Carla Read Online Free PDF Page A

sure she had given no sign of it, but the Negro girl was sharp as a tack, and Carla wasn’t an old hand at cheating on a husband.
    She would have to be very careful from here on in, careful to cover her trail at every step.
    Stepping into the tub, she realized that this was her second shower of the day and laughed. If nothing else, leading a double life would keep her good and clean!
    She was sitting in the living-room with a cigarette when the door-bell rang. She answered it herself, pausing on the way to take a quick look at herself in the hall mirror. The house seemed to be filled with mirrors, she thought suddenly.
    Her black cocktail dress was just the right thing for the evening, she decided, pleased with her choice. It contrasted vividly with the golden glow of her hair and the milky whiteness of her skin, while the sophisticated styling of it gave a contrasting impression of aloofness and reserve. But not too reserved, she thought, noticing the way her breasts pressed against the front of the dress. Not too reserved, but a mixture of respectability and downright sexines.
    When she opened the door Ronald smiled at her, and his appearance belied his age. His eyes were a bright blue and he still had all his hair. Although he was almost sixty, his hair was still a glossy black except for a slight greying at the temples.
    But Carla barely noticed Ronald and scarcely heard the words he was speaking. All her attention was focused at once upon the man at Ronald’s side, a man she took to be Charles Butler. She couldn’t take her eyes away from him.
    He was not at all as she had expected him to be. She had anticipated an evening with one of Ronald’s typical friends—short, bald, old, and pot-bellied. But Charles Butler possessed none of these qualities.
    She estimated his age at anywhere between 35 and 45. His blond crew-cut made him look young, as did the sparkle that was always present in his eyes and the half-smile that formed frequently upon his lips. He was tall and slender, moving gracefully and easily. She watched him constantly while they had drinks in the living-room and continued watching him over the dinner table. She had never met anyone quite like him in her entire life.
    â€œI guess you could call me an overgrown playboy,” he explained at one point. “My grandfather made a fortune, my dad made a good try at losing the whole bundle, and I’m content to merely amuse myself with what money is left.”
    â€œBut what do you do?” she asked, fascinated.
    â€œTravel, read, whatever I want. There are always things for a man to do and new places to see.” Then he changed the subject quickly, seemingly unwilling to talk about himself.
    In spite of this, she managed to discover quite a bit about Charles Butler during the remainder of the evening, and everything she learned served to stimulate her interest in him. He was decidedly attractive—not in the brutish way of the gas station attendant, but with a polish and suavity which appealed to her strongly.
    She learned that he lived alone, in a bachelor’s apartment at the Tiffany, one of Buffalo’s most luxurious residential hotels. He had the touch of the connoisseur about him, a deep interest and appreciation for quality and taste in everything from food and wine to clothing and home furnishings. Carla guessed immediately that the same appreciation for quality carried over into his love life. It was easy to see that he was a man of extensive experience. Although he never gave her the frank and hungry stare she had come to expect from men, she knew that he found her desirable. Several times at the dinner table his glance found hers and held it for a split-second, and once or twice she noticed his eyes surveying her figure casually.
    She wondered what it would be like, being possessed and loved by such a poised and smooth person as Charles Butler. The thought bothered her, but she couldn’t force it from her