Seeing Natalie supervising the drinks and being ignored by the chattering guests, he had detached himself from his tiresome wife and cornered her. He had charm, and was an easy con versationalist and he quickly learned that this pale-faced, plain- looking woman was Shalik's personal assistant, and he could see that she was sexually starved.
He easily won her confidence and chatted with her for some minutes while his mind worked swiftly. She could be vitally important to him and he knew he couldn't remain with her for long as Shalik was already glancing in their direction with lifted eyebrows.
"Miss Norman," he said quietly, "I am in the position to help people like yourself should you need help. Please remember my name; Charles Burnett, the National Bank of Natal. Should you ever get dissatisfied with your job here, should you wish to earn more money, do please contact me."
As her expression became bewildered, he smiled and left her.
After returning home, he sat in his study and considered his next move. He hoped he hadn't rushed his fences with this pale- faced woman. She could be the spy he needed. Obviously, she needed physical contact with a virile man. Burnett knew all the signs: her thinness, her dark ringed eyes, her depressed expression. What she needed was a lusty bedmate: he decided this must be the first move to ensnare her.
Burnett had many useful contacts and among them was ex- Inspector Tom Parkins of the C.I.D. He telephoned him.
"Parkins . . . I am looking for a young rogue who could do a special job for me. He must be completely unscrupulous and good looking with personality and around twenty-five, not older. Do you know of anyone like that?"
The cop voice said, "Shouldn't be too difficult, sir. Would the pay be interesting?"
"Very."
"I'll turn it over in my mind, sir. Suppose I call you after lunch?"
"Do that," Burnett said, satisfied that he would get what he wanted.
Around 15.00 hrs., Parkins telephoned.
"I've got your man, sir," he said. "Daz Jackson: twenty-four years of age, excellent appearance, plays a guitar in a fifth rate Soho club and needs money. He served two years for petty larceny three years ago."
Burnett hesitated.
"This might be a little tricky, Parkins. I'm not letting myself in for blackmail?"
"Oh no, sir. Anything like that . . . and it won't happen, I assure you . . . I could handle for you. I have quite a lot on this young tearaway. You don't have to worry about that angle."
"Very well. Send him here at 17.00 hrs. I'll arrange to have ten pounds credited to your account with us, Parkins."
"That's very kind of you, sir. You will be quite satisfied with Jackson."
Daz Jackson arrived ten minutes after the hour. He was ushered into Burnett's vast office by Burnett's secretary. She had worked so long for Burnett that nothing surprised her . . . not even Daz Jackson.
Burnett regarded the young man as he lounged into the big room, a supercilious grin on his face. He wore mustard-coloured hipsters, a dark-blue frilled shirt and a gilt chain around his neck from which hung a small bell that tinkled as he moved.
What a specimen Burnett thought, but, at least, he is clean.
Without being asked, Jackson lowered his lean frame into a chair, crossed one leg over the other and regarded Burnett with an insolent lift of his eyebrow.
"The ex-bogey said you had a job. What's the pay?" he asked. "And listen, I don't dig to work in this graveyard. Catch?
Burnett was used to dealing with all kinds of people and he was adaptable. Although he would have liked to have kicked this young beatnik out, he saw he could be the man he was looking for.
"I'm not asking you to work here Mr. Jackson," he said. "I have a
special job which you could handle and which pays well."
Jackson raised a languid hand in mock protest.
"Skip the mister and all that jazz," he said. "Call me Daz."
Burnett's insincere smile became a little stiff.
"Certainly . . . but why Daz?"
"The chicks call me that . . . I dazzle them."
"Splendid." Burnett leaned back in his executive chair. "What I want you to do is this . . ." He explained.
Daz Jackson lolled in his chair and listened. His ice grey eyes searched Burnett's face while Burnett talked. Finally, when Burnett said, "Well, that's it . . . do you think you can handle it for me?" Daz grimaced.
