third floor—at the top of a narrow double flight of stairs.
Alec must have been watching; he waited politely for the people to pass him, then without any warning picked me up.
I squawked, “Hey! Put me down.”
“What’s the matter? No one’s around to see.”
“It’s gotta be against the Villain’s Code,” I retorted.
This time he did laugh.
As soon as we reached the top Alec set me down and walked on toward an open door, leaving me to limp in his wake.
The third floor was an attic suite. Under a sharply slanting roof there were four rooms, a WC, and a bathroom, all opening off a small square landing. Apparently Alec had taken them all over. One of the rooms was in the process of being set up as a sitting room; I reached the open door to see a stout woman in a shiny black widow’s dress and kerchief directing the movement of tables and armchairs by two sweating young men.
She broke off when she saw me and gave a shriek. Backing toward her chairs as though to protect them with her life, she burst into rapid-fire Slovene.
Alec soothed her protests in stilted but adequate Slovene by promising that the “young woman” would not touch her beautiful furniture until she had bathed.
“That’s cool,” I said, “but I lost my suitcase. After this hypothetical bath what do I wear, a toga made out of Madam’s curtains? Or is a bath towel acceptable outerwear here?”
Alec said, “Kilber will have put one of my valises in the bath for you by this time. Go along. Please make use of whatever of my gear you wish. We’ll be served dinner up here,” he added.
“I’d rather know what’s going on right now,” I replied, but without my earlier heat. Only the most incompetent villain would stage scenes of Unmentionable Mayhem in such a setting. And as I’d rather be clean, dry, and warm before tackling any “consultations,” I limped into the bathroom and locked the door.
Then slid under the doorknob the single chair with the Vuitton case and folded fabric placed on its seat.
The bathroom was a narrow room next door to the WC, with plain plaster walls and a sink below a small mirror, lit by a lone bulb hanging from the high ceiling.
The tub was a monster on feet, nearly the size of a Jacuzzi—without the jets and other goodies. I turned the century-old knobs so the water splashed in at its mightiest trickle, but at least it ran hot enough to steam gently and invitingly.
As the water dribbled in I turned my attention to the stuff The Enemy had made available for my use. Since I had no clothes or supplies my scornfully high-handed repudiation of Alec’s offerings would have to wait for another opportunity.
Two thick, neatly folded towels sat on top of an also neatly folded dressing gown of a soft, extremely expensive combed cotton. I shook it out and held it up, hoping there would be a barbaric dragon embroidered on the back, or at least some vulgarly ostentatious intertwined initials over the breast pocket, but it was unrelieved deep midnight blue. In the case were soap and shampoo, pricey French brands, and a comb and a silver-backed brush—the frame probably a hundred years old, judging from the etched patterns, the bristles new and natural.
The water was deep enough to climb into, so I peeled off the clammy, gritty clothes, unpinned my hair, and lowered myself into the water. Oh, that felt good! I lay there, soaking long enough to feel my aches and bruises ease. Even my ankle and shoulder felt considerably better by the time I reached for the soap and shampoo and began to degrime myself.
Rinsing thigh-length hair in a bathtub with water pressure a step up from a drip required patience. Then it was time to turn my attention to my clothes. My underthings and top were easy to wash out, but the jeans presented a challenge. Not sure if I should use soap lather or shampoo I finally used both. Big mistake. Ever tried to wring jeans out by hand? Especially with blistered palms? Finally I gave up, hoping
Alec must have been watching; he waited politely for the people to pass him, then without any warning picked me up.
I squawked, “Hey! Put me down.”
“What’s the matter? No one’s around to see.”
“It’s gotta be against the Villain’s Code,” I retorted.
This time he did laugh.
As soon as we reached the top Alec set me down and walked on toward an open door, leaving me to limp in his wake.
The third floor was an attic suite. Under a sharply slanting roof there were four rooms, a WC, and a bathroom, all opening off a small square landing. Apparently Alec had taken them all over. One of the rooms was in the process of being set up as a sitting room; I reached the open door to see a stout woman in a shiny black widow’s dress and kerchief directing the movement of tables and armchairs by two sweating young men.
She broke off when she saw me and gave a shriek. Backing toward her chairs as though to protect them with her life, she burst into rapid-fire Slovene.
Alec soothed her protests in stilted but adequate Slovene by promising that the “young woman” would not touch her beautiful furniture until she had bathed.
“That’s cool,” I said, “but I lost my suitcase. After this hypothetical bath what do I wear, a toga made out of Madam’s curtains? Or is a bath towel acceptable outerwear here?”
Alec said, “Kilber will have put one of my valises in the bath for you by this time. Go along. Please make use of whatever of my gear you wish. We’ll be served dinner up here,” he added.
“I’d rather know what’s going on right now,” I replied, but without my earlier heat. Only the most incompetent villain would stage scenes of Unmentionable Mayhem in such a setting. And as I’d rather be clean, dry, and warm before tackling any “consultations,” I limped into the bathroom and locked the door.
Then slid under the doorknob the single chair with the Vuitton case and folded fabric placed on its seat.
The bathroom was a narrow room next door to the WC, with plain plaster walls and a sink below a small mirror, lit by a lone bulb hanging from the high ceiling.
The tub was a monster on feet, nearly the size of a Jacuzzi—without the jets and other goodies. I turned the century-old knobs so the water splashed in at its mightiest trickle, but at least it ran hot enough to steam gently and invitingly.
As the water dribbled in I turned my attention to the stuff The Enemy had made available for my use. Since I had no clothes or supplies my scornfully high-handed repudiation of Alec’s offerings would have to wait for another opportunity.
Two thick, neatly folded towels sat on top of an also neatly folded dressing gown of a soft, extremely expensive combed cotton. I shook it out and held it up, hoping there would be a barbaric dragon embroidered on the back, or at least some vulgarly ostentatious intertwined initials over the breast pocket, but it was unrelieved deep midnight blue. In the case were soap and shampoo, pricey French brands, and a comb and a silver-backed brush—the frame probably a hundred years old, judging from the etched patterns, the bristles new and natural.
The water was deep enough to climb into, so I peeled off the clammy, gritty clothes, unpinned my hair, and lowered myself into the water. Oh, that felt good! I lay there, soaking long enough to feel my aches and bruises ease. Even my ankle and shoulder felt considerably better by the time I reached for the soap and shampoo and began to degrime myself.
Rinsing thigh-length hair in a bathtub with water pressure a step up from a drip required patience. Then it was time to turn my attention to my clothes. My underthings and top were easy to wash out, but the jeans presented a challenge. Not sure if I should use soap lather or shampoo I finally used both. Big mistake. Ever tried to wring jeans out by hand? Especially with blistered palms? Finally I gave up, hoping
Similar Books
