Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [27]
"I'll get the tickets," she said and moved across to the machines.
The hall was crowded with people and Brady quickly pulled on the coat and belted it around his waist. Then, quite casually, he took off the cap and pulled the rain hat from his pocket.
He pulled it into shape and put it on as Anne returned. "All set?" she said.
He crushed the porter's cap between his hands and thrust it into his pocket. "All set," he replied, and picking up the cases, followed her to the barrier.
(7)
HER flat was on the third floor of an old, grey stone house overlooking a quiet square near Kensington Gardens. When she opened the door, the curtains were drawn and the room was in half-darkness.
She pulled them back and opened the window. "The place needs a good airing," she said. "It hasn't been lived in for three or four weeks."
Brady put down the suitcases and closed the door. "It looks pretty good to me," he said, taking off his trench-coat.
"How hungry are you?" she demanded.
He grinned. "Believe it or not, I last ate as a guest of Her Majesty."
Her eyes widened perceptibly. "You must be starving. Why didn't you mention food when we were at my digs in Manningham?"
He shrugged. "There seemed to be rather more important things to worry about."
She smiled. "Never mind, there's a little shop just round the corner. I'll run down and see what they've got. You make yourself comfortable. I shan't be long."
When she had gone, he explored the small flat. There was the large living-room, a kitchen, one bedroom with twin beds and the bathroom. He turned on both taps and started to undress.
He was wallowing up to his chin in hot water, the room half-full of steam, when the door opened a fraction and a hand reached in to deposit a small package on one of the glass shelves.
"Breakfast in fifteen minutes," she called and the door closed again.
The package contained a cheap razor, a packet of blades and a tube of shaving cream. He smiled to himself and quickly lathered his face. When he left the bathroom ten minutes later, freshly shaved, his hair combed, wearing the tweed suit, he felt civilized for the first time in months.
The table was laid for two in the bow window and a newspaper was propped against the sugar-bowl. He sat down and picked it up eagerly.
He was on the front page, down in the right-hand corner. The prison authorities hadn't issued details as to how he had escaped. There was a brief account of the circumstances of his trial, a warning that he was dangerous, and an interview with the Chief Constable of Manningham who was quite certain he was still in the town and anticipated an early arrest.
The photograph had been taken from his record card and he examined it with a slight frown, wondering whether there could be any connexion between himself and this gaunt stranger.
"It doesn't look much like you," Anne said at his shoulder.
"It's perhaps as well," he told her. "They're not going to look for me in Manningham indefinitely."
She placed ham and eggs before him and a plate piled high with toast. "I'm strictly limited in the kitchen at the best of times," she said, sitting down opposite him. "I hope that suits your transatlantic palate."
He grinned. "Absolutely no complaints. I haven't felt so hungry since I was a boy, coming in from fishing in the bay in the early morning."
"Where was that?" she said.
"Near Cape Cod," he told her. "My father had a farm right on the coast."
"I've always wanted to visit the New England states," she said.
"Until you've seen our fall, you haven't lived," he told her. "There's nothing like it on God's earth."
They lit cigarettes and he gazed out of the window through the light rain down into the trees in the square, watching their leaves twist and fall in the slight breeze, thinking of home.
"Would you like to go back some day?" she said softly.
He nodded. "Funnily enough, I was going to go home after the Kuwait job. I'd had a letter from my brother-in-law. He's an architect, senior partner in a large Boston firm. He wanted me to join them."
"Perhaps you