Monty's flat little hand closed
tight over the crisp white paper. He looked suspiciously from Fothergill to
Whitey, whose face was now even paler than the banknotes in his pocket. The
detective's baby-blue eyes were smiling through a cloud of tobacco smoke.
'D'you mind if I see that note?'
he said again.
'What's a matter?' Vi said
softly, moving closer to Whitey.
Vi's voice and her proximity gave
him an idea. He put down his drink and suddenly embraced her. She was so
surprised that she made no attempt to resist him as she felt his body against
hers and his mouth pressing down on her own. But it did seem a bit sudden and
rather too public, and then she felt his hand under the neck of her frock.
"Ere, wait a minute,' she gasped. 'What sort of caveman are you?' But
nobody heard the words. His own mouth smothered them and his hand went deeper.
She felt it warm and perspiring against her breasts.
'Don't make a rort abaht this,'
he whispered fiercely. 'I'm in trouble 'ere. I've just stuck two 'undred quid
down yer neck. Get out of 'ere quick an' wait for me at the Corner 'Ouse. Go
on, be a china. 'Urry up, fer Christ's sake.'
No comments:
Post a Comment