Grant glanced at her glass. It was the end of her second refill, the bottle was almost empty and he guessed that she was half tight. But if so he had badly underestimated her, because the Niersteiner should have been mother’s milk to any normal girl.
‘And I’m not drunk or anything,’ she grinned, ‘but you aren’t sophisticated enough. In fact someone else said that about you quite recently. Jack House, I think. You are too much the Scot. Women like me need a different approach. Something with a delicate touch.’
He remembered Jack House’s comment about a recent adventure and laughed. Maybe it was true. But not everyone could be a suave cosmopolitan. ‘Then forgive me,’ he smiled. ‘But I would have put you down as over twenty-five. You have an air which suggests experience. And you dress like a professional model.’
‘I am a professional model,’ she grinned. ‘And making well over two thou per annum. So I can’t be all that bad. And my St. Andrews break was semi-business. They made me pose with clubs and things on the Old Course. And even in a bunker. So I covered my expenses.’
‘And I take it you posed in Greece as well?’ It was Grant’s first effort to switch the conversation back. But the girl refused to rise. Greece had been pure holiday as companion to her father.
And then a thought crossed his mind. Customs! Would a girl like this succeed where others might fail? Would a father risk planting some dope or other in a glamour-girl daughter’s handbag? She was wearing an Italian silk brocade dress which dropped low across her bust. There was a string of what he guessed would be real jade around her neck and an opal brooch on her bosom. As she suddenly stooped to pick up a handkerchief the beads dropped forward in front of her sagging neckline and he saw that she was wearing only a light slip with not even a brassière to cover breasts which were coffee brown to the nipples.
She half smiled as she straightened up, and then: ‘Sorry. But you can’t keep your eyes away, can you? And I like to be brown all over, which was one reason why I went with Dad to the Aegean. You can get a real tan there, without having to bother about silly conventions, and Dr. Salamos has got all his chalets placed to guarantee privacy.’
‘All over?’ said Grant softly.
‘All over,’ she repeated. ‘I’m a natural girl and I do what comes naturally when I feel like it. So at home they say I’m a rebel.’
But Grant guessed that the psychiatrists would have another word for it. The product of a broken marriage, more likely. ‘You don’t seem too bothered about your father’s disappearance,’ he said gently. ‘And yet you also said that you are your father’s daughter. Aren’t you worried?’
The girl traced a squiggle on the tablecloth. ‘I don’t know. I used to think he was wonderful, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe he went a little crazy these past few years.’
‘You get on better with your mother?’
The girl almost laughed aloud. ‘My mother is a selfish bitch. Bridge, tea clubs and curling are about the only things she lives for. In fact she’s the frostiest thing I know. Even when she’s quarrelling she reminds me of a snake. Slinky, cold and venomous.’
‘And she won’t have a divorce?’
Deirdre shook her head. ‘Not a chance. Or the old dad would never have gone off on the bash the way he has.’
‘You mean he’d have married Carol Anne?’
‘No. Carol Anne was just a way of letting off steam. He’d have found a decent woman who knew how to treat her husband and he’d have settled down to being an old flirt. But still keeping to the rails.’
‘And how should a woman treat her husband?’ It was a line of thought which had seldom occurred to Grant.
‘A woman,’ said Deirdre firmly, ‘should be companion, nurse, playmate and mistress. But if she slips up on one of them the man will find a bedworthy popsie elsewhere. And tell me,’ she added quietly. ‘Why are you not married? And how about your Russian girl friend?’
For Grant it was almost a moment of truth. He had hardly ever stopped to wonder. But, thinking back, life had been too unsettled. There had been too many other things to do. Too many other women to play with. Too little time for too many things.
‘And the Russian girl?’ persisted Deirdre.
‘That was never meant to end in marriage. She is a world-famous ballerina. But she knew nothing much about the freedoms of living until she got out of Moscow. And since coming to the West she’s been busy making up for lost time.’
‘But you said something about being good friends and having an understanding not to interfere with one another.’
