Page 20 of The Berlin Agent (John Cook #2)

It was dark by the time we got rid of Vaughn, his car roaring off down the drive. He’d polished off most of the wine, and he drove recklessly. I gave him a fifty per cent chance of navigating the drive home without incident. I had my own feeling as to which side of that fifty per cent I’d prefer.

‘You didn’t mention you’d had a fling with him,’ I said, as I picked up the glasses.

‘I didn’t, because I didn’t,’ Margaret said, with a certain amount of amusement evident in her voice. ‘He’s too old for me now, and he was certainly too old for me when I was in India. Plus, he’s a bore. He was a bore then, and now he’s a double-bore.’

‘So that was all a story?’

‘It’s Vaughn being Vaughn,’ she said. ‘He’ll say anything to get a reaction. You’ve listened to him talk for the last few hours.’

‘Unfortunately.’

The house was big, and dark, and empty. It smelt of old stone, like a church, damp even in the middle of the longest, hottest summer on record. I took the stairs two at a time, forcing Margaret to hurry to keep up, a childish way of punishing her.

‘Cook!’ she called out, as I reached the bedroom door. I stopped. She was twenty yards behind me, still only halfway along the corridor.

I let her catch up. Told myself I was being ridiculous. She passed me as I held the door open. I followed her into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. We were alone in the house, no soul within a mile radius, but closing the door changed things. A private space.

She took out her earrings and put them on top of the chest of drawers. She had an old saucer she kept her things in.

‘Do you want to argue about Vaughn, or do you want to make love?’

She took her necklace off.

‘I can see the merits of both,’ I said.

She pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, -letting it fall to the floor. Her slip followed.

‘You don’t want to help me with this?’ she asked. She reached behind her back to unhook the straps of her bra. I closed the distance between us, and took over, always the gentleman. With the clasps undone I slipped my hands -underneath the cups, caressing her breasts.

‘You’re quite an infuriating woman, you know.’

‘I think you like infuriating women,’ she said, as she turned to undo my belt.

‘You’ve been misinformed.’

She kissed me, lightly at first.

‘Let’s put this conversation on ice until tomorrow,’ she said. ‘That wine’s got me feeling quite racy. See if you can keep up.’