Vulture Is a Patient Bird

Chapter Three

Ten minutes after the meeting between Gaye, Garry, Jones and Fennel had broken up, Shalik had come into Natalie’s office, an overcoat over his arm and a weekend case in his hand. She paused in her work and looked up.

To Shalik, Natalie Norman was part of his background: useful, exceedingly efficient: a dedicated, colourless woman who had been with him for three years. He had chosen her to be his personal assistant from a short list of highly qualified women an agency had submitted to him.

Natalie Norman was thirty-eight years of age. She spoke fluent French and German, and she had an impressive degree in Economics. With no apparent interests outside Shalik’s office she was, to him, a machine who worked efficiently and who was essential to him.

Shalik liked sensual, beautiful women. To him, Natalie Norman with her plain looks, her pallid complexion was merely a robot. When he spoke to her, he seldom looked at her.

“I shall be away for the weekend, Miss Norman,” he said, pausing at her desk. “I will ask you to come in tomorrow for an hour to see to the mail, then take the weekend off. I have a meeting on Monday morning at 09.00 hrs.,” and he was gone.

There was no look, no smile and not even a “nice weekend’.

The following morning, she arrived at her usual time, dealt with the mail and was beginning to clear her desk as George Sherborn came in.

She loathed Sherborn as he loathed her. To her thinking, he was a boot-licking, sensual, fat old horror. On the day she began to work for Shalik, Sherborn, his fat face flushed, had run his hand over her corsetted buttocks as she was sealing a large envelope full of legal documents. His touch revolted her. She had spun around and slashed his fat face with the side of the envelope, making his nose bleed.

From then on they hated each other, but had worked together, both ably serving Shalik.

“Have you finished?” Sherborn asked pompously. “If you have, get off. I’m staying here.”

“I’ll be going in a few minutes,” she returned, not looking at him.

Sherborn nodded, regarded her contemptuously and returned to Shalik’s office.

Natalie sat for a long moment listening, then when she heard Sherborn dialling a number, she took from a drawer a big plastic shopping bag. From another drawer she took out the tiny tape recorder and three reels of tape. These she hurriedly put in the shopping bag and zipped it shut. She could hear Sherborn talking on the telephone. She moved silently to the door and listened.

“I’ve got the place to myself, baby,” Sherborn was saying. “Yes… the whole week-end. Suppose you come over? We could have fun.”

Natalie grimaced with disgust and moved away. She put on her coat, tied a black scarf around her head and taking the shopping bag, she crossed to the lift and pressed the call button.

As she waited, Sherborn appeared in the doorway.

“You off?”

She stared bleakly as she saw him looking curiously at the shopping bag.

“Taking all the secrets with you?”

“Yes.”

The lift doors swung open and she entered. As the doors closed, Sherborn smiled sneeringly at her.

Natalie took a taxi back to her two-room flat in Church Street, Kensington. She had slept very little the previous night, tossing and turning, trying to make up her mind whether to betray Shalik or not. Even now as she unlocked the front door and entered the small but pleasant living-room which she had furnished with care, she still hadn’t made up her mind.

She put down the shopping bag, took off her head scarf and coat and then dropped into an armchair. She sat there for some minutes, knowing she would do it and loathing herself. She looked at her watch. The time was 11:10 hrs. There was always the chance that Burnett wouldn’t be at the bank on this Saturday morning. If he wasn’t, then it would be a sign for her not to do what she was planning to do. For a brief moment, she hesitated, then crossed to the telephone and dialled a number.

She sat on the arm of the chair as she listened to the ringing tone.

An impersonal voice said, “This is the National Bank of Natal.”

“Could I speak to Mr. Charles Burnett, please?”

“Who is calling?”

“Miss Norman… Mr. Burnett knows me.”

“One moment.”

There was a brief delay, then a rich, fruity baritone voice came over the line.

“Miss Norman? Delighted… how are you?”

She shivered, hesitated, then forced herself to say, “I would like to see you, Mr. Burnett… it’s urgent.”

“Of course. If you could come at once… I am leaving in an hour for the country.”

“No!” Hysterical self-loathing now had her in its grip. “In half an hour… here… at my flat! 35a Church Street, fourth floor. I said it was urgent!”

There was a pause, then the rich baritone voice, sounding slightly shocked, said, “I’m afraid that is not convenient, Miss

Norman.”

“Here! In half an hour!” Natalie cried, her voice going shrill and she slammed down the receiver.

