pale lipstick, the lashes of her beautiful eyes too long and dark to be entirely natural, her fair hair swept upwards simply in a soft, full curve.
On entering the elevator he was able to look at her more closely, but as he glanced across towards her he knew she was aware of his scrutiny and he turned aside abruptly.
“Six,” he said to the elevator operator.
“Yes, sir.”
The lift drifted upwards lazily. Canned music was playing softly from some small, insidious loudspeaker concealed beneath the control panel. Jon was reminded of Canada suddenly; ceaseless background music was one of the transatlantic traits which he had found most difficult to endure when he had arrived from England long ago, and even now after ten years he still noticed it with a sense of irritation.
“Six, sir,” said the man as the doors opened.
Jon led the way down the corridor to his room, unlocked the door and walked in.
The girl sh r ugged off her coat.
“Cigarette?” said Jon shortly, turning away to take a fresh packet of cigarettes from a drawer by the bed.
“Thanks.” He could feel her watching him. While he was giving her the cigarette and offering her a light he tried to analyze her expression, but it was difficult. There was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, a glimpse of ironic amusement in the slight curve of her smile, a trace of tension in her stillness as if her composure were not as effortless as it appeared to be. Some element in her manner puzzled him, and in an instinctive attempt to prolong the opening conversation and give himself more time to decide upon the best method of handling the situation, he said idly, “You don’t seem to have changed much since that weekend at Clougy.”
“No?” she said wryly. “I hope I have. I was very young when I went to Clougy, and very stupid.”
“I don’t see what was so young and stupid about wanting to marry Max. Most women would prefer to marry rich men, and there’s always a certain glamor attached to anyone in the motor racing set.”
“I was young and stupid not to realize that Max—and a hell of a lot of other men—just aren’t the marrying kind.”
“Why go to the altar when you can get exactly what you want by a lie in a hotel register?” He flung himself into a chair opposite her and gestured to her to sit down. “Some women have so little to offer on a long-term basis.”
“And most men aren’t interested in long-term planning.”
He smiled suddenly, standing up in a quick, lithe movement and moving over to the window, his hands deep in his pockets. “Marriage is on a longterm basis,” he said. “Until the parties decide to get divorced.” He flung himself down in the chair again with a laugh, and as he felt her eyes watching him in fascination he wondered for the hundredth time in his life why women found his restlessness attractive.
“I should like to meet your new fiancé e,” she said unexpectedly, “just out of interest.”
“You wouldn’t like her.”
“Why? Is she like Sophia?”
“Utterly different.” He started to caress the arm of the chair idly, smoothing the material with strong movements of his fingers. “You must have haled Sophia that weekend,” he said at last, not looking at her. “If I hadn’t been so involved in my own troubles I might have found the time to feel sorry f or you . ” He paused. Then: Max did you a bad turn b y taking you down to Clough.”
She shrugged. “ It ’ s all in the past now.”
“ Is it?”
A silence. “ What do you mean?”
“ When you called me on the phone this evening it seemed you wanted t o revive the past.”
She stared at him.
“ Didn’t you call me this evening?”
She still stared. He leaned forward, stubbed out his cigarette and was beside her on the bed before she had time to draw breath.
“ Give me your cigarette.”
She handed it to him without a word and he crushed the butt to ashes. “Now,” he said, not touching her but close enough to show her he
On entering the elevator he was able to look at her more closely, but as he glanced across towards her he knew she was aware of his scrutiny and he turned aside abruptly.
“Six,” he said to the elevator operator.
“Yes, sir.”
The lift drifted upwards lazily. Canned music was playing softly from some small, insidious loudspeaker concealed beneath the control panel. Jon was reminded of Canada suddenly; ceaseless background music was one of the transatlantic traits which he had found most difficult to endure when he had arrived from England long ago, and even now after ten years he still noticed it with a sense of irritation.
“Six, sir,” said the man as the doors opened.
Jon led the way down the corridor to his room, unlocked the door and walked in.
The girl sh r ugged off her coat.
“Cigarette?” said Jon shortly, turning away to take a fresh packet of cigarettes from a drawer by the bed.
“Thanks.” He could feel her watching him. While he was giving her the cigarette and offering her a light he tried to analyze her expression, but it was difficult. There was a hint of curiosity in her eyes, a glimpse of ironic amusement in the slight curve of her smile, a trace of tension in her stillness as if her composure were not as effortless as it appeared to be. Some element in her manner puzzled him, and in an instinctive attempt to prolong the opening conversation and give himself more time to decide upon the best method of handling the situation, he said idly, “You don’t seem to have changed much since that weekend at Clougy.”
“No?” she said wryly. “I hope I have. I was very young when I went to Clougy, and very stupid.”
“I don’t see what was so young and stupid about wanting to marry Max. Most women would prefer to marry rich men, and there’s always a certain glamor attached to anyone in the motor racing set.”
“I was young and stupid not to realize that Max—and a hell of a lot of other men—just aren’t the marrying kind.”
“Why go to the altar when you can get exactly what you want by a lie in a hotel register?” He flung himself into a chair opposite her and gestured to her to sit down. “Some women have so little to offer on a long-term basis.”
“And most men aren’t interested in long-term planning.”
He smiled suddenly, standing up in a quick, lithe movement and moving over to the window, his hands deep in his pockets. “Marriage is on a longterm basis,” he said. “Until the parties decide to get divorced.” He flung himself down in the chair again with a laugh, and as he felt her eyes watching him in fascination he wondered for the hundredth time in his life why women found his restlessness attractive.
“I should like to meet your new fiancé e,” she said unexpectedly, “just out of interest.”
“You wouldn’t like her.”
“Why? Is she like Sophia?”
“Utterly different.” He started to caress the arm of the chair idly, smoothing the material with strong movements of his fingers. “You must have haled Sophia that weekend,” he said at last, not looking at her. “If I hadn’t been so involved in my own troubles I might have found the time to feel sorry f or you . ” He paused. Then: Max did you a bad turn b y taking you down to Clough.”
She shrugged. “ It ’ s all in the past now.”
“ Is it?”
A silence. “ What do you mean?”
“ When you called me on the phone this evening it seemed you wanted t o revive the past.”
She stared at him.
“ Didn’t you call me this evening?”
She still stared. He leaned forward, stubbed out his cigarette and was beside her on the bed before she had time to draw breath.
“ Give me your cigarette.”
She handed it to him without a word and he crushed the butt to ashes. “Now,” he said, not touching her but close enough to show her he
Similar Books
