'I haven't finished my drink,' said Diamond.
'Oh yes you have,' Lishman said, and threw it in his face.
Craig reminded himself, even more firmly, that this wasn't his problem. It was no business of his if Diamond was thrown out, the girl he liked taken away. There were plenty of girls, and humiliation was even more plentiful, but it never killed anybody. He watched Diamond go, watched Tessa sent to fetch her coat, and finished his coffee.
'I really think I'd better go too,' he said. 'I don't feel like a party tonight.'
'Now that's enough of that,' Lishman said. 'I'm having a party and you're coming, so wrap up.'
His voice was still genial, but there was a warning in it now, a raw edge of violence he found it unnecessary to hide. Craig stayed still. It would be a very bad idea to go to Lishmans party, but he didn't want a scene in public. When Tessa came back, he got to his feet. The two young men in Italian suits correctiy interpreted a glance from Lishman, and stood one on each side of Craig. With his guard of honor he walked across the club floor, up the basement steps, and into the empty street. Lishman's Jaguar was parked twenty feet away. Craig turned, and the two young men moved in closer.
'I have to go now,' Craig said.
The two young men took him by the arms.
'Mr. Reynolds,' said Lishman, 'you're coming to my party. Believe me.'
Then Lishman did something stupid. He struck Craig in the face, once, then again; hard, open-handed blows.
Immediately, as if it were a reflex, Craig kicked him in the crotch, kicked with the appalling strength and accuracy that Hakagawa had taught him so patiendy. Lishman screamed and doubled up, and as he did so, Craig moved, swinging the young men around, freeing one arm, tripping the man who held the other. The first man struck at him as he turned, catching him on the shoulder. Craig staggered and clipped him on the throat with the edge of his hand, but the blow was mistimed and the young man swayed, but stayed on his feet. The second young man leaped in with a blackjack, and Craig swerved from the blow, locked his arm, and threw him on top of Lishman. The first young man produced tough young manhood's cliche of terror, a switch knife, and came in again. For a few seconds he and Craig danced beneath the street lights, then the young man leaped, and Craig's hand, accurate as a cobra, seized the knife wrist, levered, and pulled. This time he held on to the wrist as he threw, and the young man screamed as his wrist broke, then lay still. The first one, who had banged his head on the curb, lay draped over Lishman. There were no interruptions from the club, no spectators on the stairs. Craig straightened his clothes, picked up his bowler hat, and looked at Tessa, who had stayed immobile since the fight began.
'You,' he said. 'What am I going to do about you?'
He took her arm, and walked her past Lishman, who was still groaning. The girl hesitated.
'Shouldn't you do something about him?' she asked.
Craig's still drunken mind sought for an explanation. At last he said, 'There's nothing to do. He lost.'
She could feel his hand tight on her arm as he walked her back to Tottenham Court Road, and a taxi. When one came, he still held on to her until she got in, then quickly sat beside her.
'I shan't run away,' Tessa said, and kissed him.
Craig returned the kiss with automatic passion, but as he did so, he thought of the girl only as a means of escape. Where could he go now, except to where she lived? She had seen him too closely to be left alone, and the name Reynolds was known now; he could be traced. That she wanted him was, for the moment, useful, but her enthusiasm was unlikely to last for long.
She lived in a flat in Holland Park, but they went first to the Rowena. When he went inside, he took her purse with him. He told the night porter of a sudden death in the Midlands, and his urgent need to be gone. While his bill was made out, he packed, and when he had paid, got back in the cab where Tessa waited, and gave her back her purse.
'You needn't have done that,' she said.
'I don't want to humiliate you,' said Craig. 'I just can't afford to let you run away.'
'I don't want to run away,' she said. 'After all you've done for me-'
'I did nothing for you,' said Craig. 'You'd better realize that. What I did, I did for myself. You just happened to be there.'
Tessa smiled in the darkness of the cab. Already she had decided that he was too modest, and hated praise. That was something she'd have to attend to. A man like this one didn't need to be modest.
In her flat she left him to make the coffee he asked for, and Craig allowed himself one more cautious drink. The whisky burned, but gently. His head stayed clear as he looked at her living room. A Canaletto print, not quite straight, above the fireplace, a big wooden settee, covered in striped silk and scratched down one leg, a Spode vase crammed full of daffodils. Pretty room, pretty girl, but without purpose, both of them. Drifting along because drifting was easier than putting things right. There was no sound from the kitchen, and Craig put down his glass and went to the door. From the room opposite there came a soft click, then the whispered chatter of a telephone dial spinning. Craig crossed to the room and went in.
It was her bedroom. Tessa was standing by the phone at her bedside. She wore a nightgown of white nylon, sheer, thin stuff that made the rich cream of her skin dark and glowing. As she turned to face him, the light from the bed shone full on her, and he could see the firm maturity of her body, already tense and eager for him. He moved quickly to her, and his left hand came down on the receiver rest, his right took the receiver from her and replaced it.
'No,' said Craig.
'I was just ringing Michael Diamond,' she said. 'To make sure he's all right.'
'He will be. He got out in time,' Craig said.
He was standing very close to her, and she moved into the hard barrier of his arms, her hands came up and embraced his neck. Her kiss was an act of pure submission, but when she had done, he continued to hold her, not moving, not touching.
'Darling,' said Tessa. 'What's wrong? What have I done?'
'You said something about coffee,' said Craig. 'I'd like some coffee.'
She took his hand and pressed it to one firm breast. Its point was as hard as a ruby.
'Would you?' she said. 'Would you really?'
'Yes,' said Craig. 'I would.'
She pushed past him, dragged on a dressing gown, and slammed into the kitchen. Craig took off his coat and lay on the wide, soft bed, listening to the crash of crockery viciously handled. She came back at last with a tray and banged it down on the bedside table, then hauled off his shoes.
'It's my bed,' she said. 'I don't want it dirty.' She poured coffee for him, lit a cigarette, and put it in his mouth.
'There,' she said. 'Is there anything else I can do for you?'
'Stop waiting on me,' said Craig. 'I don't own you.'
He sat up on the bed and sipped the coffee. It was good coffee. Tessa flushed, and her hp trembled for a moment, but she felt again the sudden, overwhelming need for this man, sensing the strength in him that would go through and beyond passion to the firm security of love.
'That crack about my bed,' she said. 'I didn't mean you would make it dirty.' Craig said nothing. 'Michael told you about me, I suppose? The way I drift around, and sometimes I drink too much and get lonely and some man picks me up? It doesn't happen very often, honesty, and it doesn't mean anything when it does.' Still he said nothing. 'Please,' said Tessa. 'Please. Won't you help me at all?'
'I am helping you,' said Craig. 'I don't want you to get hurt. And that's what's going to happen if you go on like this.'
'Surely that's up to me?' said Tessa.
'I believe what you told me,' he said at last. 'Diamond said you're a wonderful woman but you've had too much bad luck. I believe that too.'
'Well then,' she said, and her hands went to the belt of her dressing gown, her shoulders shrugged, and it fell to the floor. Her arm reached out for the light switch, and in the darkness he heard the harsh rustle of nylon, and then she was beside him, her body firm against his, her fingers nimble with his tie, the buttons of his shirt and pants.