She slid down into the seat of the chair, resting her head against the cushion. Her body shuddered and jerked as she began to sob hysterically. For some minutes she allowed herself the luxury of crying. The hot tears finally ran no more. Trembling, she went into the bathroom and bathed her face, then spent some minutes repairing her make-up.

She returned to the sitting-room, opened a cupboard and took out the bottle of whisky she kept for Daz. She poured herself a stiff drink and swallowed it neat, shuddering.

She sat down to wait.

Thirty-five minutes later, the front door bell rang. At the sound of the bell, blood rushed into her face and then receded leaving her face chalk white. For a long moment, she sat motionless, then when the bell rang again, she forced herself to her feet and opened the door.

Charles Burnett, Chairman of the National Bank of Natal, swept into the room like a galleon in full sail. He was a large, heavily-built man with a purple red face, shrewd hard eyes and his bald head, fringed by glossy white hair, was glistening pink. Immaculately dressed in a Savile Row grey lounge suit with a blood red carnation in his button hole, he looked a movie version of what a rich, influential banker should be.

“My dear Miss Norman,” he said, “what is all the urgency about?”

He regarded her, his mind registering distaste, but he was far too shrewd and experienced to show it. What a dreadful hag! he was thinking: nice figure, good legs, of course, but that pallid face, the plainness of it, those depressing black eyes and the dark overshadowed face.

Natalie had control of herself now. The whisky had given her false confidence.

“Sit down, please, Mr. Burnett. I won’t be wasting your time. I have information regarding Mr. Kahlenberg that you will wish to hear.”

Burnett lowered his bulk into an armchair. His expression showed mild interest, but his shrewd mind was thinking: So it has paid off. One drops a seed here and there, and sometimes it germinates.

As Chairman of the National Bank of Natal which was owned by Max Kahlenberg, Burnett was under instructions from his Chief to collect every scrap of information circulating in London that could effect Kahlenberg’s kingdom in Natal.

Some twelve days ago, Kahlenberg had sent him a brief cable:

Need information regarding activities of Armo Shalik. K.

Burnett knew all about Armo Shalik, but nothing of his business activities. The cable dismayed him. To get information about Shalik… the kind of information that would interest Kahlenberg… would be as difficult as getting information from the Sphinx. However, Burnett knew he had to do something about this request. When Kahlenberg asked for information, he expected to get it no matter the difficulties or the cost.

It so happened that two days later, Shalik threw a cocktail party in his suite to which Burnett was invited. Here, he met Natalie Norman.

Burnett believed in being pleasant to the underlings. Didn’t George Bernard Shaw say once: you may kick an old man: you know what he is, but never kick a young man: you don’t know what he will become?

Seeing Natalie supervising the drinks and being ignored by the chattering guests, he had detached himself from his tiresome wife and cornered her. He had charm, and was an easy con versationalist and he quickly learned that this pale-faced, plain- looking woman was Shalik’s personal assistant, and he could see that she was sexually starved.

He easily won her confidence and chatted with her for some minutes while his mind worked swiftly. She could be vitally important to him and he knew he couldn’t remain with her for long as Shalik was already glancing in their direction with lifted eyebrows.

“Miss Norman,” he said quietly, “I am in the position to help people like yourself should you need help. Please remember my name; Charles Burnett, the National Bank of Natal. Should you ever get dissatisfied with your job here, should you wish to earn more money, do please contact me.”

As her expression became bewildered, he smiled and left her.

After returning home, he sat in his study and considered his next move. He hoped he hadn’t rushed his fences with this pale- faced woman. She could be the spy he needed. Obviously, she needed physical contact with a virile man. Burnett knew all the signs: her thinness, her dark ringed eyes, her depressed expression. What she needed was a lusty bedmate: he decided this must be the first move to ensnare her.

Burnett had many useful contacts and among them was ex- Inspector Tom Parkins of the C.I.D. He telephoned him.

“Parkins… I am looking for a young rogue who could do a special job for me. He must be completely unscrupulous and good looking with personality and around twenty-five, not older. Do you know of anyone like that?”

The cop voice said, “Shouldn’t be too difficult, sir. Would the pay be interesting?”

“Very.”

“I’ll turn it over in my mind, sir. Suppose I call you after lunch?”

“Do that,” Burnett said, satisfied that he would get what he wanted.

Around 15.00 hrs., Parkins telephoned.

“I’ve got your man, sir,” he said. “Daz Jackson: twenty-four years of age, excellent appearance, plays a guitar in a fifth rate Soho club and needs money. He served two years for petty larceny three years ago.”

Burnett hesitated.

“This might be a little tricky, Parkins. I’m not letting myself in for blackmail?”