‘Sure,’ said Grant quietly. ‘And that’s just how it is. She goes her way and I go mine, but when our paths cross, as they do from time to time, we stop and light another candle at the cross-roads.’
Deirdre smiled delightedly. ‘That sounded beautiful. But it’s my bet that you’re still completely in love.’
‘Maybe,’ said Grant. ‘But if so it doesn’t keep me off my sleep. And I don’t feel like writing poems about her. I just know that everything is oke as it is and that neither of us want it to be different.’
‘You’ve been staring at me ever since we met,’ said Deirdre flatly. ‘And your Maya is a Slav. Would she be jealous if she knew that you were trying to figure out a way of sleeping with me?’
Grant beckoned to a distant waiter. ‘Time to move, Deirdre,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ve never said any such thing.’
‘But you are, aren’t you?’ she whispered as she watched him sign a bill.
‘Up,’ he snapped. ‘It’s getting on for eight and we’ve work to do.’
‘Because,’ she purred, ‘if you aren’t you ought to be, even if you think I do belong elsewhere.’
‘Sure,’ said Grant. ‘At St. Andrews. With the boy friend. But how about work?’
‘My leg,’ she said gently. ‘Remember. It needs dressing. So we can go upstairs first. And, anyhow, I want to make myself comfortable. This dress isn’t the sort of thing one wears to visit a whore house.’
‘A what?’ snapped Grant.
‘Well, isn’t it?’ She smiled. ‘And isn’t that what I meant when I said you were going to be in for “quite an evening”?’
She placed her hand lightly on his arm as they walked through the foyer and upstairs to the first floor. ‘It’s aching now. Maybe the wine or something. Will you do it in my room or your own?’ she asked.
‘Mine.’
‘Then give me five minutes first. Got stuff to collect and then I want to spend a penny.’
Grant ran his Remington Lektronic razor across his face while he waited. The girl was dynamite and he doubted if he was wise in taking her to Carol Anne. But for the life of him he could see no other way out. A foolproof introduction was going to be essential.
And then he remembered. Prestwick Roulette! It would be safer to ensure against being involved. Swiftly he changed and drew on enough clothes to see him through almost anything. ‘Shed a garment every time they stop.’ He could still hear the Admiral’s words. But three singlets and four pairs of pants, two pairs of socks and a jock-strap would surely be enough.
He was wearing the latest slim-line town-and-country cut from Harris wool woven to the fineness of a light worsted and he checked that his Parker ’61 was clipped in position. Rigged up as a pen, the thing was actually a fantastic technological advance in micro rockets and could blow a man’s head off at ten paces. His ‘matches’ were in his pocket and both heels of his shoes held enough nerve gas concentrate to paralyse twenty or more people. His Magnum bulged slightly in his armpit holster, and reluctantly he slipped it into a drawer. Smith and Wesson Magnums would look bad in a strip-tease session. Better to rely on his own specialities, and even if SATAN had monitored his story to the Premier about the nerve gases in Colonel Hunter’s house it was a safe bet that no one else knew about it. Or, at least—not yet.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Ready?’
Before he could reply Deirdre had slipped into the room. She was carrying
a small ambulance kit and looked ravishing in a two-piece jersey-knit dress with a camel-hair overcoat draped over her shoulders. One stocking was down about her ankle and as she sat on the bed she held out her leg. ‘But do it gently, David. The thing is stinging a bit.’
He unwrapped the bandage and lifted off a square of sulfanet gauze. There was a little early infection around the exit wound, but she was on penicillin V every four hours and everything ought to be under control within a couple of days.
Her heel was resting on his left hand as he wrapped on a thin bandage and swept it higher and higher up her thigh. She watched him closely, and then: ‘My measurements are eight, twelve and twenty and if you put it too high the thing will slip.’
He paused surprised. ‘What is this eight, twelve and twenty stuff?’
She grinned as he fixed a knot and anchored it in place with a sliver of adhesive. ‘Eight inches round the ankle, twelve at mid-calf and twenty round the top at crutch level. And let me tell you these are perfect measurements for the perfect leg.’
