«Do you know how silly you look holding those suitcases?» she whispered as she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
He dropped the bags; the noise of their contact with the floor made them both smile. He pulled her to him and the comfort was splendid, the warm, growing excitement a special thing. And as he kissed her, their mouths moistly exploring, pressing, widening, he realized Alison was trembling, gripping him with a strength that was more than a desire to be taken. Yet it was not fear; there was no hesitancy, no holding back, only anxiety.
He lowered her gently to the bed; as he did so, she unbuttoned the silk blouse and guided his hands to her breasts. She closed her eyes as he caressed her and whispered.
«It’s been a terribly long time, Alex. Do you think Whitehall could wait a while longer? You see, I don’t think I can.»
They lay beside each other, naked, under the soft covers. She rose on her elbow, her hair falling over her face, and looking at him. She traced his lips with her fingers and bent down, kissing him, outlining his lips now with her tongue.
«I’m absolutely shameless,» she said, laughing softly. «I want to make love to you all night long. And most of the day … I’m parched and I’ve been to the well and I want to stay here.»
He reached up and let her hair fall through his fingers. He followed the strands downward to the swell of her body and cupped her left breast. «We’ll take the minimum time out for food and sleep.»
There was the faint ring of a telephone. It came from the direction of the connecting door. From his room.
«You’re late for Charles Whitehall,» said Alison. «You’d better go answer it.»
«Our goddamn Sir Noël.» He climbed out of the bed, walked rapidly to the door, opened it, and went into the room. As he picked up the telephone, he looked at the drawn curtains of his balcony doors; he was grateful for Alison’s experience. Except for his socks—why his socks?—he was naked.
«I said twenty minutes, Mr. McAuliff. It’s nearly an hour.» Whitehall’s voice was quietly furious.
«I’m sorry. I told you ‘thereabouts.’ For me, an hour is ‘thereabouts.’ Especially when someone gives me orders at this time of night and he’s not bleeding.»
«Let’s not argue. Will you be here soon?»
«Yes.»
«When?»
«Twenty minutes.» Alex hung up the telephone a bit harder than was necessary and looked over at his suitcase. Whoever was on the other end of that line knew he was going out of the room to meet someone who had tried to issue him orders at three o’clock in the morning. He would think about it later.
«Do you know how positively handsome you are? All over,» said Alison as he came back into the room.
«You’re right, you’re shameless.»
«Why do you have your knee socks on? It looks peculiar.» She sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts, and reached for the cigarettes on the night table.
«Light me one, will you please? I’ve got to get dressed.» McAuliff looked around the bed for the clothing he had removed in such haste a half hour ago.
«Was he upset?» She handed him a cigarette as he pulled on his trousers and picked up his shirt from the floor.
«He was upset. He’s also an arrogant son of a bitch.»
«I think Charles Whitehall wants to strike back at someone or something,» said Alison, watching him absently. «He’s angry.»
«Maybe it’s recognition. Not granted to the extent he thinks it should be.» McAuliff buttoned his shirt.
«Perhaps. That would account for his dismissing the compliments.»
«The what?» he asked.
«His little entertainment downstairs tonight was frighteningly thought out. It wasn’t prepared for a nightclub. It was created for Covent Garden. Or the grand hall of the United Nations.»
He tapped gently on Whitehall’s door, and when it opened, McAuliff found the Jamaican dressed in an embroidered Japanese hopi coat. Beneath the flowery garment, Whitehall wore his pinstriped trousers and velvet slippers.
«Come in, please. This time you’re early. It’s not yet fifteen minutes.»
«You’re obsessed with time. It’s after three in the morning; I’d rather not look at my watch.» Alex closed the door behind him. «I hope you have something important to tell me. Because if you don’t, I’m going to be damned angry.»
Whitehall had crossed to the bureau; he picked up a folded piece of paper from the top and indicated a chair for McAuliff. «Sit down, please. I, too, am quite exhausted, but we must talk.»
Alex walked to the armchair and sat down. «Go ahead.»
«I think it’s time we had an understanding. It will in no way affect my contributions to the survey.»
«I’m relieved to hear that. I didn’t hire you to entertain the troops downstairs.»
«A dividend,» said Whitehall coldly. «Don’t knock it; I’m very good.»
«I know you are. What else is new?»
The scholar tapped the paper in his hands. «There’ll be periods when it will be necessary for me to be absent. Never more than a day or two at a time. Naturally, I’ll give you advance notice, and if there are problems—where possible—I shall rearrange my schedule.»
«You’ll what?» McAuliff sat forward in the chair. «Where … possible … you’ll fit your time to mine? That’s goddamn nice of you. I hope the survey won’t be a burden.»
Whitehall laughed, impersonally. «Not at all. It was just what I was looking for. And you’ll see, you’ll be quite pleased … although I’m not sure why I should be terribly concerned. You see, I cannot accept the stated reasons for this survey. And I suspect there are one or two others, if they spoke their thoughts, who share my doubts.»
«Are you suggesting that I hired you under false pretenses?»
«Oh, come now,» replied the black scholar, his eyes narrowing in irritation. «Alexander McAuliff, a highly confidential, one-man survey company whose work takes him throughout the world … for very large fees, abruptly decides to become academically charitable? To take from four to six months away from a lucrative practice to head up a university survey?» Whitehall laughed like a nervous jackal, walked rapidly to the curtains of the room’s balcony doors, and flipped one side partially open. He twisted the latch and pulled the glass panel several inches inward; the curtain billowed in the night breeze.
«You don’t know the specifics of my contract,» said Alex noncommittally.
«I know what universities and royal societies and ministries of education pay. It’s not your league, McAuliff.» The Jamaican returned to the bed and sat down on the edge. He brought the folded paper to his chin and stared at Alex.
McAuliff hesitated, then spoke slowly. «In a way, aren’t you describing your own situation? There were several people in London who didn’t think you’d take the job. It was quite a drop in income for you.»
«Precisely. Our positions are similar; I’m sure for very different reasons… Part of my reasoning takes me to Savanna-la-Mar in the morning.»
«Your friend on the plane?»
«A bore. Merely a messenger.» Whitehall held up the folded piece of paper. «He brought me an invitation. Would you care to read it?»
«You wouldn’t offer unless it was pertinent.»
«I have no idea whether it is or not. Perhaps you can tell me.»
Alex took the paper extended to him and unfolded it. It was hotel stationery. The Georges V, Paris. The handwriting was slanted, the strokes rapid, words joined in speed.
My dear Whitehall—
Forgive this hastily written note but I have just learned that we are both en route to Jamaica. I for a welcome rest and you, I understand, for more worthwhile pursuits.