requisites are in the kitchen. I sent one of your gendarmes to fetch
them from the train. You can wash in the sink.' Bruce laced up his boots
and followed her through into the kitchen, stepping over sleeping bodies
on the way.
'There is no hot water,' Shermaine apologized.
'That is the least of my worries.' Bruce crossed to the table and opened
his small personal pack, taking out his razor and soap and comb.
'I raided the chicken coop for you,' Shermaine confessed.
'There were only two eggs. How shall I cook them?' soft boiled, one
minute.' Bruce stripped off his jacket and shirt, went to the sink and
filled it. He sluiced his face and lifted handfuls of water over his
head, snorting with pleasure.
Then he propped his shaving mirror above the taps and spread soap on his
face. Shermaine came to sit on the draining board beside him and watched
with frank interest.
'I will be sorry to see the beard go,' she said. 'It looked like
the pelt of an otter, I liked it.'
'Perhaps I will grow it for you one day.' Bruce smiled at her. 'Your
eyes are blue, Shermaine.'
'It has taken you a long time to find that out,' she said and pouted
dramatically. Her skin was silky and coollooking, lips pale pink without
make-up. Her dark hair, drawn back, emphasized the high cheek bones and
the size of her eyes.
'In India 'slier' means 'tiger',' Bruce told her, watching her from the
corner of his eye. Immediately she abandoned the pout and drew her lips
up into a snarl. Her teeth were small and very white and only slightly
uneven. Her eyes rolled wide and then crossed at an alarming angle. She
growled. Taken by surprise, Bruce laughed and nearly cut himself.
'I cannot abide a woman who clowns before breakfast. It ruins my
digestion,' he laughed at her.
'Breakfast!' said Shermaine and uncrossed her eyes, jumped off the
draining board and ran to the stove.
'Only just in time.' She checked her watch. 'One minute and twenty
seconds, will you forgive me?'
'This once only, never again.'
Bruce washed the soap off his face, dried and combed his hair and came
to the table.
She had a chair ready for him.
'How much sugar in your coffee?'
'Three, please.' Bruce chopped the top off his egg, and she brought the
mug and placed it in front of him.
'I like making breakfast for you.' Bruce didn't answer her.
This was dangerous talk. She sat down opposite him, leaned forward on
her elbows with her chin in her hands.
'You eat too fast,' she announced and Bruce raised an eyebrow.
'But at least you keep your mouth closed.' Bruce started on his second
egg.
'How old are you?' 'Thirty, said Bruce.
'I'm twenty - nearly twenty-one.'
