brush and picked up the razor. He tested its sharp edge with his thumb. then looked at her. She was watching him with horrid fascination. He leaned closer, spread her legs a little more, put the razor to her skin, and drew it upward with a light, careful stroke. He said: “I’m going to befriend a British officer.” She did not answer: she was only half listening to him. He wiped the razor on a towel, With one finger of his left hand he touched the shaved patch. pulling down to stretch the skin, then he brought the razor close. “Then I’ll bring the officer here,” he said. Sonja said – “Oh, no.” He touched her with the edge of the razor and gently scraped upward. She began to breathe harder. He wiped the razor and stroked again once, twice, three times. “Somehow III get the officer to bring his briefcase.” He put his finger on her most sensitive spot and shaved around it. She closed her eyes. He poured hot water from a kettle into a bowl on the floor beside him. He dipped a flannel into the water and wrung it out. “Then I’ll go through the briefcase while the officer is in bed with you.” He pressed the hot flannel against her shaved skin. She gave a sharp cry like a cornered animal: “Abb, God!” Wolff slipped out of his bathrobe and stood naked. He picked up a bottle of soothing skin oil, poured some into the palm of his right hand, and knelt on the bed beside Sonja; then he anointed her pubis. “I won’t,” she said as she began to writhe. He added more oil, massaging it into all the folds and crevices. With his left hand he held her by the throat, pinning her down. “You will.” His knowing fingers delved and squeezed, becoming less gentle. She said: “No.” He said: “Yes.” She shook her head from side to side. Her body wriggled, helpless in the grip of intense pleasure. She began to shudder, 80 Ken Follett
and finally she said: “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh!” Then she relaxed. Wolff would not let her stop. He continued to stroke her smooth, hairless skin while with his left hand he pinched her brown nipples. Unable to resist him, she began to move again. She opened her eyes and saw that he, too, was aroused. She said: “You bastard, stick it in me.” He grinned. The sense of power was like a drug. He lay over her and hesitated, poised. She said: “Quickly!” “Will you do it?” “Quickly!” He let his body touch hers, then paused again. “Will you do it?” “Yes! Please!” “Aaah,” Wolff breathed, and lowered himself to her.
She tried to go back on it afterward, of course. “That kind of promise doesn’t count,” she said. Wolff came out of the bathroom wrapped in a big towel. He looked at her. She was Iving on the bed, still naked, eating chocolates from a box. There were moments when he was almost fond of her. He said: “A promise is a promise.” “You promised to find us another Fawzi.” She was sulking. She always did after sex. “I brought that girl from Madame Fahmy’s,” Wolff said. “She wasn’t another Fawzi. Fawzi didn’t ask for ten pounds every time, and she didn’t go home in the morning.” “All right. I’m still looking.” “You didn’t promise to look, you promised to find.,’ Wolff went into the other room and got a bottle of champagne out of the icebox. He picked up two glasses and took them back into the bedroom. “Do you want some?” “No,” she said. “Yes.” He poured and handed her a glass. She drank some and took another chocolate. Wolff said: “To the unknown British officer who is about to get the nicest surprise of his life.” “I won’t go to bed with an En.-lishman,” Sonja said. “They smell bad and they have skins like slugs and I hate them.” THE KEY TO REBECCA 81
“nat’s why you’ll do it-because you hate them. Just imagine it: while be’s screwing you and thinking how lucky be is, I’ll be reading his secret papers.” Wolff began to dress. He put on a shirt which had been made for him in one of the tiny tailor shops in the Old City-a British uniform shirt with captain’s pips on the shoulders. Sonja said: “What are you wearing?” “British officer’s uniform. They don’t talk to foreigners, you know.” “You’re going to pretend to be BritishT’ “South African, I think.” “But what if you slip up?” He looked at her. “I’ll probably be shot as a spy.” She looked away. Wolff said: “If I find a likely one, IT take him to the Cha-Cha.” He reached into his shirt and drew his knife from its underarm sheath. He went close to her and touched her naked shoulder with its point. “If you let me down, I’ll cut your lips off.” She looked into his face. She did not speak, but there was fear in her eyes. Wolff went out.