“Oh no, sir. Anything like that… and it won’t happen, I assure you… I could handle for you. I have quite a lot on this young tearaway. You don’t have to worry about that angle.”

“Very well. Send him here at 17.00 hrs. I’ll arrange to have ten pounds credited to your account with us, Parkins.”

“That’s very kind of you, sir. You will be quite satisfied with Jackson.”

Daz Jackson arrived ten minutes after the hour. He was ushered into Burnett’s vast office by Burnett’s secretary. She had worked so long for Burnett that nothing surprised her… not even Daz Jackson.

Burnett regarded the young man as he lounged into the big room, a supercilious grin on his face. He wore mustard-coloured hipsters, a dark-blue frilled shirt and a gilt chain around his neck from which hung a small bell that tinkled as he moved.

What a specimen Burnett thought, but, at least, he is clean.

Without being asked, Jackson lowered his lean frame into a chair, crossed one leg over the other and regarded Burnett with an insolent lift of his eyebrow.

“The ex-bogey said you had a job. What’s the pay?” he asked. “And listen, I don’t dig to work in this graveyard. Catch?

Burnett was used to dealing with all kinds of people and he was adaptable. Although he would have liked to have kicked this young beatnik out, he saw he could be the man he was looking for.

“I’m not asking you to work here Mr. Jackson,” he said. “I have a

special job which you could handle and which pays well.”

Jackson raised a languid hand in mock protest.

“Skip the mister and all that jazz,” he said. “Call me Daz.”

Burnett’s insincere smile became a little stiff.

“Certainly… but why Daz?”

“The chicks call me that… I dazzle them.”

“Splendid.” Burnett leaned back in his executive chair. “What I want you to do is this…” He explained.

Daz Jackson lolled in his chair and listened. His ice grey eyes searched Burnett’s face while Burnett talked. Finally, when Burnett said, “Well, that’s it… do you think you can handle it for me?” Daz grimaced.

“Let’s get it nice and straight,” he said, stretching out his long legs. “This piece wants to be laid… right?” When Burnett nodded, he went on, “Once I’ve given it to her, she’ll want more right?” Again Burnett nodded. “Then she has to pay for it… you want me to squeeze her dry… right?”

“Yes… that is the situation.”

“You will pay me a hundred nicker for doing the job and what I get out of her I keep… right?”

Burnett inclined his head. Dealing with a man like this made him feel slightly soiled.

Jackson leaned back in his chair and stared at Burnett. “Well, for God’s sake, and they call me delinquent!”

Burnett’s eyes turned frosty.

“Do you want the job or don’t you?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Daz shrugged.

“Oh sure… what have I to lose? What’s this piece like?”

“Plain but adequate,” Burnett returned, unconsciously using the phrase in the Michelin Guide to France to describe a third rate hotel.

“Okay, so where do I find her?”

Burnett gave him Natalie’s home and business addresses typed on a blank card.

“I want quick action.”

Daz grinned.

“If you say she’s thirsting for it, she’ll have it and once she has had it from me, she’ll want it again and again.” Daz regarded Burnett, his eyes calculating. “The cops won’t come into this?”

“There’s no question of that.”

“Well, if they do, I’ll squeal. I’m not mad about this job.” Burnett stared coldly at him.

“But you will do it?”

Daz shrugged.

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Get as much money out of her as you can. I want her to be in an impossible financial position. I want her to be up to her eyes in debt.”

Daz dragged himself to his feet.

“How about some money now… I’m skint.”

“When you deliver,” Burnett said curtly and waved a dismissal.

In the bitter cold of a January night, Natalie Norman found her rear off-side tyre was flat. She had been working late, and was now looking forward to getting home and into a hot bath. She had parked her Austin-Mini, as she always did in a cul-de-sac off Park Lane. She stood shivering in the biting wind while she looked helplessly at the flat tyre, when out of the shadows, came a tall, lean young man, wearing a lamb skin lined short coat, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his black hipsters.

Daz had learned where Natalie parked her car, and he had let the air out of the tyre some fifty minutes ago. He had stood in a nearby doorway, freezing and cursing until he saw her come to the car. This was his first glimpse of her. He brightened considerably as the street light lit up her long, slim legs. The least he had expected was some woman with legs that could support a grand piano.

He waited, watching her. She moved into the full light and he grimaced. Good body, but so obviously a plain, sex-starved spinster with as much personality as a drowned cat.

Boy! he thought. Will I have to use my imagination to get her laid!

“You in trouble, miss?” he said. “Can I give you a hand?”

