The Moon's Complexion

by Irene Black

  “No,” he said with a sigh, “I won’t hate you.”

  She took a deep breath. “Well, you’re right. Someone’s been listening to your messages.”

  “Obviously. Get on with it.”

  “I set you up. Right from the start.”

  Duncan frowned. “What d’you mean, set me up?”

  “I was pushed into it. By Terry.”

  “Terry? Your brother? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “How can I possibly hope you’ll understand? He needed me. He’s been through so much...” She stopped herself and bit her lip.

  Was this a bad dream? “Just get on with it. Tell me the worst.”

  “It was all part of the set up—me getting the job at your place. Chatting you up. Terry decided that I look a bit like Hannah, and he wanted me to play on that—only sexier, if you get what I mean. So he got me to dye my hair.”

  Duncan could hardly take in her words. It couldn’t be true. She used him in order to help her brother? Too ridiculous.

  “The first part was a cinch. It was easy to take you in. What a plonker.”

  “Keep to the bloody point!”

  “That is the point, really. I suppose all men are easy prey if they’re sex-starved, lonely, and their latest bird’s just legged it.”

  Duncan gritted his teeth. Don’t let her get to you. “What the hell’s all this about? Why did this brother of yours want you to stitch me up? Who are you working for?”

  “I don’t know, Duncan, and that’s the truth. It’s all very hush-hush. All I know is that Terry’s involved in something big. Government, maybe.”

  “Don’t be so ridiculous. No government would be in the least bit interested in me.”

  “Not you. We were supposed to get the low-down on Hannah Petersen.”

  “What?”

  “Okay, okay, keep your hair on. Whoever it is, is interested in her activities. Makes sense, doesn’t it? She does ask for trouble.”

  Duncan had to admit to himself that it was indeed a possibility. Any of a number of organizations might be interested in Hannah—the CIA, the FBI, the IRA—even the British Government. And of course, there was Elliot Bannerman.

  Felicity managed a half-hearted grin. “It was no trouble getting you to spill the beans about Hannah.”

  Duncan wanted to crawl into a corner and die, as he remembered their months of creative cavorting. Favors in return for information. Why didn’t he see it at the time? “I want to know all about her, sweetie,” she’d said. “I want to be Hannah.” How could he have flipped so completely as to be taken in by her? Had he lost his marbles? Had he had a breakdown?

  He cringed as he recalled how easily she had manipulated him. He wouldn’t deny her the route to sublime satisfaction, surely? And if he had to be honest about it, he got just as much out of fantasizing that Felicity was Hannah as Felicity did. Or said she did. What a fool he’d been. Why hadn’t he seen that there was a more sinister reason for her questioning than a craving for sexual fantasy?

  “What about the phone-tapping scam?”

  “Yeah...well. For a computer nerd, you’re a right wally when it comes to other things. I’d noticed that with the video. You never get it right. And the microwave. Food’s always half raw or burnt when you do it.” She glanced at him. Her eyes flashed. Duncan was tight-lipped. “You don’t know the ins and outs of your own answering machine.”

  “Go on.”

  “A couple of months ago, Terry said he’d been ordered to listen in to the answer-phone in your den. He told me to get hold of the instructions. I knew you kept all your instruction booklets in the sideboard drawer. I found out that you can access the answer-phone from anywhere if you know the code. That was easy, too. All I had to do was follow the instructions in the booklet and press the right buttons on the phone for it to tell me the code. I managed to slip in one evening when you left the door unlocked to go to the loo. It only took a minute. I passed the code on to Terry. It should have been foolproof.” She frowned. “How did you find out?”

  “You can tell if a message is new or not,” he replied shortly.

  “I managed to wheedle out of you that Hannah was going to India.”

  It had all seemed so harmless. Duncan had been convinced that all Hannah’s problems were in her mind. He had never associated Felicity’s interrogations with Hannah’s stalking claims.

  “I realized that you’d be the only one she’d contact and that the phone she’d be using was locked in your garden room.”

