The Living Death (14 page)

It was daylight when I arrived at the airport and was lucky enough to get a seat on an early flight to London where, despite my appearance, they let me check in at the Royal Albert Hotel. I had to use my official credentials to do it, though. The English still believe that a gentleman should look the part. After a good sleep, I went out and did my best to uphold tradition, buying a suit worth buying at King's Row. The one I'd purchased in Zurich had had a short but active life. But then, not too many suits are used for siding or sliding down cables. It's hard on the threads. And, truthfully, I was damn glad I wasn't being fitted for another kind of suit.

I was feeling better when I called Hawk, more myself. I was never one to let an assignment stay with me once it was over. That was fatal in this business. Never look backwards. Never see how close death had come. Never think about it.

"You've done a superb job on this, Nick," Hawk said in a rare moment of effervescence.

"It was a sticky thing from the vary beginning. You were working in the dark most of tie time. You say you've forwarded all the data and material you found. I'm sure our people will be able to utilize it fully. Good work, N3."

I knew when to strike. This was as good a time as I'd had in a long while.

"I want the rest of the week here in London, Chief," I said, plunging right in. If I hadn't been sitting down I'd have fallen right over.

"Why, I think that can be arranged, my boy," he said. I shook the phone to make sure it wasn't static. "In fact, I'm going to do whatever I can to see that you enjoy yourself in London for a few days. Great town, London. I had a number of good friends there at one time."

Before he got too far into reminiscing and changed his mind, I thanked him and hung up. His reference to helping me have a good time for a few days was in regard to his magnanimity in giving me the time off. At least, that's how I took it at the moment. Things were falling beautifully into place, for a change. Even Denny was home when I called. She was cool, or rather she tried to sound cool. It didn't last more than a few minutes when she was agreeing to meet me at the Royal Albert.

"No girls emerging from closets," she said.

"No girls," I promised. "I can explain all that."

"It seems to me I've heard that somewhere before," she laughed.

"Maybe you have," I agreed. "But this time I'm going to explain."

"All right," she laughed. "If we're going to do the town tonight, I want to shower and change. Give me half an hour or so."

The half hour was no more than that. It only seemed it. When she arrived, she was magnificent in soft beige that clung in all the right places, rounding her hips and falling from the sharp points of her upturned breasts with tantalizing effect. She came over and stood before me, her arms reaching up to encircle my neck. I found bar lips, but she turned her head away.

"Not so fast, Nick Carter," she said. "I've waited this long and I can wait a few moments longer."

She stepped back and surveyed the room and I saw her foot tapping impatiently as she folded her arms across those lovely, thrusting breasts.

"Waiting for something?" I grinned.

"Just want to make certain, this time," she said, flashing a fast smile.

"You've gotten suspicious in your old age," I said confidently.

"I'm not in my old age and I'm not suspicious," was her answer. "I've just had all the surprises I want for a while."

Finally she came over to me again and smiled that marvelously infectious smile that could light a room and sweep everything along with it.

"I guess I'll have to believe you this time," she laughed. "And I guess I'll have to listen to those explanations."

We sat down on the couch and I found her lips as honey-sweet as I'd remembered them. She had the same wonderful way of kissing, starting off with the almost prim and proper touch of her rips that became a sweet, tender yearning that turned into a wildly sensuous whirlpool.

"How long can you stay?" she asked. My answer was interrupted by the doorbell. I opened it to see the tall, saucy, miniskirted lovely standing there, her long, gorgeous legs spread apart provocatively.

"Surprise, Nick!" she said. "Well, aren't you going to ask me in? You did expect me, I do believe."

I was still blinking when Denny brushed past me and disappeared down the hall.

"Wait a minute," I yelled after her. "Denny, come back!" As luck had it, an elevator stopped just as she rang and she got on it, flinging me a scathing look of pure fury. I turned to the girl still standing in the doorway. She was as pretty as a picture but I didn't really care.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"Joan Treadder," she answered. "Your boss, Hawk, and my mother were very good friends, once. He called her not long ago and suggested I pop over to see you and here I am."

"Good God," I groaned. "Spare me from my friends."

"I thought he told you I was coming," she protested.

"No, but it's not your fault, honey," I said. "I'm sorry, but I can't see you now. I've got some important, unfinished business that I'm going to finish come hell or high water."

