Part 20 (1/2)

She gave him a dazzling smile. 'Marilyn.'

Of course, he thought.

Marilyn turned out to be fun. 'You're a military man, aren't you?'

'How can you tell?'

'Easy. I always know. It's the body language. I'm a singer myself.'

'Really? Where do you sing?'

'Here.'

Five minutes later, the pianist beckoned her over.

'Do you mind if I take Bella some champagne?' she asked, picking up the bottle and her own full gla.s.s.

'Of course not.' He smiled. 'I'll get us another one, shall I?'

'Lovely.'

As she crossed to the piano, he signalled the waitress. The previous bottle would go missing, and Marilyn would probably empty her gla.s.s into the lavatory or whatever else the girls did to get rid of the stuff it was all part of the game. This was how the club made its money.

The rendition of 'Baby It's Cold Outside', which Marilyn sang as a duet with the pianist, was pure Monroe in every sense. From the breathy tone to the heavy-lidded eyes, the pout and the wiggle of the hips, Marilyn had her namesake to a tee.

'Sentimental Journey' followed in exactly the same vein, and then she returned to the table.

He applauded her as she sat. 'Excellent,' he said, and she beamed.

He poured her a wine from the fresh bottle the waitress had delivered.

'I'm sorry, I seem to have lost my gla.s.s,' she said.

'No matter, the girl brought you another one.' He toasted her with his Scotch. 'You're a very good singer,' he said. Presuming she wished to be perceived as original, he carefully avoided any reference to Marilyn Monroe.

'You'll like the next songs even more,' she promised. 'They're my specialty.'

The next songs turned out to be 'Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend' and 'The River of No Return'. There was obviously no need to avoid the subject of Marilyn.

'She's my idol. I based myself on her.'

'Yes, I had noticed the similarity.'

A breathy laugh of delight.

They talked and drank, and then they danced, and he bought her supper, and then they talked some more, or rather Marilyn did. She was an excellent conversationalist. It was her job, she said. First and foremost she was a singer, but she was also expected to entertain the customers. It would hardly be fair, would it, to scoff the food and champagne and not offer some form of conversation? She believed in giving good value for money. Marilyn's honesty was disarming. She was really Edie Smith from Mount Barker, she told him, but for show business purposes she'd decided to become Marilyn. 'I'm so good at it now that Marilyn's taken over and I've forgotten who Edie Smith is,' she said with another breathy laugh.

She was intriguing and amusing and Nick was enjoying her company. He looked forward to the s.e.x, but for the moment her presence was enough. He'd missed being with a woman.

Nick Stratton had made it a rule to avoid the complications of relations.h.i.+ps. He'd come close only once to marriage. He'd been stationed in Seoul, and she'd been a cipher clerk in the intelligence unit of the US army, a captain by rank. Theirs had been a pa.s.sionate affair. He'd wanted very much to marry Jennifer, or so he'd thought at the time. But, as it had turned out, they'd proved too alike. 'Face it, Nick,' Jenny had said, 'we're both married to the army.' She'd refused to give up her career and, when the war was over, she'd returned to America. Nick was rather grateful for the fact now. He'd had the odd casual affair since then, but for the most part he was happy to keep his s.e.xual liaisons on a cash basis. He found it simplified things.

'Do you want to come back to my hotel, Marilyn?' he asked as she finished the last of her creme caramel. The supper had run to three courses.

'My place would be better,' she said, 'it's not very far.'

'Fine.' He pulled out his wallet, about to settle the bill.

'I can't leave yet though. I have another bracket.' She smiled apologetically. 'Is midnight all right?'

He looked at his watch an hour to go. Of course, he thought, it would be a house rule that the girls stayed until midnight, ensuring the management sold its quota of suppers and champagne. It also explained why the place had suddenly become busy. Men purely after s.e.x had only one hour of club prices before leaving with the girl of their choice.

'Sure,' he said. 'Shall I get another bottle?'

'Lovely.'

In the taxi on the way to her nearby flat, she kissed him, sensually, provocatively, a promise of what was to come, and Nick was instantly aroused. It had been a long time.

As they undressed each other, he saw in the light of the bedside lamp that she was a good deal older than she'd appeared in the club late thirties, certainly. Not that it turned out to matter at all. The s.e.x was excellent. Just as Marilyn gave good value at supper, so she also gave good value in bed.

But when it was over, Nick realised they hadn't discussed what that value was. She hadn't quoted him a price, and he'd stupidly not asked. He lay looking up at the ceiling for a moment or so, recovering his breath, while she lay panting beside him. She had probably faked her o.r.g.a.s.m, he thought, but if so she was a very good actress. He could have sworn her pa.s.sion was real, which had made the experience so much more enjoyable.

'Oh, that was so good,' she said, stretching luxuriantly and sounding for all the world as though she meant it.

'It certainly was,' he agreed.

He climbed from the bed and started to dress. Discussing business was always more comfortable with one's clothes on.

She sat up, the sheet demurely clutched about her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and watched him.

'Thank you for the supper and champagne,' she said. 'I enjoyed your company very much. I really did.'

'The feeling's mutual.'

It was as if they'd been out on a date, he thought. She was making it very difficult for him to ask how much. Easier to leave a present, he decided he'd met women before who preferred to ignore any form of transaction had taken place. He took a ten-pound note from his wallet and slid it tastefully under the statuette of the ballerina that sat on the mantelpiece. He expected her to pretend not to notice, but she didn't pretend at all.

'How generous,' she said, as if it was the most unexpected gift in the world. 'Thank you,' and she blew him a kiss.

'My pleasure. Bye, Marilyn.'

As Nick left, he was vaguely aware that the evening had cost him close to a week's wages, but for some strange reason he didn't feel as if he'd been taken advantage of.

Edie Smith from Mount Barker played the game her own way. She vetted her clients with great care. Sometimes she told them an element of truth, as she had tonight, and sometimes she invented a whole new tale to keep a customer entertained throughout supper. But she only ever went home with those she considered gentlemen, and preferably gentlemen she fancied she enjoyed s.e.x. Edie was content with her singer's wage and club commission, she wasn't interested in chasing a trick a night. And she never quoted a price because there was no need. The standard 'short time' rate most of the girls at the club charged was five pounds, and her gentlemen invariably came up with twice that amount. She considered it extremely generous on top of the outlay they'd made on champagne and supper. But Edie knew she was worth it. She'd given excellent value for money. They'd scored Marilyn Monroe, no less.

Back at the hotel, Nick managed four hours' sleep before showering and catching a taxi to the airport. He felt a little seedy after too many Scotches, it was true, but he also felt a whole lot better.

Around the same time Nick's taxi arrived at the airport, Gideon Melbray and his team pulled up at Watson railway station. They'd left Maralinga before dawn to meet the train delivery that was due early that morning.