0159090001350145542 james munro by the money that money cant buy (rtf)

Author:the money that money cant buy (rtf) [buy, the money that money cant]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

"What the hell are you looking for?" she asked.

"Wires," he said. "This room's got to be bugged." ;

"O-o- I hate bugs," said Tempest.

"You'll hate these, all right," said Craig.

They took some finding, but they were there. The wire recorder was two flat disks, let into the molding of plaster round the wall. Craig ran the wire back and played it through, and Tempest heard herself being loved. As the sounds came through she blushed an angry red and pulled the sheet up to her chin, and her shame was so deep she never noticed that Craig had possessed her in silence, and his words before their love-making were just words; polite and meaningless. Tempest hadn't time to think of this; her mind was pinned down on her shame. Then he found the video tape recorder. The camera lens was set in one of the splendid brass knobs of the bed, the tape ran down the brass pillar and curled on to the spool of the machine that had its own compartment in the enormous mattress. Sustained pressure on the bed set the camera going, and just in case one preferred love in the dark the machine had its own infrared bulb. Simmons thought of everything.

"Congratulations," said Craig. "Simmons just made you a filmstar."

She wanted to smash it there and then, but Craig wouldn't let her. Instead he took her nail file, and slowly, patiently made a tiny hole in the camera, then set the machine going again. That way Simmons couldn't be sure, and it would be as well to keep Simmons guessing.

"You going to say anything about this?" he asked.

She didn't answer. When he looked toward her he saw only a huddle of bedclothes. He cursed her inside his mind: this wasn't the time to have delicate feelings, but it seemed she had them anyway. What about the honeysuckle and the bee now? he thought. Or maybe that was just money. He went over to her, rubbed her shoulder.

"Hey," he said. "Hey look. This is me, remember? I was a filmstar, too."

His voice was gentle, soft, a friend's voice, and she looked up at last. She was crying.

"Put the light out," she said. "I look awful."

"No," s-id Craig. "You're beautiful, Tempest.

That's a bloody silly name."

His hand gripped the sheet and he began to pull it down. She clung to it.

"Who's side are you on?" Craig asked. "Yours or his?"

"My real name's Margaret," she said.

"That doesn't suit you either," said Craig.

His hand scooped beneath her neck and round her body, holding her. The woman struggled, and found it was no use. When she lay still at last, he pulled the sheet away and held her in his arms.

"That's better," said Craig, and she nodded. She was as helpless and obedient as a child.

Later she said: "I've been here twice before. He pays awfully well, and the blokes aren't bad. I suppose you think that's horrible?"

"You know what I think," said Craig, and she laughed.

"Only I never knew about the cameras and things," she said.

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