  “So Terry taps my phone messages.” Duncan was thinking out loud. “Then what?”

  Felicity didn’t reply.

  Duncan took hold of her shoulders and shook her roughly. “Then what?”

  “Okay, okay. Just leave me alone, will you. Then Terry passes it to...whoever.”

  Duncan nodded impatiently. “Let’s cut the crap, shall we? It’s Bannerman, isn’t it?”

  A split second’s silence. Then she looked at him impassively. “Bannerman?”

  “Yes, Bannerman. Don’t play the innocent.”

  “It’s like I said. I’ve no idea who it is.”

  “Okay, we’ll play it your way. So tell me how. How does Terry pass it on?”

  “I don’t know. I never asked.”

  “Well, at least they won’t have got anything useful. Just hotel names. It’s hardly likely Bannerman would send him after her to India.” He scrutinized her face. “Or would he?” His eyes grew menacing, as he remembered that Felicity had told him that Terry had “gone away.” He grabbed hold of Felicity’s arms and slowly tightened his grip until she squealed with pain.

  “Okay,” she shrieked. “He’s in India. Satisfied now?”

  * * * *

  Hannah raced up the hill. Ashok was back on his feet and was helping up the person who had saved him from being hit by the rock. A few yards before she reached them, Hannah pulled up short.

  Ashok’s savior waved at her cheerily. “Hannah! We meet again!”

  Willi stood there looking exactly as Hannah had first encountered her at the reception desk of the Krishna Hotel.

  Hannah looked from one to the other in bewilderment.

  “There I am, enjoying the view, when I see this gentleman is about to get in the way of a falling rock,” Willi said, “so I do my Good Samaritan act. Are you all right, Sir?”

  “I’m fine.” Ashok went over to Hannah and gave her a brief hug. “I’m fine, Hannah, honestly.” He held out his hand. “You must be Willi. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

  Now it was Willi’s turn to be confused. “You know each other?”

  It was all too much for Hannah.

  “For goodness sake, you two,” she burst out. “Let’s get away from here before he strikes again.”

  “Who strikes?”

  “Willi’s right, Hannah. It was probably just a piece of loose rock. But let’s get down anyway.”

  Once they were back on the street, shock and relief caught up with Hannah. She turned to Ashok, shaking her head. “Falling rock! You know you don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  Ashok said nothing.

  Willi’s curiosity was palpable.

  “Ashok is my guardian angel,” Hannah said, hoping to allay any further probing into how they had met.

  Willi flashed her eyes at him in unabashed lust.

  “Perhaps you will now be my guardian angel, also?”

  “It seems that you are mine,” Ashok said.

  “Hands off, Willi. He belongs to me.” Hannah slipped her arm through Ashok’s.

  “I see.” Willi grinned. “A great deal seems to have happened.”

  “Yes. But what about you? I’ve been worrying since I left Hyderabad.”

  “I guess you wondered where I’d disappeared to, eh? It’s a very odd story.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Willi nodded. “But first I have to go and sort out a room for tonight before they are all booked up. This place is a Me
cca for travelers, and the sun’s already going down.”

  “Willi,” Ashok said. “I don’t know about you, but we haven’t eaten yet. Look.” He pointed to a sign on a low building. “Blue Heaven. That should be good for something decent. Suppose we meet up there in half an hour—say at six o’clock?”

  After Willi had gone, Ashok and Hannah wandered in silence across to a massive, sandstone rock face rising almost 300 feet out of the barren earth.

  “It’s known as The Penance,” Ashok said.

  Carved upon the rock face, a cavalcade of men, deities, and animals converged on a cleft in the center that represented the Ganges River. The pageant on the rock was in perfect harmony.

  Not so Ashok and Hannah. Their unsung melody had slid almost imperceptibly into a minor key.

  “Ashok, I know you don’t believe me, but that rock fall was no accident.”

