The Morning After Chapter : 3

She knew then that whatever he asked of her she would give.

“All right.” She nodded. “Phone me later.” And she trailed up the store aisle, to the Bride’s Shop.

The evening paper carried pictures of her and James, with a good-natured story of the morning’s stunt. She had played her role; it was time to step out of his life, for safety’s sake. But danger could be sweet! What would please him, she wondered, as she glanced over her frocks. A bronze metal, she decided, for bronze brought out the topaz of her hair and the yellow in her brown eyes.

Bronze slippers fitted her slender feet, and topaz gleamed on her arms and shone in her ears.

It was wonderful, sitting across the table from him in the restaurant, with flowers, perfume and the jewels of women for a sumptuous background. But that was nothing to the thrill of dancing in his arms, shut out from all the world.

Nothing had ever stirred her as the touch of him stirred her. She had always kept a hard crust around her heart, worn a brittle smile to ward off too eager attentions, but against this man she had no defense. His low laugh filled her ears, his gray eyes commanded hers until she dropped her eyes to his lips, and found herself wondering what his kiss would be like.

A wild abandon swept over her. Tonight was hers, no matter what came after. Tonight they were together, his arms were around her, and before he left her, she knew his lips would be on hers.

A slow smile curved her mouth as she glided across the floor with him, their steps fitted to the pattern of the music. She knew from the way his eyes caressed her face, knew from his touch that he, too, felt the warm sweet spell of passion.

The minutes, the hours, passed swiftly. Then he was taking her home, his shoulder touching hers as they sat close together in the car.

They stepped into her apartment and the soft half-darkness enclosed them. Only one small light was burning on a table.

He turned, took her in his arms and held her close. She felt his lips tender, burning. She closed her eyes, giving herself up to the wild, tempestuous music which swept through her. There was a drumming in her ears, a flame before her closed eyes.

“Darling—darling.” His voice was just a whisper.

Her arms around his neck pressed him closer. She lay against him in surrender.

“Hello!” A figure walked out from the bedroom and switched on the overhead light, flooding the room.

Claire felt James’ arms drop away from her. She turned, and as she saw the man standing by the light switch, she felt something within her quiver and die.

“Frank!”

“You said it, Kid.” The man looked at her out of sharp black eyes, his heavy face twisted with a grin. He reached into the pocket of his coat, brought out a crumpled cigarette and lighted it.

Claire stood rigid. Her heart seemed to have stopped beating; her mind had stopped thinking. She could only stare at this specter out of her past.

“May I ask who this person is?” James asked. His face was a grim mask.

“I just happen to be her husband,” Frank answered for her, blowing out a puff of smoke.

James’ eyes darkened; his mouth straightened into a hard line. “Is this true?” he asked.

She tried to speak, but her throat was too tight. She could only nod assent.

“Sorry to intrude, of course.” Frank was leaning against the wall, watching them with enjoyment. “But it was a shock to me, seeing my wife in another man’s arms.”

He threw his cigarette on the rug, crushed it under his heel. “Maybe you think my hurt feelings are worth something?” he asked, looking at James.

“Frank!” Claire found her voice. “How dare you, how dare you?”

“Don’t bother,” James cut in, his face white, his eyes blazing. “Don’t put on an act. I get it. You saw the neat bit of business Rubye was about to do for herself and you muscled in. What a sucker I turned out to be!”

Claire looked at him as he stood there, so righteous in his anger, and felt a flood of indignation rising within her.

“There’s a name for this game you two are playing,” James went on. “It’s an old game, but it’s always good.”

Frank was grinning. “Glad you see my point. Now if you’ll just get out your checkbook—”

James’ face twisted in anger; then he laughed, raspingly harshly. “I’m always willing to pay for what I get,” he said, “and I got some very valuable information out of this experience.”

He reached inside his coat, drew out his checkbook and began unscrewing the top of his pen.

Claire’s anger had reached its high peak now. She found herself suddenly steady, suddenly unafraid.

“Get out,” she said quietly. “Both of you get out and stay out.” She crossed to the door and held it open.

“You can’t kid me!” Frank’s voice was ugly. “You and this guy—”

“Stop it!” Her voice shot at him like a weapon. “You two cowards, insulting a woman! Fighting over me! I want to be clean of both of you.”

James was looking at her, a long searching look. “You admit you are married to him?”

“Yes, I admit it.”

“Then why didn’t you mention, just casually, that you had a husband when I took you to dinner, when I held you in my arms?”

“I forgot about him.”

He stared at her; then he laughed his rasping laugh again. “I see. That makes it all beautifully clear. You just forgot you had a husband.”

“Yes,” she said calmly, “I did.”

He stood looking at her a moment longer; then, without speaking, he took Frank’s arm and pushed him ahead of him out of the room.

Claire slammed the door behind them, then threw herself into a chair. The pain came, stabbing and tearing at her heart. James had believed this of her! Believed she was willing to lure a man with her body to extort money from him.

Then when the storm of anger was spent, she set her lips resolutely. “I’ve fought my way alone before, and I can do it again,” she said.