Natalie was startled by his sudden appearance. She looked helplessly to right and left, but there was no one in the cul-de-sac except themselves.

“I have a puncture,” she said nervously. “It’s all right. I’ll get a taxi… thank you.”

He moved under the street light so she could see him. They regarded each other, and she felt her heart beat quicken. He was lean and tall and like a beautiful young animal, she thought. His hair, curling to his collar, excited her. She felt a rush of blood through her: something that often happened when she saw really masculine men on the street, but her pale, expressionless face revealed nothing of the feeling that was moving through her body.

“I’ll fix it,” Daz said. “You get in the car, miss. Get out of the cold. Phew! It’s cold, isn’t it?”

“Yes… but please don’t bother. I’ll take a taxi.”

“Hop in… I’ll fix it… won’t take me a jiff.”

She unlocked the car door and got gratefully into the little car, closing the door. She watched his movements. He was very quick. Under ten minutes, he came to the car window, wiping his hands on the seat of his hipsters.

“All fixed, miss… you can get off.”

She looked up at him through the open car window. He leaned forward, staring down at her. Was there something of promise in his young eyes? she wondered. Her heart was jumping about like freshly landed trout.

“Can’t I give you a lift?”

She smiled and when she smiled, he decided she wasn’t all that bad to look at.

“You wouldn’t be going near Knightsbridge?” he asked, knowing that was where she lived.

“Oh yes… Church Street.”

“Well, a lift would be nice.”

He went around the car and slid in beside her. His shoulder touched her and she felt as if she had received an electric shock.

She was furious with herself because her hand was shaking so violently she couldn’t get the key into the ignition lock.

“You’re cold. Like me to drive, miss?”

Silently, she handed him the keys and he slid out of the car as she moved over to the passenger’s seat. Her skirt got rucked up on the gear lever. She hesitated, then knowing her legs and slim thighs were her only attractive features, she let her skirt remain as it was.

“I’m frozen,” she forced herself to say as Daz got under the driving wheel.

“Me too… it’s perishing.”

She expected him to drive fast and flashily, but he didn’t. He drove well, keeping just under the 30 m.p.h. limit and with expert confidence that surprised her.

“Do you live in Knightsbridge?” she ventured.

“Who… me?” He laughed. “Nothing so posh. I live in a rat hole in Parson’s Green. I’m out of work. Whenever I get down to my last quid I like to walk around Knightsbridge and window shop. I imagine what I would buy from Harrods if I had a mass of lolly.”

She looked at his handsome profile, and again she experienced this devastating pang of desire.

“But why are you out of work?” she asked. “People need never be out of work these days.”

“I’ve been ill. I’ve got a weak lung… plays up sometimes… then I get laid off. I’ve been laid off now for two weeks.” Daz thought: The lies I can tell. I almost believe this myself. Then feeling he was laying it on a little too thick, he added, “I’ll get something next week, I’m feeling fine now.”

Natalie digested all this.

“I’m glad.”

He turned and gave her a smile that had earned him his nick name. She felt sloppily weak as her desire for him mounted.

“You don’t have to worry about me, miss. No one, including me, worries about me.” He paused, then went on, “You’re out late, aren’t you?”

“I often work late.”

“Church Street you said?”

They were now driving by Knightsbridge Underground Station.

“Yes.”

“You live on your own?”

Oh yes, Natalie thought bitterly. Alone… always alone.

“Yes.”

Daz’s eyes moved to her legs, exposed to above the knee. Poor cow! he thought. This is going to be easy.

“Well, tots of people live on their own,” he said. “When they get back from work, they shut themselves in their dreary rooms and that’s it until they go out to work the next morning. That’s why I like to walk the streets at night. Staying in my room on my own gives me the horrors.”

“I can understand that.” Then as he began to drive up Church Street, she went on, “This is the place… on the right.”

Well here’s the crunch, he thought. Is she going to invite me in?

“You mean this big block here?”

“Yes. You go down the ramp to the garage.” She hesitated then said in a small voice, “I expect you would like a wash after changing that tyre. I think you deserve a drink too.”

He hid a grin. He had felt it would be easy, but not quite this easy.

“Yes. I could do with a wash,” and he drove the car down into the big lighted garage.

They went up in the lift to the fourth floor. Neither of them looked at each other on the way up nor spoke.

She unlocked her front door and led him into the small, bright sitting-room. “Do take your coat off.” Her voice was very unsteady.

He looked around.

“This is real nice.”

She came to know nice was his favourite word.

“The bathroom’s through there.”

