"Audley has two friends staying with him?" That was what Raymond Galles had said, he remembered belatedly.
"Yes, two of them. David Stein's ex-Cambridge—ex-RAF too.
Photographic reconnaissance . . . I'm not sure whether he's an archaeologist, or an art historian—he's here for the cave paintings, the prehistoric stuff, anyway. But he's an Israeli now—"
"An Israeli?"
"Dyed-in-the-wool. Got three wars under his belt now—one world war and two Arab-Israeli wars. He was back flying with them last year, at Suez, though he won't talk about it. A bit dummy5
hush-hush, as Lexy would put it."
"And the second one?"
"American. Mike Bradford. Also ex-Cambridge—no, Oxford—
Rhodes Scholar ... I don't know where Audley picked him up, or he picked Audley up, as the case may be—"
"They're coming, Jilly. Rhodes Scholar?"
"I think. Now he writes novels. Got a modest hit in the States last year—war novel. Another very bright fellow—like Davey Stein ... In fact, they're all bloody clever, as Lexy would say—
she's nice, is Lexy. The man who gets Lexy won't have time to live to regret it." She twisted to smile up at him. "He'll be too busy supporting a litter of huge, voracious children."
Roche watched Lady Alexandra and Meriel Stephanides pick their way across the stones of the dry margin of the river bed to the water's edge just upstream of them. Alongside the Anglo-Greek girl, and inadequately covered by what looked like two medium-sized scarlet pocket handkerchiefs, Lexy looked even bigger and pinker and blonder than before.
"She's got three brothers as well as three sisters," murmured Jilly. "And positively hordes of cousins. The Perownes come up like mushrooms, it's quite hard to keep track of them all.
We've got one of them with us in Fontainebleau—one of the cousins. And I think it was through a cousin of some sort that David Audley got to know the family actually, rather than the General. . . Dragoons and Cambridge, and all that. . ."
That figured better than Lexy's account, thought Roche: dummy5
second-lieutenants didn't usually strike up battlefield social acquaintances with generals. And, come to that, maybe the Fontainebleau cousin had been used to link up Jilly with Lexy.
"She's all yours now, anyway," said Jilly.
Go where glory waits, Roche, as Kipling would say, recalled Roche from his recent reading.
Well—a little cover was better than none at all... in this job anyway, if not in the case of Lady Alexandra's bikini: with Lexy introducing him to Audley, apparently at Steffy's suggestion, his own Jilly-link might pass as a mere accident, at least for the time being.
Having waded gingerly into the water until it reached to the lower handkerchief, Lexy hurled herself into the current with a mighty splash.
And the bonus she offered, apart from the cover she could give him, was that if he could get her to talk about Audley, who better than she to—
"Time to unhand me," whispered Jilly.
Roche started to obey, searching for another foothold beneath him, when Lexy surfaced alongside them, blowing water like a whale. The river had carried her down with astonishing speed.
"Put—" she spluttered more of the river"— ouch!— put the poor man down, Jilly— ouch! damn and blast these bloody stones! At once!” Steffy surfaced on the other side of him, dummy5
sleek as an otter. "Jilly is our dark horse." She gave Roche a shrewd look.
"Jilly is not to be trusted," echoed Lexy. "What sweet nothings has she been feeding you about us, David?"
"Or what devious plans has she been hatching?" said Steffy.
The thought came to Roche that both Clinton and Genghis Khan might have put watchers on him. For once, since leaving England, he hadn't bothered to look over his shoulder, so there could be half-a-dozen of them by now, falling over each other. He looked around, scanning the banks on each side. There was enough cover to hide two rival regiments among the trees and tall reeds. If there were, then at least neither regiment would be hostile to him—not yet—
but after this little play they'd be dipping their pens in envy for the composition of their reports.
"You're not married by any chance, are you, David?" said Steffy sweetly. "He's not married, is he, Jilly?"
"Not as far as I know," said Jilly.
"And not as far as I know, either," said Roche. "Why do you ask?"
Oh . . . just, I've seen that worried look before—the one you've been casting about." Her smile was undiluted mischief. "Just shy? Well, don't worry about the Frog with the binoculars down by the bridge—he's always there. He's got a pash on Lexy."
Roche kicked himself mentally, once for missing the observer dummy5
and again for betraying his thoughts.
"What I want to know," continued Steffy, "is what Jilly's been saying to you. She's not usually so gabby."
"How d'you know it's me he's got a pash on?" Lexy's mental reflexes appeared to be sure, but slow.
"Because he's never seen anything like you before, Lexy dear." Steffy looked at Roche. "You have to tell us, David."
"I was telling him about tonight, that's all," said Jilly.
"About the orgy? I bet he didn't believe it!"
Roche blinked unhappily. Nothing in his previous experience had prepared him for handling a situation like this.
"I don't wonder!" said Lexy. "I don't believe it either—and I take part in it! And if I told Daddy about it, he wouldn't believe it... but I shall never get the hang of it."
"That's because you don't prepare yourself properly. But you ought to be able to do better tonight, with a bit of last minute cramming—and your new David to cheer you on—"
"Don't bet on it. I'm just not cut out for that sort of thing, darling."
Roche felt the current drag at his knees. Even if he wasn't imagining all this, how could he possibly report the gist of it to Genghis Khan in less than an hour's time?
"Darling—it's easy!" chuckled Jilly. "You've just been reading all about Galla Placidia and her Visigoths—just lie back and imagine you're her, being possessed by a great big hairy dummy5
barbarian!"
Roche let the river take him away.
VIII
EVEN WITHOUT BENEFIT of Thompson, Roche could see at a glance that Neuville belied its name: it was a lovely little honey-coloured bastide which hadn't been a 'new town' since the 13th century judging by the look of medieval gateway and surviving walls.
But Lady Alexandra allowed him no time to admire Alphonse de Poitiers' original defences.
"Do you really do something hush-hush, David?" It was a question she'd been working up to for ten kilometres.
So he was ready for it. "Frightfully hush-hush, Lady Alexandra. And also frightfully dull." And he also had his own question waiting for this opportunity. "Do you really take part in orgies in the Tower, Lady Alexandra?" he inquired politely.
"Oh—phooey!"
"Is that yes—or no?" He manoeuvred the Volkswagen through the gateway. "Where do I go from here?"
"Straight ahead to the square. You can park there, and it's quite near La Goulard's shop."
He drove on slowly. "Was that yes ... or no?"
Lady Alexandra sniffed. "It was yes. But I bet your job isn't as dummy5
dull as our orgies."
"Sounds a funny sort of orgy."
"You can say that again! You just wait and see—park over there, under the trees." She pointed. "And now you can help me do my shopping."
The prospect of the orgy certainly didn't seem to inspire her in the way he would have expected, and from the sound of her voice the shopping wasn't very popular with her either.
He looked at his watch. "Sorry, but I've got to make a phone-call. Where's the public call-box?"