Read Online Villiers Touch by Brian Garfield - Free Book Online Page B

No—she didn’t have the mannerisms for it; she was too straightforward. A wealthy divorcée, investing her lump-sum alimony settlement? Maybe—but something about her didn’t quite fit that frame, either. Granted she had brains, even a hard cynical edge that showed now and then; he still couldn’t picture her in the role of an adventuress sinking vindictive, greedy teeth into an ex-husband to the tune of a quarter of a million dollars.
    He realized suddenly that Carol McCloud was sitting very still—looking at him, unblinking.
    She said, “You went away for a minute there.”
    â€œTrying to figure you out.”
    It brought her smile again—slightly crooked, slightly turned against herself in some sort of distant irony. She said, “That would be a useless pursuit.”
    He got to his feet. “You don’t want to talk about those shares of stock, I gather.”
    â€œIt’s such a dull, dry subject, isn’t it?”
    â€œUnless money turns you on.”
    She had a nice laugh, low in her throat; her eyelids drooped just a bit, and she said, “Oh, don’t make that mistake—I think a lot about money, Mr. Hastings.”
    â€œRuss,” he said suddenly.
    â€œRuss.”
    He went halfway to the door, and turned to look at her. She hadn’t moved in her seat. She was watching him with that same directness. He said abruptly, “Have dinner with me?”
    He had no way of anticipating what she might answer. Her smile changed; she tipped her head toward him, the fall of her hair swaying. She was one of the most exquisite creatures he had ever seen.
    After a while she said, “It might not be a good idea.”
    â€œI didn’t mean to step on anybody’s toes.”
    â€œNot that. But I don’t think I want to—” Whatever she had meant to say, she didn’t finish it; instead, she tossed her head quickly, her eyes flashed at him with some kind of sudden resolution, and she said in a different voice, “It might be fun.”
    â€œTonight?”
    â€œWhy not?”
    He found himself grinning; he said, “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
    â€œIt will be better if I meet you at the restaurant,” she said.
    â€œFine. The Bourgogne suit you? Eight o’clock?”
    She nodded; the smile was quizzical now, speculative. Still grinning, Hastings went out. Halfway to the elevator he realized he was almost loping. He hadn’t felt this good in months.

5. Mason Villiers
    Villiers stepped out of the rickety old elevator and walked the length of a narrow hallway. He knocked at a door and looked at his watch—just short of two-thirty. He stood without patience waiting for the door to open. Sometimes it was an irritant to him, his sexual imprisonment: he needed women frequently—sometimes two or three times in a day, when he was tense with the pressures of corporate juggling.
    He knocked again and put his ear close to the door. He could hear the rapid clicking of a typewriter. Finally it stopped, and after a moment he heard Naomi’s voice, close to the door, husky and cross: “Who is it?”
    â€œMace.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œMace Villiers.”
    She opened up, and hands impudently on hips, cocked her head to glare. “I’m in the middle of a chapter. Why didn’t you telephone?”
    â€œRan out of small change. Anyhow, a telephone’s always long distance.”
    â€œYou Goddamned sex maniac.” She looked him up and down with slow insinuation and stepped back to let him in.
    She was a small, tight-packed, spider-waisted girl, fluffy and blond. She had huge china-blue eyes and a soft, heavy mouth. She wore a yellow dress, not quite chic because it had strong-seamed darts around the bustline to clothe her unfashionably big, plump young breasts, which bobbed and jiggled when she moved ahead of him into the large studio apartment.
    Villiers pushed the door