Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [16]
As yet, it was early in the evening, and the place was virtually empty. Two couples danced, another sat at a table, drinking.
Brady went towards the bar. He could see himself coming in the mirror and the suit looked surprisingly good. The barman leaned against the wall, polishing glasses. He looked like a Cypriot or Greek with crisply curling hair and a pretty-boy face.
Brady ordered a double brandy to create an impression and looked deliberately across at the woman who sat on the far curve of the bar, reading a magazine. "Ask the lady if she'll have a drink with me," he said.
"You drinking, Wilma?" the barman asked her.
She looked up and examined Brady calmly and critically. After a while she smiled. "Why not? I'll have a Pimms, Dino."
Her hair was a blonde halo and she walked round the bar and stood six feet away from him, a hand on her hip. "Do I know you?"
Her pose was studied and deliberate, he realized that. She looked as if she didn't have a stitch on under the black sheath dress and was proud of it. Her breasts were sharply pointed and beautifully formed, the stomach faintly rounded, legs long and tapering to delicate ankles.
She was one hell of a woman--almost perfect It was her face which spoilt the picture; sensual, coarse and vulgar, the eyes cold and calculating and full of cunning. The face of an animal.
He grinned. "No, this is the first time I've been to Manningham."
She slid on to the stool beside him, exposing a generous length of leg. "That's funny, I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere before. You're an American, aren't you? We get a lot of Americans in here. There's an Air Force station only a few miles out of town."
"I've been up here on business from London," he said. "I'm going back in the morning. Thought I might find myself a little fun before leaving."
"Well, we'll have to see what we can do, won't we?" She finished her drink and slid off the stool. She smoothed the dress over her rounded hips and smiled invitingly. "Like to dance?"
They threaded their way between the tables as someone put a coin in the juke-box and it started to play a soft dreamy number with a saxophone wailing somewhere in the background.
Wilma melted into Brady's arms, moulding her supple body into his, and slid an arm up behind his neck. As they moved slowly round the tiny floor, Brady tightened his grip, pulling her against him.
"Heh, watch it! I break easily!" she said.
He grinned down at her. "What do you think I'm made of--stone?"
"You tell me," she said.
He had been apart from women for so long that it was easy to play the role. He caressed her back with one hand and whispered urgently. "For God's sake, Wilma, isn't there somewhere we can go?"
"Sure there is," she said calmly. "But it'll cost you."
"Then let's go," he said.
She walked ahead of him, out into the corridor and down to the far end. Another flight of stairs lifted into the darkness to the second floor. Brady followed her up and she opened a door and led the way into a wellfurnished bedroom.
The walls were painted in pastel shades of blue to contrast with the pink carpets. The only furniture was the large divan bed which stood against the wall, a small table beside it on which stood a telephone.
Wilma turned off the main light and clicked another switch and concealed wall lights cast a subdued glow over the room. Brady stood just inside the door and she closed it, turning the key in the lock, and put her arms around his neck.
Whatever else one could say about her, she certainly knew her business. When she kissed him, her mouth opened and something seemed to crawl up his spine. He crushed her against him, returning the kiss avidly.
After a moment, she pulled away, breathless and laughing. "Let's have a smoke," she said. "We've got plenty of time."
He gave her a cigarette and she sprawled on the bed, her head against the pillow. "The more I look at you, the more convinced I am that I've seen your face somewhere."
Brady lit his cigarette, blew out a plume of