The Unbegotten by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Publisher: House of Stratus
Published: 2014-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

TALK OF THE MASTER

Reginald Maddern sat looking at Susan, who had no other name he knew.

She was in the big, velvet-covered chair where she had been sitting over coffee. Her legs were tucked under her, her head was on one side. She was no longer asleep but she would not yet admit to being awake. Her eyes had remained shut as Maddern had lifted her off the surgery couch, ten minutes before. Carrying her, hugging her soft, relaxed body against his, he remembered what Smith had said about making a pass at her if he really wanted to make her mad.

If he were to do so now, even in play, she would wake up with a vengeance.

No, he told himself sharply. I’ve got to win her complete confidence, and that would be botched at the start if I behaved like a lecher. He grinned at himself, then concentrated on the problem, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He knew, however, the moment the girl’s eyes opened. Was she about to make another leap for safety? He closed his own eyes and breathed very heavily, as if he were going to sleep, and soon heard a rustle of movement at the chair.

He remembered her desire to kill.

He remembered how Smith and his men hated and feared her.

He remembered the tiny gun he had seen in her hand.

He remembered the invisible pressure, of force.

The rustling was repeated. He sensed she was very near. She hadn’t run away, then, and wasn’t creeping towards the door. Was she bending over him? He had a feeling that her eyes were very close to his, staring with great intensity.

Would she strike?

Part of his mind screamed out the need to spring away, to put himself beyond danger. The other part cautioned: Wait. Hovering somewhere between his conscious and his subconscious was the fact that if he could win her sympathy, could make her talk, then he might be able to help Palfrey and so find a way to overcome the terrible danger to mankind. If she killed him, he would be just one more victim, that was all: he would be little or no loss to anyone.

So, he kept his eyes closed and lay absolutely still. The way his head was bent back stretched his neck. One slash with a knife, one thrust to the jugular, and he would die.

Her breath touched his cheek – she was standing by the side of the chair, then, and leaning towards him. Now he could hear her breathing, above the thunderous beat of his own heart.

He let his eyelids flicker. Immediately, she moved. He yawned and put his hand to his lips, then opened his eyes wider. Susan was back in her chair, legs dangling; and she was staring at him unblinking.

‘Hallo,’ he said. ‘I must have dropped off.’

She settled back in her chair, tucking her legs beneath her.

‘Dropped off?’ She made the two words a question.

‘Off to sleep.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Yes. You are very tired.’

‘Very.’

‘Perhaps you should go to bed.

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