The man blinked and looked up from his newspaper, not into her face, if that had been his intention, but at her bosom which was directly in his eyeline as she bent over towards him.
'I'm sorry,' she began, smiling. 'I was just checking that you are Mr Ventnor; I'm Karen, from the conference staff. It's my job to know where everyone is, and your name wasn't ticked off from my list.'
His eyes reached hers, at last; his sudden smile was dazzling.
'Secret police, eh?' he said, in a broad Aussie drawl.
She chuckled, covering her inward gulp. 'Hardly. Freelance conference organiser, in fact. The University hires my firm to help with the administration of events like this.'
'How have I missed you up to now?' he asked, turning up the grin one more notch.
'I've been around, I promise; it must just be that our paths haven't crossed.'
'Well, now that they have, Karen, can I buy you a coffee?' He nodded at the empty cup on the table. 'It's passable, I promise.'
'That would be nice,' she said.
As he pushed himself to his feet, and headed for the buffet table, a chill ran through her; he walked with a distinct limp on his right side.
One of the helpful ladies at the counter, pleased to have customers, insisted on bringing his purchases to the table on a tray. As she placed coffee and a KitKat before each of them, Neville smiled at him again, trying to keep a twinkle in her eyes, rather than the naked excitement she felt.
'So why are you playing hookey?' she asked. 'Have you crossed your boredom threshold as far as sub-national economies are concerned?'
'I crossed it as soon as I walked into this place,' the man replied.
His hair was a very light brown, she noticed, with fair highlights, and his beard was very definitely not false. As he reached out to pick up his coffee, she was struck by the thickness of his wrists. 'I'm no economist.'
'I didn't think so.'
He looked back at her, a little too quickly for her comfort. Careful, Karen, she told herself.
'Why's that then?'
'Because you're wearing a suit,' she said. 'In fact, you're the only smartly dressed man in this building.'
He laughed, an easy, relaxed confident sound. 'They are a scruffy shower of bastards, aren't they.'
'So what are you doing here?' she made the question sound as light and inconsequential as she could.
'I'm a minder, of sorts.' For a second or two, she was puzzled, wondering whether their surveillance was being duplicated by another agency. 'Did you see Dennis? Dennis Crombie, the guy in the wheelchair?'
She nodded. 'Yes, I've just checked him in.'
'Well I'm looking after him. That's why I'm here. I work for Blaydon Oil on an offshore oil rig, and I'm on a long leave. Dennis is an old mate, so when he told me that he was planning to come to this conference, I offered to tag along as his helper.'
'But why are you registered as a delegate?' she asked, out of genuine curiosity, as she broke a finger from her KitKat.
'There's no other category of visitor. We were told that with the Minister being here, there would be security; Dennis reckoned that it would be easiest if I registered just like everyone else. He needs me close by him, most of the time, you see.'
'You must be quite a friend, to sit through this sort of event for him.'
Ventnor smiled again. 'I've never seen Scotland,' he said. 'I've always wanted to visit the original Perth.'
'You're hardly going to see much of it, given the conference programme.'
'Ah, but we're staying on for a couple of months, afterwards. Dennis wants to do some research here, after the conference. That'll give me the chance to spend the odd day sightseeing.'
'Let me know if you need a guide,' she said. It burst from her unchecked; without a thought.
'Hey,' grinned Ventnor, 'that's damn white of you. I'll take you up on that.' he paused. 'Say, what are you doing tonight? Dennis turns in around nine. Maybe I could buy you a pizza and you could tell me about Edinburgh?'
'I shouldn't fraternise with the punters,' she began. 'But what the Hell! Where do you want to meet?'
'You tell me. It's your city.'
'Giuliano's, opposite the Playhouse theatre. Just take a taxi, if you don't know it. I'll book a table for nine fifteen.' She rose from the table. 'I'll see you there. Right now, though, I have to find my colleague.'
33
'He really does have perfect teeth,' she thought. 'Even after all the rough-houses he must have been in his time, they're still straight and shining.'
McGuire's mouth hung open as he stared at her across his desk.
'No,' he gasped. 'She didn't really say that, Mario. You just imagined it, son, with all the strain you've been under in the last twenty-four hours. She didn't tell you that she's found a Hawkins suspect and made a date with him.
'No, of course she bloody didn't.' His mouth came together in a grim line.
'Oh yes she bloody did,' said Karen Neville, quietly but defiantly.
'Then what the hell were you thinking about, sergeant? Or didn't thought come into it. Weren't you listening when I told you how dangerous Michael Hawkins is?'
'Yes! Now you listen to me, please, inspector. I said that I thought at first that this could have been Hawkins, especially when I saw the limp. But now I know that it isn't. I've run checks already with the University of Western Australia. Wayne Ventnor did graduate from there fifteen years ago. I've also checked with Blaydon Oil; they do have a senior production engineer named Wayne Ventnor, and he is on long leave just now. He's recovering from an on-board accident, in fact. He broke his right ankle in a fall.'
'Fine,' McGuire shot back. 'But you didn't know all that when you made the date with the guy? You could have been putting your lovely blonde head on the block. If this had been Hawkins, did it ever occur to you that he might have checked up on you too? Suppose he did, and found out that you weren't a freelance conference organiser?' He shook his head. 'Jesus,' he hissed. 'It doesn't bear thinking about.'
'I could have handled him. Hawkins likes the ladies. Remember the CIA plant? He didn't rumble her, did he?'
'Karen, when CIA operatives are placed it's done carefully, with cover stories that stand up to investigation. You've spun this Ventnor man a yarn: now you've got to stick to it. You can't turn around and tell him you're really a copper, or you've blown our operation.' He grunted. 'The best thing you can do is stand the guy up.'
She glared back at him. 'But I don't want to stand him up. Now I've checked him out there's no reason why I should.'
'I could order you.'
'Could you? Are you sure about that?'
Suddenly his eyes were like ice. 'Karen,' he whispered. 'This is Special Branch. I could have you locked up for twenty-four hours if I wanted.' And then his gaze softened again. 'But I won't. Just watch the pillow talk, that's all.'
'Pillow talk?' The retort burst from her, indignantly. 'What sort of a woman do you think I am?'
He leaned back in his chair as if he was recoiling from her attack.
'Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that literally. It's just that in this section you can never forget who, or what you are; and you can't forget the nature of your work. I can't even tell Maggie about the Hawkins operation. Andy Martin can't tell Alex.'