takeover by SuNatCo in Europe. It was a commercial coup d'etat which sent Supranational shares soaring on the New York and London markets and made FMA's loan to the corporate giant seem even sounder.
As Heyward entered his outer office, Mrs. Callaghan offered him her usual matronly smile. The other messages are on your desk, sir.'
He nodded, but inside pushed the pile aside. He hesitated over papers which had been prepared, but were not yet approved, concerning the additional Q-Investments loan. Then he dismissed that too, and, using a phone which was a direct outside line, dialed the number of paradise.
'Rossie, sweetie,' Avril whispered as the tip of her tongue explored his ear, 'you're hurrying too much. Waitl Lie stilll Stilll Hold backl' She stroked his naked shoulder, then his spine, her fingernails hovering, sharp but gossamer light.
Heyward moaned a mixture of savored, sweetest pleasure, pain, and postponed fulfillment as he obeyed. She whispered again, 'I’ll be worth waiting, I promise.'
He knew it would be. It always was. He wondered again how someone so young and beautiful could have learned so much, be so emancipated. .. uninhibited… gloriously wise.
'Not yet, Rossiel Darling, not yet There That's good. Be patient!'
Her hands, skilled and knowing, went on exploring. He let his mind and body float, knowing from experience it was best to do everything… exactly as… she said. 'Oh, that's good, Rossie. Isn't it lovely?' He breathed, 'Yes. Yes!' 'Soon, Rossie. Very soon.'
Beside him, over the bed's two pillows, close together, Avril's red hair tumbled. Her kisses had devoured him. The ambrosial, heady fragrance of her filled his nostrils. Her marvelous, willowy, willing body was beneath him. This, his senses shouted, was the best of life, of earth and heaven, here and now.
The only bittersweet sadness was that he had waited so many years to find it. Again Avril's lips searched for his and found them She urged him, 'Now, Rossie! Now, sweetie! Now!'
The bedroom, as Heyward had observed when he arrived, was standard Hilton clean, efficiently comfortable, and a characterless box. A compact sitting room of the same genre was outside; on this occasion, as on the others, Avril had taken a suite.
They had been here since late afternoon. After the lovemaking they had dozed, awakened, made love again though not with entire success then slept for an hour more. Now both were dressing. Heyward's watch showed eight o'clock.
He was exhausted, physically drained. More than anything else he wanted to go home and go to bed alone. He wondered how soon he could decently slip away.
Avril had been outside in the sitting room, telephoning. When she returned, she said! 'I ordered dinner for us, sweetie. It'll be up soon.' 'That's wonderful, my dear.'
Avril had put on a filmy slip and pantyhose. No bra. She began brushing her long hair which had become disordered. He sat on the bed watching her, despite his tiredness aware that every movement she made was lithe and sensuous. Compared with Beatrice, whom he was used to seeing daily, Avril was so young. Suddenly he felt depressingly old.
They went into the sitting room where Avril said, 'Let's open the champagne.'
It was on a sideboard in an ice bucket. Heyward had noticed it earlier. By this time most of the ice had melted but the bottle was still cold. He fumbled inexpertly with wire and cork.
'Don't try to move the cork,' Avril told him. 'Tilt the bottle to forty-five degrees, then hold the cork and twist the bottle.' It worked easily. She knew so much. Taking the bottle from him, Avril poured into two glasses. He shook his head. 'You know I don't drink, my dear.'
'It'll make you feel younger.' She held out a glass. As he surrendered and took it, he wondered if she had read his mind.
Two refills later, when their room service meal arrived, he did feel younger.
When the waiter had gone, Heyward said, 'You should have let me pay for that.' A few minutes earlier he had brought out his wallet but Avril waved it away and signed the check. 'Why, Rossie?'
'Because you must allow me to give you back some of your expenses the hotel bills, the cost of flying here from New York.' He had learned that Avril had an apartment in Greenwich Village. 'It's too much for you to spend yourself.'
She looked at him curiously, then gave a silvery laugh 'You didn't think I was paying for all this?' She gestured around the suite. 'Using my money? Rossie, baby, you have to be crazyl' 'Then who is paying?'
'Supranational of course, you old silly! Everything's charged to them this suite, the meal, my air fare, my time.' She crossed to his chair and kissed him; her lips were full and moist. 'Just don't worry about it'
He sat still, crushed and silent, absorbing the impact of what had just been said. The mellowing potency of the champagne still coursed through his body, yet his mind was sharp.
'My time.' That hurt most of all. Until now he had assumed the reason Avril telephoned him after the Bahamas, suggesting that they meet, was because she liked him and had enjoyed as much as he did what happened between them.
How could he have been so naive? Of course the entire exercise had been arranged by Quartermain and was at Supranational's expense. Shouldn't commonsense have told him? Or had he shielded himself by not inquiring sooner because he hadn't wanted to know? Something else: If Avril were being paid for 'my time,' what did that make her? A whore? If so, what then was Roscoe Heyward? He closed his eyes. St. Luke 18.13, he thought: God be merciful to me a sinner.
There was one thing he could do, of course. Immediately. That was find out how much had been expended until now, and afterwards send his personal check for that amount to Supranational. He began calculating, then realized he had no idea of the cost of Avril. Instinct told him it would not be small.
In any case he doubted the wisdom of such a move. His comptroller's mind reasoned: How would Supranational show the payment on its books? Even more to the point, he didn't have that much money to spare. And besides, what would happen when he wanted Avril again? He knew, already, that he would.
The telephone rang, filling the small sitting room with sound. Avril answered it, spoke briefly, then announced, 'It's for you.' 'For me?'
As he took the receiver, the voice boomed, 'Hi there, Roscoe' Heyward asked sharply, 'Where are you, George?'
'Washington. What's the difference? Got some real good news about SuNatCo. Quarterly earnings statement. You'll read about it in tomorrow's papers.' 'You called me here to tell me that?' 'Interrupted you, did I?' 'No.'
Big George chuckled. 'Just a friendly phone call, fella Checking that all arrangements were okay.'
If he wanted to protest, Heyward realized, this was the moment. But protest what? The generous availability of Avril? Or his own acute embarrassment?
The booming telephone voice cut through his dilemma 'What Q-Investments credit okayed yet?' 'Not quite.' 'Taking your time, aren't you?' 'Not really. There are formalities.' 'Let's move 'em, or I'll have to give some other bank that business, and maybe shift some of Supranational's over, too.'
The threat was clear. It did not surprise Heyward by cause pressures and concessions were a normal part of banking. 'I'll do my best, George.' A grunt. 'Avril still there?” 'Yes.' 'Lemme talk to her.'
Heyward passed the phone to Avril. She listened briefly, said, 'Yes, I will,' smiled, and hung up.
She went into the bedroom where he heard a suitcase snap open and a moment later she emerged with a large manila envelope. 'Georgie said I was to give you this.'
It was the same kind of envelope, and with similar seals, as the one which had contained the Q-Investrnents share certificates.
'Georgie told me to say it's a reminder of our good time in Nassau.'
More share certificates? He doubted it. He considered refusing to accept, but curiosity was strong.
Avril said, 'You're not to open it here. Wait till you're away.'
He seized the opportunity and checked his watch 'I shall have to go anyway, my dear.' 'Me, too. I'm flying back to New York tonight.'
They said goodbye in the suite. There could have been an awkwardness at parting. Because of Avril's practiced savoir-faire there wasn't.
She draped her arms around him and they held each other closely while she whispered, 'You're a sugarplum,