"Let's get it nice and straight," he said, stretching out his long legs. "This piece wants to be laid . . . right?" When Burnett nodded, he went on, "Once I've given it to her, she'll want more right?" Again Burnett nodded. "Then she has to pay for it . . . you want me to squeeze her dry . . . right?"
"Yes . . . that is the situation."
"You will pay me a hundred nicker for doing the job and what I get out of her I keep . . . right?"
Burnett inclined his head. Dealing with a man like this made him feel slightly soiled.
Jackson leaned back in his chair and stared at Burnett. "Well, for God's sake, and they call me delinquent!"
Burnett's eyes turned frosty.
"Do you want the job or don't you?"
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Daz shrugged.
"Oh sure . . . what have I to lose? What's this piece like?"
"Plain but adequate," Burnett returned, unconsciously using the phrase in the Michelin Guide to France to describe a third rate hotel.
"Okay, so where do I find her?"
Burnett gave him Natalie's home and business addresses typed on a blank card.
"I want quick action."
Daz grinned.
"If you say she's thirsting for it, she'll have it and once she has had it from me, she'll want it again and again." Daz regarded Burnett, his eyes calculating. "The cops won't come into this?"
"There's no question of that."
"Well, if they do, I'll squeal. I'm not mad about this job." Burnett stared coldly at him.
"But you will do it?"
Daz shrugged.
"I said I would, didn't I?"
"Get as much money out of her as you can. I want her to be in an impossible financial position. I want her to be up to her eyes in debt."
Daz dragged himself to his feet.
"How about some money now . . . I'm skint."
"When you deliver," Burnett said curtly and waved a dismissal.
In the bitter cold of a January night, Natalie Norman found her rear off-side tyre was flat. She had been working late, and was now looking forward to getting home and into a hot bath. She had parked her Austin-Mini, as she always did in a cul-de-sac off Park Lane. She stood shivering in the biting wind while she looked helplessly at the flat tyre, when out of the shadows, came a tall, lean young man, wearing a lamb skin lined short coat, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his black hipsters.
Daz had learned where Natalie parked her car, and he had let the air out of the tyre some fifty minutes ago. He had stood in a nearby doorway, freezing and cursing until he saw her come to the car. This was his first glimpse of her. He brightened considerably as the street light lit up her long, slim legs. The least he had expected was some woman with legs that could support a grand piano.
He waited, watching her. She moved into the full light and he grimaced. Good body, but so obviously a plain, sex-starved spinster with as much personality as a drowned cat.
Boy! he thought. Will I have to use my imagination to get her laid!
"You in trouble, miss?" he said. "Can I give you a hand?"
Natalie was startled by his sudden appearance. She looked helplessly to right and left, but there was no one in the cul-de-sac except themselves.
"I have a puncture," she said nervously. "It's all right. I'll get a taxi . . . thank you."
He moved under the street light so she could see him. They regarded each other, and she felt her heart beat quicken. He was lean and tall and like a beautiful young animal, she thought. His hair, curling to his collar, excited her. She felt a rush of blood through her: something that often happened when she saw really masculine men on the street, but her pale, expressionless face revealed nothing of the feeling that was moving through her body.
"I'll fix it," Daz said. "You get in the car, miss. Get out of the cold. Phew! It's cold, isn't it?"
"Yes . . . but please don't bother. I'll take a taxi."
"Hop in . . . I'll fix it . . . won't take me a jiff."
She unlocked the car door and got gratefully into the little car, closing the door. She watched his movements. He was very quick. Under ten minutes, he came to the car window, wiping his hands on the seat of his hipsters.
"All fixed, miss . . . you can get off."
She looked up at him through the open car window. He leaned forward, staring down at her. Was there something of promise in his young eyes? she wondered. Her heart was jumping about like freshly landed trout.
"Can't I give you a lift?"
She smiled and when she smiled, he decided she wasn't all that bad to look at.
"You wouldn't be going near Knightsbridge?" he asked, knowing that was where she lived.
"Oh yes . . . Church Street."
"Well, a lift would be nice."
