Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [29]
There was an old newspaper in the glove compartment and he worked his way through it systematically, killing time as he waited.
He only really started to feel uneasy when an hour had gone by. He lit another cigarette and looked back through the rear window at the gate, but there was no sign of her and he cursed and turned back to check the clock on the dashboard.
Which ever way he looked at it, something had obviously gone wrong. He gave her another twenty minutes and then got out of the car, locked the door and slipped the keys into the ticket pocket of his pants.
The street was quiet and deserted as he crossed to the gates and entered. There was still a fine drizzle falling and he followed the broad sweep of the gravel drive and mounted the steps to the front door.
It opened to his touch and he passed through into a pleasant, carpeted hall. A low, contemporary desk stood in one corner and a young woman was absorbed in sorting a card index.
She was extremely attractive, with red-gold hair swinging shoulder-length, and wore a white medical smock which gaped at the neck as she bent over, revealing the deep valley between her breasts.
She glanced up and smiled professionally. "Yes, sir?"
"I wonder if I might see Professor Soames?" he said.
"I'm afraid the professor only sees patients by appointment, sir."
"I realize that," Brady told her. "But a friend of mine recommended me to try him. I've had a history of back trouble and severe pain for several years now since an old injury."
"I'm afraid the professor is booked-up for today," she said. "However, we do have several other perfectly competent naturopaths on our staff."
"It must be the professor," Brady said emphatically. "He's the only one who can help me. I'm convinced of that after what my friend told me."
She sighed and made a note on a pad. "If you'll give me your name, sir. I'll see what I can do."
"Harlow," Brady said. "George Harlow."
She wrote it down and then swivelled in her chair, uncrossing her silk-clad legs, and got to her feet in one fluid movement. "Please take a seat, Mr. Harlow. I shan't be a moment."
She walked across the hall with an easy, confident grace and opened a door. As it closed, Brady grinned and sat on the edge of the desk. If she was a sample of the staff, this must be quite a place.
There was an appointment register lying open beside the card index and he turned it round quickly and ran a finger down the page. There was no sign of an appointment in Anne's name and he frowned and turned the register round again.
"Will you come this way, Mr. Harlow? I think we can fit you in."
The girl had approached soundlessly, her footsteps deadened by the thick carpet. She gave no sign that she had seen him examining the register and yet she must have done.
Brady smiled. "It's very kind of you to go to so much trouble."
She led the way along a narrow corridor which led into the extension at the rear and opened a door. Brady walked in and found himself in a small, comfortably furnished dressing-room.
"Someone will be with you in just a moment, Mr. Harlow. Perhaps you'd like to get undressed. You'll find a bathrobe behind the door."
"Undressed?" Brady said. "Is that really necessary?"
"Professor Soames prefers patients to be completely relaxed before an examination," she explained. "You'll spend a little time in the steam room and have a relaxing massage. The professor will see you afterwards."
The door closed behind her and Brady shrugged and took off his coat. If this was the only way open to him of getting to see Soames then he had no choice.
He wrapped a towel about his waist and put on the bathrobe and waited. A few minutes later, the door opened and another young woman wearing a white medical smock tightly belted at the waist, came in.
She was, if anything, even more attractive than the receptionist. The smock was damp with moisture and clung to her figure, moulding each curve.
She pushed a tendril of dark hair back from her forehead and smiled. "Mr. Harlow, will you come this way, please?"
As he followed her along the corridor,