'You're mine, Carol,' Phillip warned. 'I haven't educated you for another man. You can want another man; that just gives you another dimension. But you're mine. You and the other man become mine.
Now I have two of you, Carol — you and your little fantasy that there's something in you separate and apart for Harry. Now I have the part of you I shall always have, and the part you reserve for Harry.'
He covered her soft nipple with his mouth. She sank deep into the pillows.
'Harry will save me,' she warned. 'Harry will take me away from you.' His teeth were shaping tiny bites on the tightening, stiffening tit.
His hand wandered to the other breast. He pinched the hungry flesh.
He brushed the hairless mound of her cunt, and then lifted his hot face to look at her. 'No disguise,' he murmured, tracing her belly and smooth pussy. 'No disguise for me, Carol. I always see you. I always see my daughter, my sick little girl, behind all the disguises. You need that, don't you? You need to be seen occasionally.
'Harry doesn't see anything, because Harry doesn't care. He's a dedicated man. He's got a habit. He'd leave you in a second, without a thought, without an idea that there was an alternative act — just for a diamond that glittered on the horizon. He'd leave you again and again to get to the end of his rainbow. And you know where the end is, Carol. You're a smart girl. You know Harry's going to be all alone when he gets there.'
She started to answer, to plead, to say anything. She couldn't say, 'It isn't true, Phillip. He'll come back and take me with him.' And that was the only thing worth saying, the only thing that had meaning for either of them. Phillip brushed the thin nightgown aside, and stuck his hot mouth to her cunt. He sucked deeply, until he had pulled the hidden, tamed clitoris erect into his mouth. Then, when her hips jerked mechanically and uncontrollably, he sank his tongue deep into her musty sex, and ate her.
Harry said, 'A hamburger and a black coffee.'
The short-order cook threw the raw meat on the grill. 'Relish, sir?'
'No.' He knew he wasn't going to eat it anyway. He hadn't been able to eat or sleep in the hot little Cuban town, waiting for the Llewellyn garden party. Somehow, Mrs. Llewellyn had overlooked extending an invitation to Harry, but he'd be there. No one had traveled further, or planned more carefully to mingle with the Llewellyn guests.
Then a brief swim in the dry pool, and he'd get back to Carol. But that was so far away. He could only think as far as having the magnificent jewels in his hands.
He took a few bites out of the decorated hamburger, and suddenly impatient, dropped a dollar bill on the counter and walked through the swinging doors. He marched swiftly down the narrow street of the crowded native section of the town. The Keys seemed completely Spanish today, puff-white in an azure sky. There were sounds of folk guitars and rapid sibilant Spanish voices, high and eager. Some shops were boarded up for the four-hour siesta. Harry kept moving till he reached the old piers on the far end of the village.
On the pier he looked at his watch, bent forward, and shouted to the pilot so that he could be heard over the roar of the racing engine. 'I'll want the boat sometime before three o'clock.'
'All right, Mr. Gregory,' the pilot called back. He'd clung to the convenient anonymity Phillip had given him.
'The boat's in great shape. She'll be ready to run anytime this afternoon.'
'Thanks,' Phillip said, and started to walk away from the pier. The pilot jumped nimbly onto the wooden dock and came swiftly to Phillip, his espadrilles silent and soft on the sun dried boards.
'Sure you don't want me to take you out, Mr. Gregory? The price is the same, but you can see the islands better if I pilot. The boat takes a bit of work,' he finished.
'No thanks,' Harry said coolly. 'I'll take it alone,' and he kept walking toward the center of town.
He went back through the narrow streets and turned in at a small hotel. Over the door, in black on whitewash was the name 'Santa Rosa.'
He entered the small lobby and his heels clacked against the tiles. The guests, plump Spanish bourgeois, fanned themselves with the curious skill that is born only in Spanish women.
He picked up his key at the desk, and the pretty woman who always watched him from behind the desk said, 'Buenos dias, Senor Gregory.'
'Buenos dias,' he answered politely, appreciating in a vague way her admiration and getting his party manners in form. He wouldn't want to insult any of the Llewellyn guests. He felt rather fond of them just thinking of them.
He turned away and started up the iron-grilled staircase, and the woman called after him, 'There is no message for you, Senor Gregory.'
Harry didn't look back. He continued up the stairs and thought, 'Not even an invitation, and the party is today; just an oversight, they'll be happy to see me when I get there.'
'Thank you,' he said.
An hour later, Harry walked down the stairs. He was fastidiously, elegantly dressed in a beige linen suit. He looked casual and comfortable in his clothes, and when he put his key on the desk, the woman saw the brocade vest beneath his jacket.
'Going to a party, Mr. Gregory?' she asked coquettishly.
'You never can tell,' he said, and walked smoothly, ignoring her
'buenos tardes', out into the street.
When he got to the dock, he moved methodically past the chain cruisers and other small boats. Nearing the edge, he looked down at the mahogany speed-boat, its engine idling. It was ready to go, humming.
He moved quickly down the wooden staircase to the landing platform.
The pilot was lovingly polishing the wood behind the cockpit. He looked at Harry and, shaking his cloth at the boat, said enthusiastically,
'She's all ready to go, Mr. Gregory.'
'Good,' Harry approved, and handed the pilot a neat roll of bills.
The man carefully scanned the money, counting it with eyes wide in his sunburned face. Harry pulled on his gloves and got quickly behind the wheel of the boat. He looked back at the luxurious upholstery, checked the chromed instrument panel, and pulled out of the dock with a purposeful roar. He raced the engines and listened as the pilot threw off the lines. Then he throttled down.
Harry thought of nothing but getting into the swimming pool.
Getting out would be nothing. It was unimportant. Just to feel those jewels in the palm of his hand, just to bathe himself in a sea of diamonds. Three years of planning this job; seven years since he had first heard of the Llewellyn collection.
In the curved wake of the boat he saw the receding coast line, and ahead of him the vague outline of the Goose Island. Its long stretched neck connected delicately with the mainland. Closer he could see the huge mansion, its landscaped grounds dotted with umbrellas and tables and people with martinis in their hands and banalities in their heads.
But they had very serious accessories stuck in their earlobes and draped round their necks. The house seemed almost naked, rising long and modern on a slope.
Most of the people were gathered around a rambling free-form swimming pool, the Cadillacs and Rolls parked in a cluster at the side of the mansion. Harry saw most clearly, as the boat neared the island, the white coast road from the house to the drawbridge, dotted with arriving cars. A chauffeured limousine that had just crossed the bridge stopped at a small gatehouse. The uniformed guard accepted the invitation the chauffeur handed him, checked it briefly against the guest list, and waved the car on to the park. No chance for Cinderella to get in without proper credentials. The limousine moved down the drive toward the private harbor. There were several yachts and a scattering of cabin cruisers riding at anchor.
A group of disembarking guests looked up at the approaching speedboat. Harry banked the curve, rounded the goose tail, and swung in toward the breakwater.
He carefully eased the boat into the harbor and nosed it up to a landing platform beside the dock. An attendant in uniform jumped down to assist. This was the moment. Harry took a folded bill out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to the attendant. Nice and green and crackling, a universal invitation to have a ball. The attendant slipped the money into his pocket, and Harry walked familiarly to the mansion.