As I said it, I thought that those were about the only two things, that hadn't conspired to keep Denny from me. I left her standing there, flashed her an apologetic smile and raced down the stairs. I grabbed a cab and directed him to Denny's house. Her landlady was happy to see me again.

"Miss Robertson just left," she said with concern. "She had gone out and then she came back again and now she's gone out again. You do seem to have trouble catching up to her, don't you?"

"How right you are," I agreed. "Do you know where she's gone this tune?"

"She took her small overnight bag, said she was going to Devonshire for the horse show tomorrow."

I gave the surprised old gal a hug and a kiss and was off. I returned in an instant before she'd had time to collect herself. "How is she going, do you know?" I yelled.

"She's driving her car," the landlady said. "A little red Morris Minor."

I raced back to the cab. "Devonshire," I told him. "There can't be that many roads. Take the main one — the one that a girl driving a red Morris Minor would be apt to take."

He looked at me suspiciously and swung into traffic. I settled back and watched for her. I was amazed at how damn many little red cars there were. We were almost in Devonshire when I spotted her, roaring down the road, the top down, her auburn hair streaming behind her.

"Pull in front of that car and bring it to a stop," I told the driver.

"Look, here, Yank," he said, "this ain't no Hollywood movie, is it?"

"No, it's strictly an amateur production" I said. "And I'll make it worth your while." Those magic words did the trick. He pulled in front of Denny and forced her to stop, picking a spot where the stream of passing traffic didn't permit her to pull out. I shoved a fat tip at him and raced back to the little red car. She was surprised at seeing me and was almost going to be pleasant but thought better of it. I climbed in beside her and she started off.

"I can explain it," I grinned. She looked at me and suddenly we were laughing together.

"Stop trying to explain," she said. "Maybe that's the jinx."

"Good enough," I said. "I seem to remember that there's a little inn not far ahead, just outside of town. I could get a room for two there. You could still take in the horse show in the morning — if you want to, of course."

She pulled up at the inn and minutes later we were in a chintz-covered room with a fourposted bed. Her lips were eager, hungry, and I began to undress her, slowly, step by step. Her body was everything I'd remembered it to be — vibrant alabaster, created by a master craftsman. She reached out for me and her head was on my shoulder, her hands stroking my body.

And it was still there, that special something, that quality that trenscended the body, the went beyond the senses and yet was a part of the senses. I caressed her white breasts, twin peaks of temptation, caressed them with my fingers as the pink tips reached up, and then let my tongue circle each one. Denny began to cry softly, but it was not a cry of sorrow or pain. Each tear was a tear of ecstacy.

"Oh, Nick, Nick," she breathed. "I've waited so long for you. I've waited so long. Once with you, and anything else is boy scout night."

From the way I felt, and the way I responded, she had not been alone in waiting. I stroked her body until she was a leaping, crying, pleading mountain of desire and then I came to her, fully and completely. We made love with ever mounting intensity, a hymn of rapture sung together, a harmony of the body. When Denny reached the top of her climb, she screamed, a scream of pure rapture, a sound never heard before, never to be heard again, not exactly.

When we sank down on the bed in the wonderful exhaustion of passion, we both knew that the unfinished symphony had been finished. But we also knew that it never really would be finished. It was a self-winding, self-perpetuating melody.

"Nick," she said, thoughtfully, laying her breasts across my chest, her hand holding me gently, softly. "I know now that there'll never be anyone but you."

I started to protest but she stopped me with her lips and then drew back. "Oh, I'll probably have to marry some terribly decent chap from some terribly good family someday, but you'll always know and I'll always know that it was because you can't be mine — your work is between us."

"Maybe you'll forget all about me someday," I said.

"It's more likely that I'll keep turning away terribly decent chaps because I'd rather have you whenever those rare times occur than anyone else anytime."

I looked at Denny Robertson. If she were still in circulation when the day came that I bowed out of the spy racket, I knew damn well what I'd do. I didn't tell her, though. It would only muddy things up more.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I'm thinking I've only just begun to make love to you, you gorgeous creature," I said.

"How yummy!" she said. "Prove it."

I did, and the world went on without us. It didn't really care and we didn't, either. We had our own world.