Unofficial and Deniable. John Davis Gordon
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shitless! Standing at that door? But, boy, when that ’chute bursts open you feel king of the world. And what a ride! I’ve got to do it again. Were you scared, the first time you jumped?’
‘Hell, yes.’
‘But then you liked it?’
‘No. I wasn’t worried about the jump any more, it was who was waiting for me on the ground that bothered me.’
‘Hell, yes …’ She looked at him solemnly. Then she sat up straight. ‘What else are we both mad about? I suppose it’s too much to expect, coining from darkest Africa, that you ski as well?’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Harker smiled, ‘I’m a very good skier. I learned here in America. Almost every weekend during the winter I go upstate.’
Josephine slumped back and smiled at him broadly. ‘You know, Major Harker, sir, if I weren’t looking at you through rose-coloured spectacles as my future publisher I think I could develop a terrible case of the hots for you!’
Harker laughed. And his heart seemed to turn over. She burst into laughter with him, her eyes shining. It all seemed terribly funny. Oh, she would be very easy to fall in love with. ‘You keep wearing your rose-coloured spectacles and I’ll keep wearing mine.’
Her laughter subsided. She lowered her head slightly and peered at him from under her extravagant eyelashes. ‘Does that mean you are actually, seriously looking at me as your potential author?’
Oh dear. He heard himself say, ‘That’s how we’ve come to be meeting today, isn’t it?’
She looked at him. ‘Wouldn’t it be taboo?’
All Harker’s good intentions had gone out the window. But he didn’t care any more. He said, ‘Out there in the market-place all kinds of doctors, lawyers, accountants are getting involved with their clients, their patients.’
Josephine looked at him solemnly. ‘And do I understand correctly that despite that jazz about rose-coloured spectacles you find me attractive?’
Harker wanted to burst into laughter, but he put on a serious face.
‘Very attractive.’
She said earnestly, with a touch of impatience: ‘I mean as a person.’
Harker suppressed his grin into a smile. ‘Your body is superlatively attractive. But, yes, I mean as a person. An intellect. A soul.’ He meant every word.
‘Not as a one-night stand?’
Harker had to restrain himself from laughing. He said solemnly, ‘Correct.’
She regarded him closely. ‘Because if it is just a one-night stand, fine. Provided that in the morning we look each other in the eye and say to each other, honestly, “Thanks, pal, that was fun.” Hopefully, we’ll be able to say that much at least – “that was fun but let’s forget it happened”.’ She looked at him. ‘Promise me you’ll be honest?’
Harker couldn’t conceal his wide smile. ‘I promise.’
The corners of her lovely mouth twitched. ‘And whatever happens in the morning, it won’t affect your decision as to whether you publish my book or not?’
The remnants of Harker’s conscience spluttered out. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘It’s a deal?’
‘It’s a deal.’
She regarded him for a long moment; then her mouth went into a wide grin. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So. As they say in the classics, my place or yours?’
The CCB paid for the lunch, despite her protests. ‘I’d like to feel I’m retaining some measure of control over my virtue, Major – if I kick you out in the morning at least I won’t feel in your debt!’ It all seemed terribly funny – and very erotic: here was an unconditional agreement about carnal experimentation between two adults with no illusions, no promises, no complaints entertained afterwards. ‘No prisoners taken, Major?’ They were both smiling broadly as they walked down the steps of the New York Yacht Club and hailed a cab. And when the driver said ‘Where to?’ Josephine spluttered, ‘What the hell, let’s go to your place, driver!’ It seemed uproariously funny.
But when they reached Harker’s apartment block down on East 22nd Street, and opened the ornate wrought-iron gate into the archway, then crossed the courtyard towards the rear block, a solemnity seemed to descend on her. They walked in silence down the corridor to his door. While he unlocked his apartment, she stared at the floor. He opened the door and let her enter first. She took a few paces inside, then turned, and leant back against the wall.
She looked at him. ‘Sure this is wise? Mixing business with pleasure?’
With the last vestige of his conscience Harker replied, ‘I never said it was wise. I just said it wasn’t unusual.’ He added, ‘And we’re not in business yet.’
‘But I’m hoping we will be,’ Josephine said softly. She looked at him a long moment, then said solemnly: ‘You won’t feel compromised?’
Oh Jesus. ‘Not if you won’t.’
‘How can I be compromised? You’re the one who has to decide about my book.’ She looked at him. ‘If you want to pull out of our little deal, fine.’ She was clutching her folder to her breasts.
This was his out. He could kiss her on the cheek and offer to call her a taxi with a clear conscience. But he didn’t want to do that, he didn’t care about his conscience. He asked, ‘Do you want to pull out?’
She stood at the wall, looking at him from under her dark eyebrows. She shook her head slightly. ‘Uh-uh.’
Harker grinned. Then Josephine smiled widely, and he took her in his arms.
He crushed her against him, her folder between them. Then her arm went around his neck, and she kissed him ravenously. Their teeth clashed and her tongue flashed into his mouth and she moaned. His hand slid down her back over her buttocks and thighs. Oh, the wonderful soft smooth feel of her. She thrust her pelvis against his loins and kissed him hard: then she broke the kiss, and leant back in his arms, eyes smouldering.
‘Just please don’t bullshit me about my book,’ she breathed.
‘It’s a deal.’
Harker turned, took her hand, and led her down the short corridor, into his bedroom.
It was tidy, the double bed made because he had been away for most of the week. Josephine solemnly put her folder on to a table. Harker put his arms around her and kissed her again. Then he clutched her breast, and the full firm soft beauty of it made him groan. He plucked at the buttons of her blouse, and she peeled his jacket off his shoulders. Then her fingers went to his tie. They feverishly fumbled and pulled the garments off each other, their mouths crushed together, their hands groping and sliding. Then she turned out of his clasp, her hair awry. She opened the door to his bathroom.
She slid back the glass door of the shower and turned on the tap. Hot water began to gush. Steam billowed. She held out her hand to him. Harker struggled out of his trousers. Then he stepped under the teeming water and took her nakedness in his arms. And, oh, the glorious naked feel of her, her back and hips and belly and breasts and thighs against him as they kissed feverishly.
Harker woke up about midnight. Josephine was sprawled on the bed beside him, one long leg bent, her blonde tresses spreadeagled across the pillow. The bedside lamp was on, the night lights of Manhattan glowed in the big window.
He looked at her lying there: he could see the small scar on her left breast where she had shot herself, the exit scar near her armpit. Oh, she was beautiful, the swell of her hip, the line of her legs seemed the loveliest he