Grant shrugged his shoulders and slid his hand down her calf, fastening her ankle in a grip where thumb met little finger. He spanned exactly eight inches and they just touched. ‘Dead right,’ he smiled.
‘And you can take my word for the other two,’ said Deirdre shortly. ‘But for a doctor you’ve odd ideas about how to fix bandages. Or was your mind not on your work?’
He lifted her foot and gently kissed her toes. ‘Deirdre,’ he whispered softly, ‘I don’t know what lies ahead of us, but you’re playing hell with my imagination.’ Her hands were tousling his hair and he felt a thin tremor of her fingers as she gently stroked his cheek. ‘Sure there have been other women. And maybe you’re right when you say I love Maya. But there’s something about you which could make a man forget almost everything.’
‘Why, David?’ Her voice was very soft and had dropped to a husky throatiness as her hands cupped his chin and made him look into her eyes.
‘Maya is a dancer. She makes one believe in fairyland. At times on the stage it seems impossible that she could be anything but a gleaming elfin spirit.’ He hesitated for words. ‘And I knew a girl in Africa who was a sort of blend of all that you can imagine in mysticism and glamour. A sort of symbol of all that we in the West think of when we talk about the glamorous East.’ He paused and Deirdre saw his eyes darken. ‘But she died,’ he said abruptly.
The girl was watching him like a lynx. He was at least forty, though she knew that he could pass for the middle thirties, and his personality had rocked her from the first minute that they had met. She liked his fastidious clothes and table manners: his vaguely aggressive personality and the way in which he could get things done. She sensed the man in him and knew that she could rouse him any time she chose. And she knew that there must have been other women in his life. But she was determined to know the worst. ‘And you loved her?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. ‘But she was unique. And she died by violence. Partly through my own carelessness. There was a Chinese man whom I thought I had killed. But he lived long enough to murder her in cold blood.’
‘And the others?’ Deirdre was almost shivering. She guessed that Grant could never have a really casual affair, that he took things more seriously than he pretended: that he had been unlucky never to have met the right woman.
‘There was a mixed French-Chinese girl, Jacqueline,’ he said at last. ‘I think she appealed to me because she was so different from anything I’ve ever known. She had no more morals than a back-alley Tom cat and she could be more utterly delightful in bed than anything one ever imagined.’
‘And where is she now?’
‘At a guess still attending hospital in Pekin. She was a spy and the last time I saw her she was wiping pure sulphuric acid out of her eyes. She was the most treacherous double agent in recent history. And yet,’ he added quietly, ‘she could make a man feel that she loved him more than anything on earth.’
‘Poor David,’ said Deirdre softly, ‘what a shame to make you relive the past. Or is that all of the past? How many others were there?’
He looked her straight in the eyes. ‘Maybe nine or ten,’ he said at last. ‘A girl at school and two or three at the university. Calf-love affairs. Though serious enough at the time. But after only twenty-four hours you seem able somehow to wipe out the memory of all of them.’
The girl’s voice suddenly edged with passion. ‘But no, David. That mustn’t ever happen. You must keep your memories. And a girl likes to know that a man who is really experienced has chosen her out of all the others. It is a compliment.’
Grant abruptly stood up. ‘I’ve never spoken like that in my life before. But there’s a witchery about you which makes my tongue wag too much. It was bad manners.’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Deirdre gently. ‘It was reaction a little and nerves a little. Because, after all, you’re going into action very soon.’
She leaned forward and gently kissed the top of his forehead. ‘A good-luck kiss, David.’
He fumbled with his tie, a silk knit all gold anchored with a tie-clip crowned with his Zodiac sign in 14-carat gold against a black background of Erzerum stone. ‘Let’s be practical. What’s the drill?’
She smiled with a strange relaxed contentment. ‘First we’ll take the car to Midton Road, and then, as you so often say, we must play it off the cuff. But we’ve arrived to see if she can tell us about Dad and where we might find him.’