She left him in the bathroom and she took off her coat and scarf, feeling desire for him raging through her. She was still standing in the middle of the room, white and shaking, when he came out of the bathroom. He knew at once there would be no trouble.

We don’t know each other. I’m Daz Jackson.”

“I’m Natalie Norman.”

“Nice name… Natalie… I dig for that.”

They stared at each other, then he moved close to her and slid his arms around her.

She shivered as his hands moved down her thin back. For one brief moment, her subconscious mechanism fought to repulse him, but her need was too strong.

She was only dimly aware of being carried into the bedroom. She relaxed on the bed moving a little from side to side as he stripped off her clothes. Then she gave herself up to his animal lust.

Daz Jackson opened his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh. Well, for shouting aloud! he thought as he looked up at the white ceiling. Who would have believed it. It’s the best I’ve ever had!

He turned on his side and looked at Natalie who lay on her back, her hands covering her small breasts, sleeping. He regarded her body. Good, pity about that face. He gave her a gentle prod in the ribs.

“Wake up! I’m hungry. You got any food?”

She stirred and looked up at him, her eyes glazed with a satisfaction she had never known before. She felt as if a hidden door she had long been searching for had suddenly opened and the sun and the breeze and the sound of the sea had come into the barren, dark cave in which she had lived for so long.

“Food… of course.” She sat up, swung her legs off the bed and snatched up a wrap. “Stay there . .. I’ll get you something. Would you like a drink… I have only gin.”

He regarded her. Her anxiety to please, the soft look in her eyes and her eager trembling made her a bore.

“Just grub.”

She ran into the kitchen. He waited a moment, then got off the bed and struggled into his clothes. He saw by the bedside clock that the time was 02.25 hrs. He listened, smelling bacon frying, then he looked around the small neat room. He looked beyond the doorway, across the sitting-room and saw her standing by the stove in the kitchen, her back to him. Working quickly, he went through her chest of drawers. In the top drawer he found a gold cigarette case, a gold lighter and a small jewel box which contained a string of pearls and two rings of little value, but he took all of them, dropping them into his pocket. Then he lounged into the sitting-room and stood in the kitchen doorway.

“Smells nice,” he said.

She turned and smiled at him.

“Can you eat more than four eggs?”

“That’ll be fine.”

She hurried past him and quickly laid the table.

“Aren’t you eating?” he asked, seeing she had set only one place.

“No… it’s ready. Sit down.”

He ate hungrily. Well, she certainly could cook eggs and bacon, he thought as he sipped the tea she had poured him. Pity there weren’t chips and tomato ketchup, but you can’t expect everything.

He was aware of her, sitting on the settee, watching him. There

was that soft look in her eyes that told him she was hooked. When he had finished, he sat back, wiping his mouth on the paper serviette she had provided.

“Nice,” he said. “Really nice.”

“You were hungry, weren’t you?”

He stared directly at her.

“Yes… and so were you.”

Blood stained her face and she looked away.

“Nothing to turn hot about.” He smiled his dazzling smile. “It’s nature. You liked it, didn’t you? I’ll tell you something: you were good… really good.”

“Please don’t talk about it. I’ve never done it before.”

“So what? You have to start sometime.” He got to his feet. “Well, I must be taking off.” He paused. “Thanks for everything. It was real nice… all of it.”

He watched her hands turn into fists.

“Wouldn’t you like to — to stay?” she said breathlessly. “It’s such a horrid night. You can stay if you like.”

He shook his head.

“Got to get back to my pad.” He began to move slowly to the front door.

“I suppose we — we could see each other again,” she said, her dark eyes desperate.

Here it is, he thought. The hook.

“You never know. Things happen, don’t they? So long,” and before she realized he was really going, he had gone.

The front door slammed. The sound was like a disastrous clap of thunder inside her head.

It wasn’t until the following evening that she discovered the loss of her cigarette case and lighter, given to her by Shalik as a birthday present, and her pieces of jewellery. The discovery shocked her and she knew at once who had taken them. Her first reaction was to rush to the telephone to inform the police, but then she controlled her anger and sat down to think. He was out of work. He had been hungry. What did she need with a gold cigarette case or the lighter? She didn’t smoke anyway. Thinking of him, she decided that he could have everything she owned so long as he came back to her.

For five long, shattering days, she waited with growing desperation to hear from him again until finally a slow horror began to build up inside her that she would have to face the crushing fact that he had made use of her, stolen her things and had forgotten her.

Then on the fifth night, as she sat miserably alone in her flat, facing yet another long night of loneliness, the telephone bell rang. Her heart gave a great leap as she sprang to her feet and ran across the room to snatch up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“This is Daz… remember me?”