  Ashok shrugged. He looked preoccupied, Hannah thought. What on earth had happened?

  “Did something happen up there that you’re not telling me? Or is it Willi?”

  He flinched but said nothing.

  Hannah shook his arm. “Please don’t clam up on me.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “No lies, Ashok. Don’t you think we’ve had enough of those?”

  Ashok relaxed.

  “You’re right.” A moment’s pause followed before he continued. “About that boulder. I’ll reserve judgment for now. As for Willi, I guess I’m frightened that you feel something for her.”

  Silence. Hannah struggled to hide her indignation.

  “You’re right. I do feel something for her. Relief because she’s turned up safely. And, until a minute ago, immense gratitude because she saved your life. Though I may have second thoughts about that.” She fixed him with reproachful eyes. “For goodness sake, stop being an idiot.”

  At last the bubble of tension burst as Ashok looked sheepish and muttered, “I’m sorry. That’s what love does to you.” The words slipped out. Hannah fought a desire to respond. No. Let him sweat. She’d stay cool.

  “Let’s forget it, shall we?” She touched his hand briefly, rekindling the spark between them.

  Over puris and thali at the Blue Heaven Restaurant, they listened, aghast, to Willi’s story.

  * * * *

  Willi had awoken, as if from an operation.

  Her body was clammy and hot. She blinked in the darkness. Her neck felt as if an overzealous osteopath had grappled it. Movement eluded her. Her nostrils were filled with the stink of rotting sewage. What was this hellhole? She had stayed at some pretty rough places since her arrival in India, but she couldn’t remember booking into this one. Had she dined out on ganja last night? She didn’t think so, but it was the only possible explanation.

  Gradually, accompanied by waves of rasping pain in her head, she maneuvered herself into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall. She shuffled along it until she felt the door and heaved herself up by the latch. Her legs felt like bread crusts. Why had she been asleep in her jeans, she wondered, and why were her jeans so stiff? She ran her hands down her legs and recoiled.

  “Oh shit!” she muttered, aptly. So that’s what the smell was. She recalled that the need for a loo had dominated her last waking thought, before she had passed out.

  Now it was imperative to find the bathroom of this doss house. She had no idea what time it was or how long she had been asleep.

  She pushed against the door, but it refused to open. It was at this point that the fog in her mind suddenly cleared. Scenes passed through her head like a fast forwarding videotape: the trip to Golconda with Hannah; the walk to the tombs; the search for a loo; the burkha-clad woman; the hut; oblivion.

  She must be in the hut still. Had she fainted, or had she been knocked out? In view of the locked door and her sore head, the latter seemed more likely, but why? The whole thing was incomprehensible, but she knew that she had to get out as quickly as possible, before her jailer returned. She mustered the little strength left to her and threw herself against the door. It held fast. However, she managed to loosen a piece of the rotting wood. She wrenched it free and peered through the resulting hole. She could make out bushes dotted around like low gray clouds in the first glimmers of dawn.

  Okay, Willi, she told herself. Keep calm. You’ve been in worse fixes than this. She didn’t delve too deeply into that thought. In reality, she was kidding herself. True, there was the incident that nearly cost her life when her bus turned over on the Grand Trunk Road in Uttar Pradesh and the blood poisoning that put her into a Bombay hospital. But those were accidents. She simply happened to get caught up in them.

  Now, though, she was in a different situation. Someone had targeted her. She had walked into something malevolent but had no idea how to handle it because she had no idea what it was.

  Working with her hands, she tried to enlarge the hole by pulling away bits of the wood. Blisters formed on her fingers, and her legs felt as if they would give way. It was useless, but she had to keep trying. Every few moments she stopped and called, “Hallo—can anyone hear me?”

  Then she felt someone rattle the door from outside. She peered through the hole. A swathe of black cloth filled her vision. Her heart started to race. Her kidnapper had returned. She shrank into the corner to await her fate.

