A Man of Affairs by John D. MacDonald

Author:John D. MacDonald [MacDonald, John D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: suspense
Publisher: Gold Medal
Published: 2012-04-27T15:40:33+00:00

SIX

WHEN I WOKE UP at the usual six-thirty on Friday morning, I felt like hell. Every joint and muscle ached and twanged when I climbed laboriously out of bed. A long hot shower eased some of the anguish. The mirror told me my puffed mouth was back almost to normal. The tooth didn’t feel quite as loose. My right hand was damned sore. When I walked quietly down the veranda the bright morning had a garish look of unreality about it.

I felt that the place was changing me, and I wished I was back in my familiar office. Life moved a little too fast here, and it was a little too rotten ripe for my tastes. I thought about the papers waiting for my signature and I knew that the scene on the dock had, at least, done one thing. Until I knew which way Louise was going to jump, I had no decision to make. It could well be that any chance of further co-operation between us had been lost.

Booty came out to take my breakfast order while I was still wallowing in the pool. I clung to the side and gave her the order. Yesterday’s burn showed fine promise of eventually turning into a tan. Booty brought my breakfast and then backed up and stood there. I looked at her and she had her underlip caught in white strong teeth and she looked shyly troubled.

“What is it, Booty?”

“You fight that mon. I hear you beat that mon.”

“Yes, I guess I did.”

“I am glad.”

“Don’t you like him?”

“I do not like that mon. No. When I am in a room and I am cleaning, he wants me to do an evil thing. And that mon laughed when I run. I do not tell. I do not know if I should tell Mr. Dean.”

I thought quickly. “No, Booty. Don’t tell Mr. Dean. I’ll speak to Mr. Dodge. He won’t bother you again.”

“Thank you very much, sar. But all the same I will have with me a knife. Here.” She touched the side of her right thigh lightly, touched the white starch of her skirt. She turned and walked away.

I could think of very few men aside from Warren Dodge who would try anything like that.

At seven-thirty Louise came along in a different swim suit, a yellow one. She had a slightly sallow look and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She gave me a cool nod and one millimeter of formal smile, put her towel and lotion and dark glasses on the edge of the pool, tucked her dark hair into a white cap and dived in. I sipped my coffee and watched her sleek stroke. After she pulled herself out she headed for a far table. “Sit here, Louise,” I said.

She hesitated, came back and sat opposite me. “Thank you,” she said. She made a small formal ceremony of sitting down. In the process she erected a glass wall between us, perfectly transparent and about three inches thick. We could converse through it by means of an electronic communication system.

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