A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [220]
“Water,” said Micky feebly.
She poured a glass from the pitcher beside the bed. He turned over and sat up to take it, then drank it all.
“Some more … Micky?”
He shook his head.
She took the glass from him.
“You lost the snuffboxes,” he said. “I heard the whole thing. That swine Hugh.”
“But you’ve got plenty of money,” she said. She pointed to the champagne in the ice bucket. “We should drink this. We’re out of England. You escaped!”
He was staring at her bosom. She realized that her nipples were hard with excitement, and he could see them poking through the silk of her nightwear. She wanted to say You can touch them if you like but she hesitated. There was plenty of time: they had all night. They had the whole voyage. They had the rest of their lives. But suddenly she could wait no longer. She felt guilty and ashamed, but she longed to hold his naked body in her arms, and the longing was stronger than the shame. She sat on the edge of the bed. She took his hand, drew it to her lips, and kissed it; then she pressed it to her breast.
He looked at her curiously for a moment. Then he began to stroke her breast through the silk. His touch was gentle. His fingertips brushed the sensitive nipple and she gasped with pleasure. He changed his grip and held her breast in his palm, lifting and moving it. Then he grasped her nipple between finger and thumb and squeezed. She closed her eyes. He pinched harder, so that it hurt. Then, suddenly, he twisted her nipple so viciously that she screamed and pulled away from him, standing up.
“You dumb cunt,” he sneered, getting off the bed.
“No!” she said. “No!”
“You really thought I would many you!”
“Yes—”
“You’ve got no money and no influence anymore, the bank is bust, and you even lost the snuffboxes. What would I want with you?”
She felt a pain in her chest, like a knife in her heart. “You said you loved me….”
“You’re fifty-eight—my mother’s age, for God’s sake! You’re old and wrinkled and mean and selfish, and I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last woman on earth!”
She felt faint. She tried not to cry but it was no good. Tears welled up in her eyes and she began to shake with sobs of despair. She was ruined. She had no home, no money and no friends, and the man she trusted had betrayed her. She turned away from him to hide her face: she did not want him to see her shame and grief. “Please, stop,” she whispered.
“I’ll stop,” he spat out. “I’ve got a cabin reserved on this ship and that’s where I’m going.”
“But when we get to Cordova …”
“You’re not going to Cordova. You can get off the ship at Lisbon and go back to England. I’ve no further use for you.”
Every word was like a blow and she backed away from him, holding her hands up in front of her as if to ward off his curses. She bumped against the cabin door. Desperate to get away from him, she opened it and backed out.
The freezing night air cleared her head suddenly. She was behaving like a helpless girl, not a mature, capable woman. She had lost control of her life briefly, and it was time to seize it back again.
A man in evening dress walked past her, smoking a cigar. He stared at her nightclothes in astonishment but did not speak to her.
That gave her an idea.
She stepped back into the cabin and closed the door. Micky was straightening his tie in the mirror. “There’s someone coming,” she said urgently. “A policeman!”
Micky’s demeanor changed in a flash. The sneer was wiped off his face and replaced by a look of panic. “Oh, my God,” he said.
Augusta was thinking quickly. “We’re still within British waters,” she said. “You can be arrested and sent back on a coast guard cutter.” She had no idea whether this was true.
“I’ll have to hide.” He climbed into the trunk. “Close the front, quickly,” he said.
She shut him in the trunk.
Then she flipped the latch to lock it.
“That’s better,” she said.
She sat on