Читать книгу An Affair of State - Harry Hart Frank - Страница 8

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He called her apartment at six that evening, and she said of course she remembered him, and wondered why he’d asked for her telephone number if he didn’t intend using it. He asked whether she’d like to go out that night, and told her of the letter from the Department. She said that was very exciting, and she would like to go out, and should she wear a long dress. He said not to bother, and he’d be around at eight.

The apartment was a Washington two-and-a-half, a bedroom, living room with alcove, and compact kitchen. She poked her head out of the bedroom, and said she’d be a minute, and he prowled around outside. It didn’t look like a woman’s apartment. There were too many bookcases, and they were not lined with women’s books. There were too many utilitarian ash trays. The bar in the alcove was solid masculine teak. There was a man’s photograph on an end table. It was not Fred Keller, but a Marine Corps colonel in his forties, or older.

When she came out of the bedroom he wanted to put his hands on her, right then, and she instantly sensed this and seemed a bit amused and said, “Must be the perfume.”

“It’s something!” he said, alarmed that the girl could have such an immediate aphrodisiac effect on him. He thought, I’ve been too long without a woman, and then decided this couldn’t be it, because he’d been longer, and he’d never felt quite like this before.

“It can’t be the dress.” She pivoted with a model’s confident grace, and he saw that the dress was not daring, except for its color. Only a woman of her lustrous dark shading could wear such brilliant emerald. He guessed it was the way she moved, not deliberately sensuous, but with such constant, flowing vigor that you could not keep your eyes off her body.

“It could be the dress, or it could be the perfume, but it isn’t. You know exactly what it is, and you ought to be ashamed.”

“You’re pretty direct, aren’t you?” she said. “I’ll be direct too. I’m hungry.”