Billion-Dollar Brain. Len Deighton
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On the evening of the second day we were back in the flat near Long Bridge. Signe had cooked a fish with a sloppy skill which enabled her to read a pulp magazine and prepare dinner simultaneously without having anything burn or boil over. When dinner was over she brought a plate of petit fours in silver wrappers and a bottle of schnapps.
‘Have you known Harvey a long time?’
‘I’ve seen him on and off over the years.’
‘He runs things here, you know.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘Yes. He’s in sole charge in this part of Europe. He’s gone back to New York for a conference.’
‘So you said.’
‘I don’t think he’s the sort of man who is good at controlling a whole …’
‘Network?’
‘Yes, network. He’s too … emotional.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ She bit into one of the little cakes with her ice-white teeth. ‘He’s madly in love with me. Do you think that’s good?’
‘It’s OK as far as I’m concerned.’
‘He wants to marry me.’
I remembered all kinds of girls whom Harvey had wanted to marry at some time or other. ‘Well, you’re young yet. I imagine you’ll want to think about that for a little while.’
‘He’s going to divorce his present wife.’
‘He said that?’
‘No, his analyst told me at a party in New York.’ She folded the silver square of wrapping paper in half and made it into a little boat.
‘Then he’s going to marry you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There are lots of men in love with me. I don’t think a girl should be rushed into bedding down.’
‘I think they should,’ I said.
‘You’re wicked.’ She put the little silver-paper boat on to her fingertip like a hat and wiggled it. ‘He’s wicked,’ she said to the finger, and the finger nodded. ‘Harvey’s wife is awful.’
‘You are probably a little biased.’
‘No, I’m not biased. I know her. We were all at a party at Mr Midwinter’s. You don’t know Mr Midwinter, do you?’
‘No.’
‘He’s a dear. You’ll meet him. He’s Harvey’s boss.’ She fingered a coffee mark on my shirt. ‘I’ll remove that before it stains. Give me the shirt. You can borrow one of Harvey’s.’
‘OK,’ I said.
‘At this party everyone was wearing really pretty dresses. You know, with jewels and silver things in their hair and some really great shoes. All the women had really great shoes. Sort of that shape.’ She took off her shoe and put it on the table and modified it with her two index fingers. ‘You can get them in Helsinki now, but at that time … anyway I had only been in New York for a couple of days and I only had the clothes I had taken with me. You understand.’
‘Sure, it’s a real problem.’
‘No, it really is a problem if you are a woman. Men can have one dark suit and wear it all day and no one will even notice, but women are expected to have the right clothes for lunch and afternoon tea and working in and then have some stunning outfit for evening. Then next day people think you should have things they haven’t seen before. If you …’
‘You were telling me about a party.’
‘Yes. Well I’m telling you. I went to this party at Mr Midwinter’s and it’s a wonderful house with footmen and things, and I went in just the sort of clothes I’d wear for a party here in Helsinki. I mean just a friendly little party. So there in the middle of all these men in tuxedos and women in three-hundred-dollar dresses …’
‘Didn’t Harvey tell you what they would be wearing?’
‘No. You know what he’s like. He daren’t go near me when his wife’s around. Anyway I’m standing there like a creep. Creep?’
‘Creep, yes. That will do.’
‘Well I’m standing there like a creep in this dress with dots on it. Dots. Can you imagine?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mrs Newbegin comes over to me. She looks like that.’ Signe narrowed her eyes to slits and sucked her cheeks in a grotesque imitation of a girl in a fashion magazine. ‘She’s wearing a fabulous black silk sheath dress and satin shoes. Satin shoes. She looks me up and down and says, “I’m Mr Newbegin’s wife.” Mr Newbegin. She turns to her friend and says, “It’s just terrible that Harvey didn’t tell her it was formal. I’m sure she has a dozen really pretty little formals she could have worn.” She’s so patronizing you’ve no idea. She’s horrid.’ Signe produced a little box and began applying bright green shadow to her eyelids. She finished, fluttered her lashes at me and smoothed the corduroy dress over her wide hips. She rested the side of her face against my legs. ‘She’s horrid,’ she repeated. ‘Terrible life she leads.’
‘She sounds a bit fierce,’ I said.
‘She’s a Leo; fire sign, sun sign. Lightning and domination. Pushing. It’s a masculine sign of driving force. Men Leos are OK, but women Leos tend to push their husbands. Harvey Newbegin is the same sign as me: Gemini. Air. Mercury. Split twins, passionate, dramatic, vicious, intelligent. Lots of movement, darting around to avoid trouble. Terrible with Leo. Geminis and Leos have an evasive relationship. It’s a bad combination.’
‘But you get on well with Harvey?’
‘Wonderfully. You’ve got nice brown arms. You’re an Aquarian.’
‘Have they all got brown arms?’
‘Air sign. Spirit and mystery. Always keep a part of themselves back. They have a high wall around them, more profound than most people, more detached and scientific. It’s my favourite sign, goes well with Gemini.’ She grasped my arm to demonstrate. Her fingers were slim and feather-like. She ran them down my arm lightly enough to make me shiver. She picked up my hand, put my fingertips into her open mouth, twisted my hand and kissed my palm noisily.
‘Do you like that?’ I didn’t answer.
She grinned and dropped my hand.
‘When I get married I’m going to keep my name. What’s your name? I never can remember.’
‘Dempsey,’ I said.
‘Well if I married you I would