He went around the car and slid in beside her. His shoulder touched her and she felt as if she had received an electric shock.
She was furious with herself because her hand was shaking so violently she couldn't get the key into the ignition lock.
"You're cold. Like me to drive, miss?"
Silently, she handed him the keys and he slid out of the car as she moved over to the passenger's seat. Her skirt got rucked up on the gear lever. She hesitated, then knowing her legs and slim thighs were her only attractive features, she let her skirt remain as it was.
"I'm frozen," she forced herself to say as Daz got under the driving wheel.
"Me too . . . it's perishing."
She expected him to drive fast and flashily, but he didn't. He drove well, keeping just under the 30 m.p.h. limit and with expert confidence that surprised her.
"Do you live in Knightsbridge?" she ventured.
"Who . . . me?" He laughed. "Nothing so posh. I live in a rat hole in Parson's Green. I'm out of work. Whenever I get down to my last quid I like to walk around Knightsbridge and window shop. I imagine what I would buy from Harrods if I had a mass of lolly."
She looked at his handsome profile, and again she experienced this devastating pang of desire.
"But why are you out of work?" she asked. "People need never be out of work these days."
"I've been ill. I've got a weak lung . . . plays up sometimes . . . then I get laid off. I've been laid off now for two weeks." Daz thought: The lies I can tell. I almost believe this myself. Then feeling he was laying it on a little too thick, he added, "I'll get something next week, I'm feeling fine now."
Natalie digested all this.
"I'm glad."
He turned and gave her a smile that had earned him his nick name. She felt sloppily weak as her desire for him mounted.
"You don't have to worry about me, miss. No one, including me, worries about me." He paused, then went on, "You're out late, aren't you?"
"I often work late."
"Church Street you said?"
They were now driving by Knightsbridge Underground Station.
"Yes."
"You live on your own?"
Oh yes, Natalie thought bitterly. Alone . . . always alone.
"Yes."
Daz's eyes moved to her legs, exposed to above the knee. Poor cow! he thought. This is going to be easy.
"Well, tots of people live on their own," he said. "When they get back from work, they shut themselves in their dreary rooms and that's it until they go out to work the next morning. That's why I like to walk the streets at night. Staying in my room on my own gives me the horrors."
"I can understand that." Then as he began to drive up Church Street, she went on, "This is the place . . . on the right."
Well here's the crunch, he thought. Is she going to invite me in?
"You mean this big block here?"
"Yes. You go down the ramp to the garage." She hesitated then said in a small voice, "I expect you would like a wash after changing that tyre. I think you deserve a drink too."
He hid a grin. He had felt it would be easy, but not quite this easy.
"Yes. I could do with a wash," and he drove the car down into the big lighted garage.
They went up in the lift to the fourth floor. Neither of them looked at each other on the way up nor spoke.
She unlocked her front door and led him into the small, bright sitting-room. "Do take your coat off." Her voice was very unsteady.
He looked around.
"This is real nice."
She came to know nice was his favourite word.
"The bathroom's through there."
She left him in the bathroom and she took off her coat and scarf, feeling desire for him raging through her. She was still standing in the middle of the room, white and shaking, when he came out of the bathroom. He knew at once there would be no trouble.
We don't know each other. I'm Daz Jackson."
"I'm Natalie Norman."
"Nice name . . . Natalie . . . I dig for that."
They stared at each other, then he moved close to her and slid his arms around her.
She shivered as his hands moved down her thin back. For one brief moment, her subconscious mechanism fought to repulse him, but her need was too strong.
She was only dimly aware of being carried into the bedroom. She relaxed on the bed moving a little from side to side as he stripped off her clothes. Then she gave herself up to his animal lust.
Daz Jackson opened his eyes and let out a long, slow sigh. Well, for shouting aloud! he thought as he looked up at the white ceiling. Who would have believed it. It's the best I've ever had!
He turned on his side and looked at Natalie who lay on her back, her hands covering her small breasts, sleeping. He regarded her body. Good, pity about that face. He gave her a gentle prod in the ribs.