Her legs felt so weak she had to sit down.

“Of course.”

“Look, I’m sorry I took your things. You mad at me?”

“No… of course not.”

“Well, it wasn’t nice. I pawned them. I had to have money fast… bit of trouble. I’ll let you have the tickets… Shall I bring them round now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then,” and then line went dead.

He didn’t arrive until 22.05 hrs., giving her a frantic wait of an hour and a half. She thought he looked thinner and he wore a scowling frown that gave him a dark, sullen look.

“Here you are,” he said, dropping three pawn tickets on the table. “I shouldn’t have done it… but I was in trouble… I had to raise money fast.”

“It’s all right. I understand. Are you hungry?”

“No… I can’t stay. I’ve got to go,” and he turned to the front door.

She gazed at him in panic.

“But you — please stay. I want you to stay.”

He turned on her, his eyes suddenly savage.

“I’ve got to raise more money,” he said. “I can’t fool around here. There’s a girl living near my pad who is trying to raise something for me. I’ve got to see her tonight.”

“A girl?” Natalie turned cold. “Daz… won’t you explain what this is all about? Won’t you sit down? I could help you if you would explain.”

“I’ve had enough out of you.” Daz shook his head. “Anyway, Lola has practically promised…”

“Please sit down and tell me.”

He sat down. It was easy to lie to her. The horse that was a cinch. The bet he couldn’t cover, and now the bookie was after him.

“They are a tough lot,” he concluded. “If I don’t raise fifty pounds by tomorrow they are going to do me.”

“Do you?” Natalie looked at him in horror. “What does that mean?”

“Carve me, of course,” he said impatiently. “Slash me with a razor… what do you think?”

She imagined that handsome face bleeding. The thought made her feel faint.

“I can let you have fifty pounds, Daz… of course.”

“I can’t take it from you… no, I’ll see Lola.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll give you a cheque now.”

An hour later, they were lying side by side on the bed. Natalie was relaxed and happy for the first time since last she had seen Daz. It had been wonderful, she was thinking, better even than the first time. She turned to look at Daz and her heart contracted to see that sullen dark look back on his face again.

“What is it, Daz?”

“Just thinking… can’t a man think, for God’s sake?” She flinched at the harsh note in his voice.

“Wasn’t it good for you? Did I disappoint you?”

“I wasn’t thinking about that.” He looked impatiently at her in the shaded light of the bedside lamp. “That’s over. I’m thinking ahead. Just shut up a minute, will you?”

She remained still, waiting and watching his hard young face and the way his eyes shifted, reminding her of an animal in a trap.

“Yes,” he said finally as if speaking his thoughts aloud. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll get out. I’ll go to Dublin. That’s it! Danny will get me a job.”

Natalie sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.

“Dublin? What do you mean?”

He frowned at her as if just aware she was with him.

“What I say. I have to get out. That fifty quid you’ve given me

will keep Isaacs off my neck for a couple of days. By then, I’ll be out of his reach.”

She felt as if she were going to faint again. Watching her, Daz saw he had played a trump card.

“But you said if I gave you the money it would be all right,” she gasped. “Daz! Tell me! What do you mean?”

He looked scornfully at her.

“You don’t imagine a bookie would carve anyone for fifty quid, do you? I’m in the hole for twelve hundred.”

Once she had absorbed the shock, her trained mind searched for ways and means. Twelve hundred pounds! It was an impossible sum! She had taken an expensive autumn vacation, and she had only two hundred pounds to her credit at her bank. But the idea of Daz leaving England and going to Ireland was unthinkable.

She slid off the bed and put on her wrap while Daz watched her. He saw there was a change of expression on her face. He saw her mind was working, and he lay still, waiting results. He wondered uneasily if he had put the price too high, but Burnett had told him to clean her out. Just suppose she hadn’t the money?

She walked around the room while she thought, then she came and sat on the bed, looking straight at him.

“Daz… if I give you twelve hundred pounds, could you remain in London?”

“Of course, but you can’t give me that amount… so why talk about it?”

“I can try. How long can you wait?”

“Why talk about it?” He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I must get out. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“How long can you wait?” Her voice was now as harsh as his.

“Ten days… not more.”

“If I give you this money, Daz, will you come and live here?” How easy it was to lie to this poor cow, Daz thought.

“You mean move in? You want me here?”

“Yes.” She tried to control her voice. “I want you here.”

“It would be nice… yes, of course. I could get a job, and we could be together. But why talk about it?”

“I think I can manage,” Natalie threw off her wrap. She dropped down beside him on the bed. “You love me, don’t you, Daz?”

