Free The Eiger Sanction by Trevanian Page A

that this driver was not independently wealthy and had some mild interest in profit. Then he saw that the taxi was occupied. As he turned back, the driver sounded his horn. Jonathan stood still, puzzled and getting wetter. The driver beckoned him over. Jonathan pointed at his chest with a foolish “me?” expression on his face. The back door opened and Jemima called out, “Are you going to get in, or do you like it out there?”
    Jonathan jumped in, and the cab turned out into traffic, disdainfully ignoring trumpeted protests from the car abreast that was forced into the oncoming stream.
    “I don't mean to drip on you,” Jonathan said, “but you really do look lovely. Where did you come from? Did I mention you look lovely?” He was boyishly glad to see her again. It seemed that he had thought of her often. But probably not, he decided. Why should he?
    “I saw you step out,” she explained, “and you looked so funny that I took pity on you.”
    “Ah. You fell for an ancient ploy. I always try to look funny when I'm drowning in the rain. You never know when some passing stewardess will take pity on you.”
    The cabby turned and looked over the back of the seat with classic indifference to competing traffic. “That'll be double fare you know, buddy.”
    Jonathan told him that was just fine.
    “Because we ain't supposed to pick up two fares in the rain like that.” He deigned to glance briefly at the oncoming traffic.
    Jonathan said he would take care of it.
    “Hell, everybody and his brother would be picking up the whole damned city if we didn't charge double fare. You know that for yourself.”
    Jonathan leaned forward and smiled at the driver politely in the rearview mirror. “Why don't we divide up the labor here? You drive, and we'll talk.” Then he asked Jemima, “How do you manage to look so calm and lovely when you're starving to death?”
    “Am I starving to death?” The harlequin flecks of gold danced with amusement in her warm brown eyes.
    “Certainly, you are. Its a wonder you haven't noticed it.”
    “I take it you're inviting me out to dinner.”
    “I am that. Yes.”
    She looked at him quizzically. “Now, you know that when I picked you up in the rain, I didn't pick you up in all the possible senses of that phrase, don't you?”
    “Good Lord, we hardly know each other! What are you suggesting? How about dinner?”
    She considered it a moment, tempted. Then, “No-o, I think not.”
    “If you hadn't said no, what would your second choice have been?”
    “Steak, red wine, and a small tangy salad.”
    “Done.” Jonathan leaned forward and told the driver to turn south to an address on Fourteenth Street.
    “How about making up your mind, buddy?”
    “Drive.”
    When the taxi pulled up in front of the restaurant, Jemima touched Jonathan's sleeve. “I saved you from melting. You are going to buy me a dinner. And that's it, right? After dinner everybody goes home. Each to his own home. OK?”
    He took her hand and looked earnestly into her eyes. “Gem, you have very fragile faith in your fellow man.” He squeezed the hand. “Tell me about it? Who was he—the man who hurt you so?”
    She laughed, and the cab driver asked if they were going to get out or not. As Jemima dashed into the restaurant, Jonathan paid the cabby and told him he had been a real brick. Rain and traffic obscured the last word, so the driver stared at Jonathan for a moment, but he decided it was wiser to drive off in a wheel-squealing miff.
    The restaurant was simple and expensive, designed for eating, not for gazing at the decor. Partly because he felt festive, and partly to impress Jemima, Jonathan ordered a bottle of Lafite.
    “May I suggest 1959?” the wine steward asked, with the rhetorical assumption that his guidance was impeccable.
    “We're not French,” Jonathan said, not taking his eyes from Jemima.
    “Sir?” The arch of the eyebrow had that blend of huff and martyrdom characteristic of upper echelon