Read Online Where the Devil Can't Go by Anya Lipska - Free Book Online Page B

glove, was curled around a steaming drink. She’d taken off her other glove and he was chafing the bare hand to warm it, laughing at how icy her fingers were.
    He lit a cigar. To hell with the past, he thought.
    “There is a Polanski movie on cable later, if you fancy it?”
    His tone was careful – it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to rekindle her passion for movies. Despite her first class degree from a world-famous film school, the last time Kasia went to the cinema was to see GoodFellas.
    “Maybe,” she said lifting one shoulder, before bending to pick up a discarded envelope from under an armchair.
    “It’s Knife in the Water. The one with the couple on a boating trip on the Lakes?”
    “The one with the psychol ?” She made a comic grimace that turned her beautiful long mouth down at the corners. “Too depressing!”
    Oskar had once put forward a theory – which probably originated with Gosia – regarding Kasia’s lack of enthusiasm for films. Apparently, she regretted abandoning her directing ambitions to marry Steve, and couldn’t bear any reminder of her mistake. In this analysis, she didn’t stick with her marriage because of her Catholic faith, but because the alternative meant admitting she’d given up her youthful dreams for nothing.
    Janusz was sceptical. To him, psychology was a slippery pseudoscience, without any empirical foundation. But now and again he found himself wondering if Oskar’s theory mightn’t contain a grain of truth.
    “You like my new outfit?” she asked suddenly, doing a little catwalk sashay.
    That put him on the spot: when she had arrived he’d noticed she was wearing a dress rather than her usual tight black jeans and t-shirt. But the longish black shift was the sort of thing a woman with a lousy figure might go for. Why would a looker like Kasia hide her body under a sack?
    She sensed the hesitation. “You don’t like it?”
    “It’s…stylish, darling…” he managed,” but I think you’d look good in something a bit more… figure-hugging.”
    She cut her eyes away from him: “You mean an exotic dancer should dress like a whore?”
    Kurwa! This was dangerous ground – it wasn’t the first time Kasia had gone all touchy over her job. It mystified him – if she didn’t like stripping why did she do it? And if she did like it, why be so uptight?
    “Of course not, darling. Anyway, you would look ladylike whatever you wore.”
    She smiled at that, mollified, then came closer, wrinkling her nose at the cigar smoke – “Smells like a bonfire,” she complained – before putting a Marlboro Light between her lips and leaning down for a light.
    He took the opportunity, instead, to pull her face down to his and kiss her, properly this time. When she offered no resistance, he tumbled her onto the sofa and continued the clinch, pushing the dress, rustling, up her stockinged legs, desire humming between them. They had loads of time to make love before the oven timer started pinging, he calculated, and her tightly closed eyes signalled a green light.
    Then the phone rang.
    He cursed inwardly and for a moment was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but Kasia extricated herself and he caught her watchful look. He didn’t want her to think he had anything to hide.
    His abrupt “ Czesc?! ” was met with silence. Then a female voice, uncertain, said “ Pan Kiszka ?”
    It was the dark-haired girl from Pani Tosik’s restaurant, the one he’d given his card to. She told him her name was Justyna, but didn’t volunteer a surname. He apologised for his boorish manners, keeping half an eye on Kasia who, leaving her cig burning in the ashtray, had returned to the kitchen. He could see her stirring the beef stew, ignoring the conversation, but something about the angle of her head suggested she was getting every word.
    The trouble was, the girl was adamant that she had to meet him tonight, and when he suggested postponing, sounded like she might hang up. He was