  Now someone was pounding the lock with what sounded like an iron bar. Suddenly the door sprang open. A figure in a black burkha filled the entrance. Willi cowered in the corner, waiting to be hit with the steel rod that the figure was wielding.

  But a hand emerged from beneath the black cloth and calmly unfastened the all-concealing veil, revealing the face of a young woman.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the woman said in perfect English. “I will not hurt you.” She moved slowly across to Willi. “What has happened?”

  “Who are you?” was all that Willi could bring herself to mutter.

  “An ornithologist,” the young woman said. “I came to watch birds, and I heard you call.”

  “You didn’t lock me in here last night?”

  “Some person locked you up? But why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You have a description?”

  “The person wore a burkha—just like yours…”

  “Why would a Muslim woman want to kidnap you? This makes no sense.”

  “That’s what I thought. In fact…” She remembered the pale, wiry hand that had grabbed her. “I think it may have been a man. Possibly a foreigner.”

  “Who left his clothes behind.” The woman pointed to a pile of black cloth in the corner of the hut. On closer inspection, Willi realized that it was a burkha.

  “Come,” the young woman said, holding out her hand.

  Willi struggled to her feet, but dizziness overcame her, and she sank back down.

  “You are ill,” her rescuer said. “I will bring help.”

  “It’s just exhaustion. Really, I only need an autorickshaw to get me back to my hotel.”

  “Come then,” the woman said, readjusting her veil before she stepped out of the hut. Slowly, she helped Willi across the scrubland to the main road.

  A car was parked on the sandy verge, the driver busily cleaning the headlights. “This is my vehicle. I will take you to your hotel.”

  Willi collapsed thankfully on the back seat. Her companion slipped in beside her and ordered the driver to move off. After it was all over, Willi would regret bitterly that she was too confused and worn out to thank the young woman properly or even to find out her name.

  She stumbled out of the car when it drew up outside the Krishna, assured her rescuer that she was fine, muttered words of thanks that seemed hopelessly inadequate, and wondered how on earth she could get past Mr. Reddy, the receptionist, without being seen.

  Peering cautiously through the glass door, she saw a fat, bearded, fair-haired man with a suitcase standing at the counter paying his bill. Willi slipped noiselessly into the hotel while Mr. Reddy was preoccupi
ed and ducked up the stairs, silently thanking her unknown savior.

  Only when she reached her room did Willi check the contents of her little haversack. Address book, travelers’ checks, passport, Visa card, open return ticket to Amsterdam, toilet roll, and purse containing 200 rupees. Nothing had been taken. Incredible! Relief turned to bewilderment. So robbery had not been the motive. If not, then what was?

  Chapter 8

  Willi’s story was greeted with stunned silence. At length, Hannah burst out, “I’m so sorry, Willi, I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s all over now. Quite exciting, looking back on it. One thing I don’t understand—the receptionist—Mr. Reddy—said you told him I’d gone off with a friend. Why?”

  “That’s a long story, Willi, and I owe you an explanation.”

  “But unfortunately,” Ashok interrupted, “our driver will be getting impatient. We have a long journey back to Chennai.”

  “Yes, and I still have to find somewhere to stay.”

  “What?” Hannah said. “You mean you haven’t anywhere?”

  “All the rooms I tried were full. I expect I’ll end up kipping on the beach.”

  Ashok and Hannah exchanged a quick glance.

  “Look,” Ashok said, “we have two rooms in Chennai, and we’re only using one. You could have the other. Management won’t mind. We’re paying for two doubles. They don’t have singles.”

  “One thing, though,” Hannah cut in. “It could be dangerous for you to be seen with us. We’ll fill you in on the journey, and you can decide.”

  Willi looked intrigued but laughed.

  “Ever been on an Indian bus? That’s dangerous. I thrive on danger. Lead me to your lair!”

  By the end of the high-speed, teeth-rattling ride through the Tamil-Nadu night, Willi knew all about the stalker. No point in keeping anything from her. Hannah felt that she owed it to her.