That old jazz, he thought and pulled her to him.

“You know I do. I’m crazy about you.”

“Then love me!”

While Daz slept by her side, Natalie lay staring into the darkness, her mind busy. She knew it would be hopeless to ask Shalik to lend her a thousand pounds. Even as she was telling Daz that she thought she could get the money for him, she had been thinking of Charles Burnett of the National Bank of Natal.

Natalie was well aware of the espionage and counter-espionage that goes on in present day big business. She knew Burnett had been hinting that he would pay for information and she had treated the hint with the contempt it had deserved but now under pressure with the real risk of losing Daz forever, she found she was much less scrupulous.

Before dozing off, she made up her mind to contact Burnett. Leaving Daz sleeping, she had gone to the Royal Towers hotel the following morning.

She quickly arranged Shalik’s mail on his desk, left a note to remind him of his various engagements for the day and then returned to her office.

At this hour, she knew Shalik was being shaved and dressed by the hateful Sherborn. She hesitated only briefly, then called the National Bank of Natal.

She was put through immediately to Charles Burnett who had already been alerted by Daz by telephone what to expect.

“Of course, Miss Norman. I will be delighted to meet you again. When would it be convenient?”

“At your office at 13.15 hrs.,” Natalie told him.

“Then I will expect you.”

When she arrived, Burnett greeted her like a benign uncle. Natalie told him abruptly that she needed one thousand pounds.

“It is a large sum,” Burnett said, studying his pink finger nails, “but not impossible.” He looked up, his eyes no longer benign. “You are an intelligent woman, Miss Norman. I don’t have to spell it out to you. You want money: I want information concerning Mr. Shalik’s activities that might have the remotest reference to Mr. Max Kahlenberg of Natal.”

Natalie stiffened.

During the past few days she had learned from scribbled notes on Shalik’s desk and from overhearing him talk to Sherborn that something important was being planned that concerned a man named Max Kahlenberg who until this moment had meant nothing to her.

All Shalik’s private correspondence was typed by Sherborn. Natalie’s job was to arrange Shalik’s appointments, his lunches and dinners and to act as hostess at his cocktail parties as well as taking care of the hundred and one personal matters that made his life smooth and easy.

“I don’t think I can help there,” she said, dismay in her voice. “I’m excluded from Mr. Shalik’s business life, but I do know something is going on to do with a man called Kahlenberg.”

Burnett smiled.

“I can help you, Miss Norman. Your task will be absurdly easy. Let me explain…”

Twenty minutes later, she accepted a plastic shopping bag he had ready which contained a miniature tape-recorder, six reels of tape and a very special eavesdropping microphone.

“The quality of the recordings, Miss Norman, will naturally influence the amount of money I will pay you. However, if you are urgently in need of a thousand pounds and providing you give me something of interest, the money will be available.”

Now, after eight days, he was here in her flat, his fat, purple face creased in a smile, his blood red carnation a status symbol.

“My dear Miss Norman, what is all the urgency about?”

During the past three days, Burnett’s microphone had eavesdropped.

During the past eight days Daz had slept with her, sweeping her into a world of technicolor eroticism. She had promised him the money and he was prepared to service her, telling himself that in the dark, all cats were grey.

“I have information regarding Mr. Kahlenberg which you will wish to hear,” Natalie said. The whisky she had drunk made her feel reckless and light headed.

“Splendid.” Burnett crossed one fat leg over the other. “Let me hear it.”

“Mr. Shalik is arranging to steal the Caesar Borgia ring from Mr. Kahlenberg,” Natalie said. “I have three tapes, recording the details of the operation and who are involved.”

“The Borgia ring?” Burnett was surprised. “So he is after that? My congratulations, Miss Norman. Play me the tapes.”

She shook her head.

“I want one thousand pounds in ten pound notes before you hear the tapes, Mr. Burnett.”

His smile became fixed.

“Now, Miss Norman, that won’t do. How do I know you even have the tapes? I must hear them… let us be reasonable.”

She had the tape-recorder already loaded and she let him listen to three minutes conversation between Shalik and Garry Edwards, then as Shalik was saying, “All that will be explained tonight. You will not be alone. The risks and responsibilities will be shared,” she pressed the stop button.

“But nothing so far has been said about Mr. Kahlenberg,” Burnett pointed out, looking hungrily at the tape recorder.

“When you have brought me the money, you will hear the rest, but not before.”

They regarded each other and Burnett saw it would be useless to try to persuade her. He got to his feet, reminding himself that one thousand pounds meant as much to Max Kahlenberg as one penny meant to the Prime Minister of England.