Grant hesitated and then folded her into his arms. Her cheeks reached to just above his shoulder and for a long three seconds he kissed her full on the lips. ‘Let’s go,’ he grinned.
Chapter Ten – ‘You came prepared.’
‘First find the place and then drive past,’ said Grant as the car cut into Midton Drive.
The night was warm under the moonlight of early autumn and the street friendly with houses and trim gardens. Killarney stood well back from the road. They could see two shadows dropping across the entrance hall and Grant guessed that Carol Anne was welcoming a new arrival. A Jag Mark V was parked outside the garage and there were two Minis under a nearby street lamp.
He whipped out a pencil. ‘Get these numbers down in black and white. May come in handy later.’
They passed the house doing less than twenty-five and cruised to the other end of the street. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. The girl had been quiet ever since leaving Troon and he guessed that she was having last-minute nerves.
‘Fine,’ she whispered. ‘At least, sort of. A “wish it was over but won’t let you down” sort of feeling. But I’ll be all right.’
He turned right and continued under the railway towards the sea. ‘We’ll park along here. Ten minutes’ walk and safe from everything.’
The front was almost deserted as they strolled arm in arm back towards the town centre, under the railway again and towards a house which had suddenly, in imagination, become sinister. There was a scream of pop music as they walked up the drive and the sound of laughter when Grant rang the front-door bell.
Carol Anne was slinky and dark, busty and with deep brown eyes which were alight with excitement. She looked oddly at Deirdre. ‘So help me! What brought you here?’
Deirdre held out her hand. ‘You must have heard the news and there’s just a chance that you know where Dad is.’
‘And the boy friend?’ She stared at Grant. ‘Hiya, handsome! What are you? A plain-clothes dick or a newsman?’
Grant stared back with blatant admiration. ‘I’m with Deirdre for kicks. But she wanted to see you about her old man first.’
Carol Anne grinned. ‘You must be wet if you think I’ll swallow that one. Come again.’
‘Okay, okay,’ snapped Grant. ‘I know her father. Got the dope on everything, if you know what I mean. But Deirdre still kicks for me. So stuff that up your jumper and let’s get the hell inside for a chat.’
‘Damn you!’
The girl flushed with rage. Her hand dar
ted like a snake and Grant’s head rode her punch at the last minute. As she staggered off balance he caught her round the waist, pointed her towards the hall and pushed with his shoe against her tightly tailored bottom. ‘See what I mean about kicks,’ he said grimly as he darted inside with Deirdre close on his heels. ‘If you want kicks you’ll get them, sister. But right now I want to find Professor Carpenter.’
She sat on the bottom step of a short flight of stairs which seemed to lead to a bathroom and two bedrooms. Her face was twisted with rage and admiration until at last she stood up. ‘Right, handsome, you win. Come inside this room and then you get the hell out of here.’
Her voice rose a shade. ‘Keep the party going, boys and girls. Got unexpected visitors.’
The room was small and modern, with a strong emphasis on chromium and plastic. She stood in front of a Canon ‘Miser’ radiator and lit a cigarette. Her figure was perfect, and sheathed in a skin-tight black rig-out which might have been fashioned by Hartnell for Marlene Dietrich she almost dominated the room. Almost, but not quite, because not even clouds of smoke could keep the shadow of fear from her eyes.
‘Please, Carol,’ said Deirdre. ‘It would help if you could tell us where we might find Dad. David here has got stuff for him. And it’s really important.’
The conversation had been etched out in rehearsal, but Grant admired the way Deirdre threw him his cue. ‘Cut it out, you,’ he snapped. ‘What I’ve got is none of your business. I only said I was bringing him stuff for his work. How do you know it’s important?’
Carol Anne’s muscles slowly began to relax as Deirdre cowered back on her chair. ‘I didn’t know it was all that important. So don’t get angry again, David. Please. I was just trying to help.’
Grant became obstinate. ‘How come you know what I have is so important?’
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