`And Lee? Is he going to marry her?'
Paula was asking direct questions she would normally never have dreamt of putting so pointedly. But with Willie she felt she could ask anything. She suspected he thrived on indiscretion.
`Shouldn't think so for a moment. Not Maurice. He likes to keep people dangling – off balance so they're never sure where they are with him. Probably learnt that when he was in the Army. A lot of politics when you get up to the higher ranks.'
Paula was sipping her wine slowly. Willie kept topping up her glass, then refilling his own empty glass. He must have a head like a rock, she thought.
`And how did you spend your time in Hong Kong all those years?' she asked.
He beamed. 'And how do you know it was all those years?'
`Someone told me. Can't think who.'
`Doesn't matter. Me? I did a bit of this and a bit of that.' He moved closer, lowered his voice to a confidential tone. 'You could say I was some kind of diplomat – not in the FO I hasten to say. A and B were at each other's throats. I'd be asked in to cool the fires. Get them to come to some agreement. I'd get a commission on the deal. Sounds like a Somerset Maugham character – a commission man. Not very nice. But when I'd saved them millions I reckoned I was worth a crust of bread. Knew a lot of the top people – went to their parties. Oil on the troubled waters and all that.'
`And now you are happy with Helen?'
For a moment Willie looked like a sphinx. He swallowed more wine, refilled his glass. He drank some more, then twiddled the stem.
`Helen is Helen. She likes managing things – including me, as I believe I once told you. Would you believe it – she never makes a mistake. I fumble about like a whale wallowing in a pond.' He chuckled. 'I'm lucky – Helen likes the country, you see. The New Forest enchants her.'
`If you don't mind, I'd better get to bed. Thank you for a lovely outing.'
`Do it again…'
When they had entered the bar at the Hilton Helen had led the way, clasping Newman's hand. Illumination was almost non-existent. They settled in a corner close together. The few other guests drinking were out of sight. Helen ordered a glass of Laurent Perrier and Newman asked for the same.
`Tell me about yourself, Mr Newman,' she invited, still clasping his hand.
`I'm Bob, and I'm going to call you Helen. Ladies first. I want to hear about you.'
`That makes a change. Most men gabble on about themselves. And I've noticed you listen to every word I say. A most attentive companion.'
`Now, about yourself.'
`Oh, I'm that dreary old thing, a career woman…'
`Nonsense. You're not dreary. Old? That's a laugh. And these days it's the custom – a lot of women manage two jobs very well.'
The champagne arrived, Newman paid for it in cash, they clinked glasses. Helen sipped a little, put down her glass, sighed.
`You asked for it. Willie found me through an agency that specializes in secretary-housekeepers. He's easy to work for. Unlike Maurice, who must be pure hell. Before that I worked for a banker in Singapore. My little fling to see the world. Once was enough. It was so humid. All right inside cars, shops, hotels – air-conditioned. Hit the streets and they hit you. So I came back.'
`Parents?'
`Not any more. They died in a car crash. I wasn't close to them. Too independent-minded.'
She leaned close to him to slip off her shoes. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. Her grey eyes held his and she sipped more champagne.
`That perfume,' Newman said. 'I like it. Guerlain Samsara.'
`How clever of you to identify it. I wasn't too sure it suited me. Lee has a bottle, urged me to try it.'
`It suits your personality perfectly. By the way, what made the four of you come away together?'
`Willie's idea. He heard that the Brig. and Lee were coming here and said why don't we make it a foursome.'
`And how did the Brig. react to that?'
`I'm not sure. You never can be sure what he's really thinking. Willie didn't give him much option – except for an outright refusal. Since we're next-door neighbours I imagine even Maurice thought an objection would not go down well. On the other hand, I had a feeling that maybe he welcomed the idea. I think he's in the armaments business.'
`Think? You're not sure?'
`I'm never sure about anything with Maurice.'
She had released his hand a while ago. Now she wriggled herself more comfortably against the banquette. At the same time she crossed her legs and eased her pleated skirt up above her knees. Newman had the feeling that she wanted him to lay a hand on her knee. He kept it firmly holding his glass. She had very good legs.
`Maybe we could meet in London?' she suggested.
`I haven't any cards left,' he lied. can give you my phone number.'
In no time she had produced her notebook from her handbag. She held her fat fountain-pen poised. He gave her the number, but not his Beresforde Road address in South Ken.
`There's an answerphone if I'm out. Leave a message for me,' he suggested. 'And now I suppose we'd better hit the hay. Might see you in the morning.'
She stood up, eased her way out, paused for him to catch her up. Suddenly she turned round, clasped both hands round his neck, stroking it as she kissed him full on the mouth. As he followed her out he saw Paula standing in the entrance, her expression neutral.
`Damn!' he said under his breath.
Paula said good-night with undue pleasantness to Helen who disappeared inside an elevator. She looked at Newman.
`You're wearing the wrong shade of lipstick.'
23
Marler had decided to take a risk. It was very late, and sitting in his parked car, he'd seen no sign of life from the Bellevue Palace. He needed to clean up ready for the morning.
He took off his shabby windcheater, his beret, revealing his smart sports outfit underneath. Getting out of the car he opened the boot, shoved beret and windcheater inside, collected what he needed from his case, locked up the car.
He left two windows an inch or so down. The atmosphere inside was pretty fetid with the smoke from his king-sized cigarettes. An icy breeze was blowing in the right direction. Clad in his Aquascutum trench coat and clutching his shaving-kit case, he walked down the Avenue Louise, crossed to the Boulevard de Waterloo, entered the Hilton.
He mingled with a party of late-nighters just returning, smelt whiffs of alcohol, heard their none too sober conversation. He walked straight up to the reception and spoke to the man behind the counter.
`I've been driving non-stop for hours. I want to get a shower and clean up before I drive on to Ostend. I need a single room -which I'll pay for-for the night. Even though I'll only be there an hour…'
Paying in cash, he went to the elevator, stepped out at the right floor, used the blasted computer card – which he loathed – to open the door. Then he moved swiftly, stripping down, stepping into the shower, and towelling himself five minutes later.
He used his electric razor to remove the stubble from his face, put on the rest of his clothes. He checked his appearance in a long mirror. Now he looked quite different – even respectable.
Returning to the lobby, he ordered sandwiches and coffee. Eating everything, he drank the last drop of coffee, paying for the meal before he walked out again and returned to his parked car.
When he got behind the wheel the first thing he did was to feel under his seat. The Armalite rifle was still there. Using a copy of the Herald Tribune he had picked up in the Hilton, he spread sheets out over the weapon, further concealing it.