Part 70 (1/2)
He quickly pulled off his clothes and dived back into the bed. He resumed the same sleeping position he'd been in before she left.
Seconds later, the door quietly opened.
She undressed quickly, laying each article of clothing exactly where it had been. Then she stood in the middle of the room, naked again, now with the moonlight cutting a ribbon of white across her.
She climbed back onto the bed, a bare knee first. She started to ease beneath the covers.
He sprang up, surprising her so that she began a slight scream.
He grabbed her shoulders with both arms and pushed her back down onto the mattress. An image flashed into his mind as he saw the scar across her throat: the image of the Italian youth who'd tried to kill her.
He lay on top of her, pinning her down playfully and trapping her between himself and the mattress.
He began to laugh, showing her that everything was all right.
”Did I scare you?” he asked.
”Half to death' she said, her British intonation sounding particularly indignant.
”What's wrong? Restless?”
”I couldn't sleep” ”No?” He gently' slid off her and sat up, propping a pillow against his back. She sat up with him, the sheet falling away from her and resting across her lap.
”I went out” she said.
”For some air. I took some change from your dresser,” she said.
”The air is free,” he offered.
”Of course,” she said.
”I was looking for a soft-drink machine. I was thirsty, too” ”Find it?” he asked.
”Yes she said.
He smiled, watching her closely and seeing that she was perfectly at home with a lie.
”I guess customs are different here from in England,” he said.
”Sorry?” she asked, c.o.c.king her head slightly and not knowing what he meant. He studied her carefully in the soft indirect light. He could see all of her, from the delicate features of her face to where the sheet lay motionless and slightly rumpled across her lap.
”Customs?”
”Yes,” he said.
”Over here, people don't normally get sodas out of telephone booths.”
There was a moment's awkward pause, as if she'd been slapped suddenly, not expecting it at all. Then her mouth flew open, not in defensiveness, it seemed, but in resentment.
”Why, you spy,” she charged.