He had fixed the towel as a curtain. He got down off the chair and said absent-mindedly, “No. That’s right. One shouldn’t get fat.”
He put the chair tidily back beside the desk where it belonged and picked up his gun that he had put down on the desk. He examined the gun. He went to his small pile of clothes and took out a new clip and substituted it for the old one and came over to the bed and slipped the gun under his pillow.
Now I realized why he had lain like that, with his right hand doubled under the pillow. I guessed that he always slept like that. I thought his must be rather like a fireman’s life, always waiting for a call. I thought how extraordinary it must be to have danger as your business.
He came and sat down on the edge of my side of the bed. In the filtering scraps of light his face looked drawn and sort of blasted, as if by shock. He tried to smile, but the tense muscles wouldn’t let him and it was only a crooked sketch of a smile. He said, “I nearly got us both killed again. I’m sorry, Viv. I must be losing my touch. If I go on like this I’m going to catch trouble. When the car went into the lake, remember a bit of the roof and the rear window was left sticking out of the water? Well, there was obviously plenty of air trapped in that corner. I was a damned fool not to have worked that out for myself. This fellow Sluggsy only needed to knock out the rear window and swim ashore. He was hit several times. It must have been hard going for him. But he got to our cabin. We ought to be dead ducks. Don’t go round the back in the morning. He’s not a pretty sight.” He looked at me for reassurance. “Anyway, I’m sorry, Viv. It ought never to have happened.”
I scrambled off the bed and went and put my arms round him. His body was cold. I hugged him to me and kissed him. “Don’t be silly, James! If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have got into all this mess. And where would I be now if it wasn’t for you? I’d not only have been a dead duck, but a roasted one too, hours ago. The trouble with you is you haven’t had enough sleep. And you’re cold. Come into bed with me. I’ll keep you warm.” I got up and pulled him to his feet.
He caught me to him. He reached down with both hands and pressed my body hard into his. He held me like that for a time, quite still, and I felt the way his body was gaining warmth from mine. Then he lifted me up and laid me softly back on the bed. And then he took me fiercely, almost cruelly, and once again there came the small scream from someone who was no longer me and then we were lying side by side and his heart was pounding wildly against my breast and I found that my right hand was clenched in his hair.
I relaxed my cramped fingers and reached down for his hand. I said, “James, what’s a bimbo?”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you when you’ve told me.”
He laughed sleepily. “It’s gangster language for a whore.”
“I thought it was something like that. They kept on calling me that. I suppose it must really be true.”
“You don’t qualify.”
“Promise you don’t think I’m a bimbo?”
“Promise. You’re just a darling chick. I’m cow-simple about you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means crazy for a girl. Now, that’s enough questions. Go to sleep.” He kissed me gently and turned over on his side.
I curled up against him, fitting myself close in to his back and thighs. “This is a nice way to sleep—like spoons. Good night, James.”
“Good night, darling Viv.”
Fifteen: The Writing on My Heart
THOSE were the last words he spoke to me. When I woke up the next morning he was gone. There was only the dent down the bed where he had lain, and the smell of him on the pillow. To make sure, I jumped out of bed and ran to see if the gray car was still there. It wasn’t.