Читать книгу The Year of Dangerous Loving - John Davis Gordon - Страница 9

It was very expensive: five hundred American dollars bar-levy to buy her out of the club for the night, plus five hundred dollars ‘for me’. Hargreave knew it was an outrageous sum, that he could have her for half if he protested, but it would be ungentlemanly to bargain with a lady. He paid unflinchingly at the bar, with his winnings. He had not had a woman for a long time, and he simply had to have this glorious girl splayed out beneath him tonight.

And what a wonderful night it was. When he woke up beside her in the Estoril Hotel that Sunday morning to the sound of church bells, hungover and exhausted, he felt no remorse. He was not concerned about having been recognized in the Tranquillity club: it was a well-known tourist venue and anyway there had been nobody he knew. He did not flinch when he remembered he had not used a condom, he felt no moral guilt at the sound of those church bells.

When he woke up he was thinking of her golden nakedness, the breathtaking beauty of her as’she had slipped the silk dress off her shoulders: her glorious curves, her jutting breasts, her soft hips, her long perfect legs. She was the most naked woman in the world. Then came the wildly erotic business of showering together, the glorious soapy feel of her, her breasts and buttocks and thighs gleaming, slippery: he had wanted her so much that he had not been able to produce an erection. That’s how come he had not used a condom: he remembered her leading him to the bed, her riotously golden hair splayed across his loins as her wide mouth did its magic on him. That’s when he had thrown caution to the wind, toppled her over and clambered on top of her nakedness, thrusting frantically up into the sweet hot depths of her.

No; no regrets. And when he woke up that sultry church-belled Macao morning with Olga’s sleepy nakedness against him there was no question about an erection. And after it was over, in a crescendo such as he had never known, he had no doubt about how he was going to spend today. Lying beside her, exhausted, he said:

‘Don’t go. Stay.’

She sat up, tousled, and beamed down at him: ‘Yes? Lovely!’ Then she added apologetically, ‘But I regret you must pay.’

Hargreave grinned. Of course she didn’t regret it, but the solemn way she said it was endearing. ‘How much?’ He did not care.

‘The same as last night?’ she said with an anxious little frown.

‘On a Sunday? Surely there’s a discount for a Sunday; no night-clubs do big business today.’

‘No,’ she said earnestly, ‘every weekend in Macao is high season. Monday to Thursday is low season, but Sunday is full price: I’m sorry, darling.’ It seemed she almost meant the endearment.

‘But the night-club won’t know – tell them you spent the day in bed with a headache.’

She said earnestly: ‘They know everything, and if I do not pay they will punish me.’ She widened her eyes, made a guttural noise and drew her finger across her throat.

Hargreave grinned. ‘And such a beautiful throat. Okay, but I haven’t got five hundred US on me.’

‘Credit-card!’ She scrambled up on to her knees and hugged his head against her glorious breasts. ‘I’m so happy!’ She reached for the bedside telephone, punched the buttons, and spoke rapidly in Russian.

They were lying squashed up together in the bubble-bath, drinking champagne sent up by room service, when there was a knock on the door. Hargreave heaved himself up and draped a towel around his waist.

A tall white man stood outside, smiling politely. He had slick black hair, was athletically built, and carried a briefcase. ‘My name is Vladimir. I have come about Olga, sir. I am the accountant.’ He walked in, opened his briefcase and pulled out a credit-card machine.

Accountant? Very fancy name for a pimp. He was the guy to talk to about discounts. ‘I get a different price on Sunday?’

‘Will Olga return to the club at seven o’clock?’

Oh, he wanted her tonight. ‘No.’

‘Then it is full price, sir.’ He ran the machine over the card, wrote ‘Goods’ on the slip, and gave it to Hargreave to sign. It was made out to Gorky Enterprises. ‘You are satisfied with Olga’s service, sir?’

‘Oh yes.’

Vladimir produced a visiting card, printed in English on one side, Chinese on the other: there was no address but it gave a Macao telephone number. ‘If you have any complaints, please call immediately. We have many girls, all very good, all speak English, sir.’

Lord, a thousand dollars. But Hargreave signed the slip without second thoughts.

‘Thank you,’ Vladimir said. ‘Have a nice day.’

It was a lovely day. Afterwards, when he was to look back, it seemed the happiest day of his life to date, the start of the happiest period of his life. After finishing the champagne in the bath – her happy, slippery nakedness all over him felt like love – they had a late breakfast on their balcony overlooking the waterfront and harbour, with another bottle of champagne, while downstairs the hotel’s casino hummed and tinkled.

‘So tell me about yourself, Olga.’

‘Where do you want me to begin?’ She grinned. ‘And what do you want me to leave out?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Not even about my profession?’ She added, with a twinkle in her lovely eyes, ‘You must not worry about Aids, you know. I always make love only with a condom. You were the first time I did not.’

He was thankful to hear that, though he had not thought about it since the sound of the church bells. ‘Why didn’t you?’

She clasped her hands under her chin. ‘Because … I wanted to do it like that. I wanted it to be natural. Because I like you. Because I was –’ she searched for the word – ‘reckless about you.’

He wanted to laugh, and squeezed her hand. ‘Yes, I also felt reckless. Because I like you too.’ He felt like a teenager.

‘Because you think I am sexy?’

‘Because you are very sexy, and very beautiful, and because you are a very nice person.’

‘How do you know? All I did was take your money and say let’s fuck, like a prostitute.’ She smiled: ‘Because you wanted me to be a nice person? Because you are unhappy with your wife?’

Her perspicacity surprised him. ‘How do you know I even have a wife?’

‘In my business you learn about people. You looked like a man who is not experienced in talking with prostitutes, you were very polite, so I thought you are probably a nice married man and such a man must be unhappy with his wife if he has followed me to my night-club when he should be at home with her.’ Before he could respond she added, ‘Is she nice, your wife?’

He was surprised that he wanted to talk to her about it: he had never confided in anyone except Jake McAdam, and for the last seven weeks he’d been too embarrassed about the shooting incident to show his face socially, yet here he was sitting over breakfast with a Russian prostitute and it felt as if he wanted to open his heart. But he only said:

‘Yes, she’s nice. However, she’s gone back to America now, we’re getting divorced.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She looked concerned. Then she snapped her fingers. ‘Of course! That scar on your chest – you said it was an accident. But she shot you, your wife! I read it in the newspaper.’

He was surprised and embarrassed. Even a Macao prostitute knew about his humiliation? ‘You read the Hong Kong newspapers?’

‘And your photograph, I recognize you now!’ She pointed a scarlet fingernail at him. ‘You told me you are a business man, but really you are a big lawyer!’ She swept both hands down over her golden locks. ‘That big English wig!’

Hargreave smiled wanly. ‘So you do read the papers.’

‘For my English. So,’ she smiled, ‘you are a lawyer. So your nice wife is asking for lots of nice money in her divorce?’

‘Something like that.’

‘And now you are spending so much money for me!’ She took both his hands across the table and sparkled mischievously: ‘So I will make it a very good day for you, don’t worry, darling! We will make love as much as you like. Any way you like! Tell me how you like to do it.’

Hargreave seemed to feel his loins turn over. He grinned.

‘Let’s check out of here and go to the Bella Mar Hotel, it’s more secluded. And I’d like you to go home and change into a daytime dress. Bring a bikini, they’ve got a nice pool at the Bella Mar. I’ll meet you there. Know where it is?’

‘Of course I know the Bella Mar.’