Before he could protest, the sound of a brazen gong shivered on the air and a pair of massive double-doors swung back. She took his arm and led him into a dining room that would have put Hollywood's most lavish movie set to shame. The marble floor gleamed. A long refectory table stood in the middle of a priceless carpet. Tapestries and shawls glowed on the walls and a fountain chattered happily to itself within a recess that might once have been a stately fireplace but was now an indoor garden. Light from four glorious chandeliers reflected the gleaming polished wood of the table and the glittering glass and silver which were arranged on it.
But what caught Solo's eye and held it for a breathless second was yet another member of the gathering. This man stood erect like a footman just inside the door and at first glance would have passed for another of the statues, except that he was flesh-colored. It cost Solo a second look and a near-stumble to be sure, then the Countess laughed gently in his ear.
"That is Adam, who will wait on us. You still think ordinary humans cannot be perfect?"
He was still trying to think of a good reply as they settled in their seats. These were huge carved chairs that had obviously come from some cathedral, and he would have wondered at them and all the other magnificent pieces that filled the room, if there had not been so much on his mind that he could only dredge up folly.
"There's nothing wrong with my liver, Countess!" he protested, and it took her a moment or two to hark back to their previous gambit. Then she laughed again.
"Your liver? Oh no, M. Summers. I meant your skin. It is a doctor's joke, you see. The skin is the largest organ of the body. You did not know that? It is true. And it is much more important than you think. How much of your skin can breathe? Only your face and hands. That is bad. Look, my garment allows all my skin to breathe. You see?" She struck a pose that made her point strikingly obvious, then gestured to the living statue she had called Adam. The six-foot-three herculean figure was now in cat-like motion, bringing dishes and a salver. Solo looked. The man wore only a loin-cloth in stark white, and his face was absolutely expressionless. "You see my Adam, also, see how perfect he is?" She spoke quite loudly but the servile giant showed not a sign of having heard. The Countess swept the rest of the company with an arrogant eye and proceeded to elaborate.
"The skin is a remarkable thing, the foundation of all true health. For example, it is the only body tissue that is alive on one side and dead on the other. Think of that!" She stretched a forefinger to prod Adam's arm as he leaned over her with a plate. Then he curled the finger round to touch her own bosom. "A dead outer shell, in both cases. The living tissue is on the other side."
Solo began to sweat again. This woman was a nut about health and beauty, just as Miss Winter had warned him. He was so engrossed in trying to keep track of everything, listening, watching the other members of the feast, that he missed the first taste of his soup altogether. The second spoonful tickled his attention and the third insisted on it. He tasted, then turned to Miss Winter, who had taken the vacant seat by his left hand.
"You certainly are a cook. This never came out of a can!"
"Glad you like it." She smiled shyly. "It's really simple, though. Just green pea, but with added sour cream and wine." He savored the soup again, noting that the others also approved. Adam brought the next dish, and Miss Winter looked a little apprehensive. Solo employed knife and fork, bit, chewed and swallowed, then sighed. "What is it? Or them?"
"You approve?"
"I most definitely do. My stomach will think I'm dead at last and in Heaven. Why?"
"I call them beef-marrow dumplings. Chopped beef marrow bulked out with bread crumbs, spiced with wild thyme and grated lemon rind, bonded with egg and boiled in a strong meat stock. I made quite a lot, if you want more."
He did. So did the others, in various accents. Then came a salad that was crisper and tastier than he would have believed possible, and a layer-cake so delicious that he felt regret at not having room enough for a third helping. By the time Adam brought the wine and the coffee Solo was sure of two things. One, that he was full and happy; two, that Kate Winter was no crook. Cook, yes. Crook, no. Nobody with a criminal mind could possibly come so close to being divine!
Then Miss Winter bade everyone goodnight and departed, and the table atmosphere modulated suddenly and subtly. Countess Louise lost her beaming charm and seemed to be engrossed in some rapid chatter with the others, each in his own tongue and in argot, which Solo could follow only with a great deal of difficulty. German, French, Italian or Spanish, those he could manage, provided the speaker spoke slowly and was prepared to be patient with him. But he had no chance at all as these five people plunged into a quick-fire torrent of interchange in slang and cant phrases. In a while he took what he thought was the offered hint and created a yawn, stifling it with a palm. The Countess had her eyes on him in a flash.
"You are bored, M. Summers?"
"Call it tired. I've had a big day. And this air. And the food."
"I see." She eyed him, and there were fires in those eyes. "Would you prefer to retire to your room now?"
"If that's all right with you, yes."
"Very well. We have some business to discuss, but it will not take all night. Come..." She rose briskly and led him to the door, summoning the silent Adam with a crook of her finger. Outside, she halted and brought on her dazzling smile. "Business is so boring. Tomorrow will be another day, yes?" Before he could anticipate it, she surged close and put her long arms round his neck, drawing his head down. He would have been less than human if he had not responded in the most natural way. By the time she released him his head was reeling and his breath was coming fast.
"There!" she whispered. "Dormez bien. Perhaps the talk will be not too long. Maybe I shall see you again, soon?"
Then she was gone and Adam had his suitcase and was padding impassively on ahead towards a staircase. Solo followed, wondering whether he was on the polished floor or walking in mid-air.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT was quite a room. In any other circumstances Solo would have been impressed by it. Now he inspected it simply as a routine precaution, touching the wall hangings, trying door, then studying his bemused face in the triple mirrors of a magnificent dressing table by the window. He was not quite conceited enough to believe that Countess Louise was pulling out all the stops on him simply because of his male charm. There had to be a catch somewhere. Something was hatching inside that beautifully decorated skull of hers. But what? He was absolutely certain he was in for trouble, but just as certain that he didn't know what kind. At last he settled on the bed edge and reached for his communicator, feeling relief in being able to call on routine.
Waverly needed to know about the Thrush gathering, if nothing else. He drew out the extension antenna, thumbed the switch and was about to ask for Overseas Relay, when the words halted on his tongue. The instrument in his hand gave off a steady crackling whine of interference. He glared at it in unbelief, switched off then on again, jarred it with the heel of his hand, but still the smothering crackle persisted. Now the flesh really began to creep on the back of his neck. Either his talker had developed a defect, which was highly unlikely, to say the least, or somebody had rigged this area—this room—with a jammer! And that logical assumption carried with it so many other inferences that he was up off the bed and on his feet before he had added up all of them.