Bernard Samson 9 - Charity by Len Deighton

Author:Len Deighton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Unknown
Published: 2010-01-29T03:00:00+00:00

7

Hennig Hotel, Berlin

Cindy Prettyman had grown older; we all had. The amusing, friendly and attractive girl I once knew was divorced, middle-aged and devoting all her energy to her career. This did not mean she was not still an attractive woman. In some ways the chic confidence she'd acquired with her responsibilities and her travelling had made her more interesting. The gloom of the hotel bar, lit only by a couple of tiny wall fittings, and the flickering light from the TV, flattered her.

Having greeted me, she assumed a pose. One hand held her fur-lined raincoat open to reveal her tailored outfit of black and white check. Pale fingers splayed on her hips, her nails long and red, a selection of rings and bracelets and a fashionable wrist-watch well in evidence. It was a joke, and I grinned to acknowledge it.

Cindy was the epitome of the hard-working and ambitious woman, fighting to survive in a man's world. And her world was peopled by international finalists in the art of self-advancement. No doubt the ability to switch on a sexy provocative come-on was a valuable part of her repertoire.

'Cindy! What a lovely surprise,' I said.

Cindy Prettyman smiled at me and I recognized that expression. She was the indulgent Mother Superior and I was the unwashed choirboy. Her ex-husband had been infatuated with her, and I'd always tried to see her through his eyes. But romantic old Jim was nothing if not a pragmatist. He had gone to other places, other people and other things. Cindy had become a stranger.

The voice of Cindy Prettyman, or Cindy Matthews since she had reverted to her maiden name, had made me jump out of my skin. I was sitting alone in the bar of Lisl Hennig's hotel where I lived, catching up with the German newspapers while waiting for the bartender to come on duty.

'Hello, Bernard. I thought I might find you here.' Big smile.

'Yes,' I said, though Cindy had no reason to think I was in the bar of the Hennig Hotel, or even in Berlin. But Cindy was like that: she combined the instinct of the hunter with the steady pulse of a marksman.

'You haven't changed, Bernard.'

Jim Prettyman had been a Departmental colleague and pal. He taught me to play snooker and billiards too. And helped me learn how to lose with good grace. We all used to play pool back in the old days: Fiona, Cindy and Jim and me. We were all Foreign Office low-life, with few responsibilities and even less money. We went to a snooker hall in south London every week. Usually we followed up with a spaghetti and steak dinner at Enzo's in the Old Kent Road. The winner paid.

They were happy days but they didn't last. Jim's promotions took him up to the top floor, where he was soon rubbing shoulders with Bret Rensselaer on the Special Operations committee. Then he got a new job in America, changed his name from Jim to Jay, found a new wife and made enough money to have his teeth capped.

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