Two hours later, his Saturday afternoon ruined, Burnett was back with the money. He listened to the tapes, his fat, purple face becoming more and more startled. He realized as he listened that he was getting these tapes cheaply.

“Splendid, Miss Norman,” he said as she wound off the last tape. “Really splendid. You have certainly earned your fee. Any further information you can get like that I will, of course, pay you as handsomely.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Natalie said. Her face was white and her expression of self-loathing startled Burnett. She thrust the tiny tape recorder at him. “Take it away!”

“Now, Miss Norman…”

“Take it! Take it!” she screamed and fearing a scene, Burnett grabbed the recorder and the three tapes and hurriedly left. It was only on his way down in the lift that he realized she hadn’t returned the expensive eavesdropping microphone. He wondered if he should go back for it, but her distraught face and the wild look in her eyes warned him not to. He would pick up the micro-, phone after the week-end when she would be calmer.

Some three hours later, Daz returned to the flat. He had already checked with Burnett who had told him the money was waiting for him.

Elated that he was going to lay his hands on such a sum, he had dated a chick to meet him at Billy Walker’s Boozer that was once an elegant restaurant and from there they would go to a club in King’s Road and from there into her bed.

He was through with Natalie. With a thousand pounds in hand and with his know-how, Dublin would be the place for him.

He was slightly startled when he entered the flat to find Natalie sitting on the settee, white faced, trembling and crying.

“What the hell’s up?” he demanded, thinking how ugly she looked.

She dabbed her eyes and straightened.

“I have the money, Daz.”

He moved further into the room.

“You have? What are you so miserable about? You oughta be pleased.”

“Judas wasn’t pleased… he hanged himself.”

Daz had vaguely heard of Judas. He wasn’t sure who he was, but he had an idea he was a baddie and not a goodie.

“What are you talking about? Who’s hanging who?”

“Nothing… you wouldn’t understand. Are you hungry?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Where’s the money?”

“You’re not hungry? I’ve bought you a steak.”

“To hell with the steak. Where’s the money?”

Looking at him, she was shocked to see the greed on the lean, handsome face.

She got unsteadily to her feet and went to a cupboard. She brought the money to him in neat stacks.

It made her heart contract to watch him fondle the money. This couldn’t be the man she loved so desperately who had opened the hidden door in her life: this was a greedy, vicious young animal who mauled the money as he had mauled her body.

“Are you pleased?”

He ignored her and began stuffing the money into his various pockets.

“What are you doing?” Her voice went shrill.

He stowed away the last packet of money and then regarded her.

“Getting the hell out of here… that’s what I’m doing.”

“You mean now you have the money, you — you don’t want me?”

“Who the hell would want you?” He pointed a finger at her. “I’m going to give you some advice. From now on, baby, keep your legs tightly crossed. That’s your trouble. You dig your own grave,” and he was gone.

Natalie stood motionless, her hand against her slow thumping heart. She listened to the lift descend, taking him out of her life forever.

Then she walked slowly to a chair and sat down. She remained there as the hands of the clock on the wall moved around its face, marking the hours. Then when the light began to fade she eased her stiffness by stretching out her long, slim legs. Her mind began to work again. After all, she told herself, why should he care? I could have guessed what was going to happen. She closed her eyes. Now her lack of charm and her plainness was underlined as it had never before been so underlined. She realized all along she had been praying, waiting, hoping for a miracle, but this wasn’t the year of miracles.

She thought of the long, lonely nights ahead of her. She knew too that her conscience would be burdened by the guilt of her betrayal. She had done this disgusting act of disloyalty only to keep Daz for herself. Why go on? She asked herself. You can’t hope to live with yourself… so why go on?

She went into the kitchen, moving slowly like a sleepwalker and found a small, sharp vegetable knife. Taking this with her, she paused to put the front door on the latch, then she went into the bathroom. She turned on the bath taps and stood in a black daze until the bath was half full of tepid water. She kicked off her shoes and stepped into the bath. Her pleated skirt ballooned out and she pressed it down. She felt the comforting water soak through her clothes to her despairing body.

She lay still. Would it hurt? They said it was the easiest way to die. Gritting her teeth, she drew the sharp blade across her left wrist. She cut deeply and she fought back a cry of pain. The knife slipped from her hand. For a brief moment, she looked at the water surrounding her, now turning pink and darkening, then she closed her eyes.

She lay there, thinking of Daz with his handsome face and his long black curly hair and his beautiful strong body until she quietly slid away from a life she no longer had use for.