again, the sooner you understand that the better."

If she was going to see him again! George stared at her hopefully. Did that mean . . .? He blinked. It must mean that. People just didn't say things like that if they didn't intend seeing you again. 

"Well, if you really want to . . ." he said, not quite sure how he should react to such an ultimatum.

"We'll want some beer," George said, falling in step beside her. "I suppose you want to pay for your bottle, too?" He said it half jokingly, and then looked at her quickly to see if he had caused offence.

She glanced at him. "I'm certainly going to pay for my own beer," she said. "Does that amuse you?"

And as he looked down at her, arrogant, small but durable, it happened. He found himself suddenly, utterly and completely in love with her. It was an overpowering feeling that stupefied him, made him water at the eyes, made him weak in the legs.

They looked at each other. Whether she saw the change in him, he wasn't sure. He felt she must be able to read his thoughts. She couldn't fail to see how completely crazy he was about her. If she did, she made no sign, but went on, her head a little higher, her chest arched.

They bought two bottles of beer at the off-licence at the corner of George's street. Then they went on to the boardinghouse.

"I'm afraid it isn't much," George muttered apologetically as he opened the front door. "But if you think you'll like it . . ." His voice died away as he glanced uneasily round the hall.

There was no one about. The sound of dishes clattering in the basement reassured him.

Cora went straight upstairs. She wasn't a fool, George thought. She knows I'm nervous about her being here. She's going straight up. There's no nonsense about her.

He eyed her slim hips as she went on ahead of him. She was beautiful. There was absolutely no doubt about it. Most women looked awful in trousers. They stuck out and they wobbled, but not Cora. She was hard, slim, neat.

So he was in love with her. And he was lucky, too. Not many men would be as fortunate as he. She wasn't going to run him into any expense. He knew what girls were like. Spend—spend—spend, all the time. They didn't think you loved them unless you continually spent money on them. But Cora wasn't like that. She was independent. "If I'm going to see you again . . ." It was the most wonderful evening of his life!

"Just one more flight," he said, as she glanced back over her shoulder. "And you turn to the right when you get to the top."

She stopped on the landing.

"In here," he said, passing her and opening the door. He stood aside to let her in.

"It's not much," he said again, seeing the room suddenly in a new light. It did somehow seem small and sordid. The wallpaper seemed more faded and the furniture shabbier. He wished that he had a bright, well-furnished room to offer her.

He saw Leo curled up on the bed.

"That's my cat . . ." he began.

Then Leo opened its eyes, took one scared look at Cora and was gone, streaking through the open doorway, sending a mat flying. They heard it rushing madly down the stairs.

George sighed. That hadn't happened for months. 

"He's awfully scared of strangers," he said, apologetically, and closed the door. "I had quite a time with him at first, but we're great friends now. Do you like cats?"

"Cats?" She seemed far away. "They're all right, I suppose." She put the cardboard container on his dressing-table and moved further into the room.

George took off his hat and hung it in the cupboard. Now that he was alone with her in this little room he felt shy, uneasy. The bed seemed horribly conspicuous. In fact, the bed embarrassed him: the room seemed all bed.

"Do sit down," he said, fussing around her. "I'll get some glasses. I've got one here, and there's another in the bathroom. I'm afraid they're only tooth glasses, but it doesn't matter does it?"

Without waiting for her to reply, he left the room and hurried to the bathroom on the next floor. He was glad to be away from her for a moment. In fact, he would have been pleased if she had suddenly changed her mind about spending the evening with him He was finding her a little overpowering. The experience of falling in love with her like this was a bit shattering. He needed quiet to think about it.

He was nervous of her too. There was something cynical and cold and cross about her. He felt that if he said the wrong thing she would he unkind to him. He wanted to avoid that at all costs. So far, apart from the faux pas about the Dorchester -that had been a dumb, brainless suggestion—he had managed fairly well up to now. But he was losing his nerve. It was like walking a tight-rope. He had had one narrow escape, and now, out on the rope with a sheer drop below, he was rapidly getting into a panic. What was he to talk about? How could he hope to amuse her for the next hour or so? If only she had asked to be taken to a movie! 

How simple that would have been! All he would have had to do was to buy the tickets—and anyway, she would probably have insisted on paying for herself—and the film would have taken care of the rest of the evening.

He mustn't keep her waiting, he thought, as he took the glass from the metal holder. He hurried back, hesitated outside the door and then went in.

She was sitting on the bed, her hands on her knees, her legs crossed.

"There we are," George said, with false heartiness. "Let's have a drink. I'm hungry, too, aren't you?"

"A bit," she said, looking at him as she might look at some strange animal at the Zoo.

"Have the armchair," George went on, busying himself with the drinks "It's jolly comfortable, although it looks a bit of a mess."

"It's all right," she said. "I like beds."

He felt his face burn. He was angry with himself for being selfconscious about the bed, also conscious of the double meaning. He was sure she didn't mean it in that way. It was just his mind.

"Well, so long as you're comfortable," he said, handing her a glass of beer. "I'll unpack the sandwiches."

He kept his back turned to her so that she should not see the furious blush on his face. It took him a minute or so to recover, and when he turned, she was lying on her side, propped up by her arm, one trousered leg hanging over the side of the bed, the other stretched out.

"Take my shoes off," she said. "Or I'll make the cover dirty."

He did so, with clumsy, trembling fingers. But he enjoyed doing it, and he put the shoes on the floor under the bed, feeling an absurd tenderness towards them.

Although the window was wide open, it was hot in the little room. The storm clouds had now blotted out the sun, and it was dark.

"Shall I put the light on?" he asked. "I think we're going to have some rain."

"All right. I wish you'd sit down. You're too big for this room, anyway."

He put the sandwiches on a piece of paper within reach of her hand, turned on the light, and sat down by the window. He was secretly delighted to hear her refer to his size. George was proud of his height and strength.

"Why don't you do something better than selling those silly hooks?" she asked abruptly.

"It suits me for the moment," George returned, startled by this unexpected reproach; and feeling he ought to offer a better explanation, added, "It gives me a lot of free time to make plans."

"There's no money in it, is there?" Cora went on.

"Well, your brother made nine pounds this week," George said, munching with enjoyment.

"As much as that?" There was a sharp note in her voice.

George studied her. The blue smudges under her eyes, her whitish-grey complexion, her thin, scarlet mouth fascinated him

"Oh yes. It isn't bad, is it?"

She sipped her beer. 

"He never tells me anything," she said in a cold, tight voice. 'We haven't had any money for ages. I don't know how we live. Nine pounds! And he's gone off for the evening." Her hand closed into a small, cruel fist.

"Of course, he mayn't be so lucky next week," George went on hurriedly, alarmed that he might have said something wrong. "You can never tell. There's a lot of luck in the game, you know."