Eve by James Hadley Chase

asked deliberately changing the subject.
    “When I can find a good book,” she returned, bewildered.
    “Have you ever read “Angels in Sables”?” I asked, naming my first book.
    She moved restlessly to the dressing table. “Yes . . . I didn’t like it much.” She picked up a powder puff and dabbed at her chin.
    “Didn’t you?” I was disappointed. “I wish you’d tell me why.”
    She shrugged. “Oh, I just didn’t.”
    She put down the powder puff, stared at herself in the mirror and then moved back to the fireplace. She was fidgety, impatient and a little bored.
    “But you must have reasons. Did you find it dull?”
    “I don’t remember. I read so quickly I never remember any-thing I read.”
    “I see . . . anyway you didn’t like it.” I was irritated that she couldn’t remember my book. I would have liked to have talked to her about it and had her reactions, even if she did not like it I began to realize that normal conversation with her was going to be difficult. Until we knew each other — and I was determined that we should know each other — topics of conversation were severely limited. Up to now, we had nothing in common.
    She stood looking at me doubtfully and then sat down on the bed again. “Well?” she said, abruptly. “What now?”
    “Tell me something about yourself.”
    She shrugged and made a little grimace. “There’s nothing to tell.”
    “Of course there is,” I said and leaning forward, I took her hand in mine. “Are you married or is this a phoney?” I was twisting the thin gold wedding ring on her finger.
    “I’m married.”
    I was a little surprised. “Is he nice?”
    She looked away. “Mmm-hmm.”
    “Very nice?”
    She took her hand away. “Yes . . . very nice.”
    “And where is he?”
    Her head jerked round. “That’s not your business.”
    I laughed at her. “All right, don’t get high hat. I must say when you get mad, you look quite impressive. How did you get those two lines above your nose?”
    She was up instantly, looking at herself in the mirror. “They’re bad, aren’t they?” she said, trying to smooth the furrows away with her finger tips.
    I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. I had been in the room exactly a quarter of an hour.
    “Then you shouldn’t frown so much,” I said, getting to my feet. “Why don’t you relax?”
    I moved towards her and as I did so the puzzled, rather worried look went out of her eyes, instead, there came a look of confidence and secret amusement. She undid the cord of her dressing gown and her slender fingers went to the silk loop that held the one button that kept the dressing gown closed.
    “I must go now,” I said looking pointedly at the clock.
    Away went the look of confidence; her hands dropped to her sides. I was glad that I had decided not to meet her on her own ground. So long as I behaved differently from the other men who visited her, I was certain to hold her attention and keep her puzzled.
    Td like to talk to you about yourself when you have the time,”I said, smiling at her. “I might be good for your inferiority complex.” As I passed the chest of drawers, I slid two ten dollar bills between the glass animals. One, a reproduction of Disney’s Bambi, fell over on its side.
    I saw her look quickly at the money and then she looked away. The sullen expression disappeared.
    “Do you think I’ll ever see you in anything but that dressing gown?” I asked at the door.
    “You might,” she said, blankly. “I do wear other things.”
    “One of these days you must give me a treat. And don’t forget, the next time I call, leave off the make-up. It doesn’t suit you. Good-bye now,” and I opened the door.
    She joined me. “Thank you for the — the present,” she said, smiling. It was extraordinary how different she looked when she smiled.
    “That’s all right. By the way, my name’s Clive. May I phone you soon?”
    “Clive? But I know two Clives already.”
    During the past