A Matter of Honour (26 page)

Romanov waited patiently for the phone to be
picked up.

“Yes,” said a voice that he recognised
immediately.

“Where is he?” were the only words Romanov
uttered. Four words were all he received from Mentor in reply before the phone
went dead.

Adam woke with a start an hour before he was
due to phone Lawrence back. For nearly forty minutes he lay on the floor with
only Robin’s steady breathing to remind him he was not alone. Suddenly he
became aware of a strange sound coming from the corridor outside – two or three
steps, a pause, then whoosh, two or three steps, a pause, another whoosh. Adam
raised himself up silently from the floor and crept to the door. The rhythm of
Robin’s breathing never faltered. Whoosh: it now sounded closer. He picked up a
heavy wooden coathanger from the table by the door. He gripped it firmly in his
right hand, raised it above his head and waited. Whoosh – and a newspaper shot
under the door and the steps moved on. He didn’t have to bend down to see that
it was his photograph that dominated the front page of the international
edition of the
Herald Tribune.

Adam took the paper into the bathroom,
closed the door silently, switched on the light and read the lead article. It
was yesterday’s story with guarded comments from his old commanding officer and
embarrassed silence from his mother. He felt helpless.

He crept up to Robin hoping she wouldn’t
wake. He stood over her but she didn’t stir. He silently picked up the phone
and dragged it to the bathroom. He could only just manage to close the door
behind him. He dialled the operator and repeated the number.

When the ringing stopped, he immediately
said, “Is that you, Lawrence?”

“Yes,” came back the reply.

“Things have become much worse now. I’m
still-holed up in the hotel but my picture is on the front page of every paper.”

“I know,” said Lawrence. “We tried to
prevent it, but yet again the Swiss wouldn’t co-operate.”

“Then I may as well give myself up to the
Swiss,” said Adam. “Damn it all, I am innocent.”

“No, Adam, in Switzerland you’re guilty
until proven innocent and you must have worked out by now that you’re involved
in something far more important than a double murder.”

“What could be more important than a double
murder when the rest of the world thinks you’re the murderer?” asked Adam
angrily.

“I can understand exactly how you feel, but
your only chance now is to carry out my instructions to the letter and treat
with suspicion every other person with whom you come in contact.”

“I’m listening,” said Adam.

“Just remember everything I say because I am
only going to tell you once. The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
are
staying in the same hotel as you. They are going on to
Frankfurt at ten o’clock this morning. Leave your room at five to ten, join the
orchestra in the lobby and then make your way to the front door where you’ll
find their coach parked. We will have a car waiting for you on the far side of
the road. The car is a black Mercedes and you will see a man in grey chauffeur’s
uniform holding the door open for you. We have already arranged that no other
car will be able to park on that side of the road between nine thirty and ten
thirty, so you can’t mistake it. Just get into the back and wait. There will be
another man in the back with you and you will then be driven to the safety of
our Consulate. Do you need me to repeat any of that?”

“No,” said Adam, “but...”

“Good luck,” said Lawrence, and the phone
went dead.

By seven-thirty he had showered, while Robin
remained unrepentant in a deep sleep. Adam envied her; only a twig had to break
outside and he was wide awake. Two years of living in the Malayan jungle, never
knowing when the Chinese would strike, never being able to sleep for more than
two or three hours at a time if one wanted to stay alive, still kept its hold
on him.

Robin did not stir for another thirty
minutes, during which time Adam sat on the sofa and went over Lawrence’s plan
in his mind. At ten to eight she finally woke, even then taking several minutes
before she was fully conscious. Robin blinked at Adam and a large grin appeared
on her face.

“So you didn’t murder me while I slept,” she
said.

“I don’t think you’d have noticed if I had,”
said Adam.

“When your father is
an
habitual drunk and comes home at all hours of the night, you learn to sleep
through anything,” she explained, placing both feet firmly on the carpet. “Aren’t
you meant to have phoned London by now?”

“I already have.”

“And what is the master plan to be?” she
asked, rubbing her eyes on her way to the bathroom.

“I will be leaving with you,” said Adam.

“Most of my one-night stands don’t bother to
stay that long,” she remarked as she closed the bathroom door behind her. He
tried to read the paper while the bath was filling up.

“Does that mean we’re sharing a room in
Frankfurt as well?” she asked a few minutes later when the bathroom door
reopened, as if the conversation had never been interrupted.

“No, as soon as we’re clear of the hotel I
leave you at the coach and make my own way to a car on the far side of the
road.”

“That sounds more like the men in my life,”
she said. “But at least we can have a farewell breakfast,” she added, picking
up the phone. “I’m nuts about kippers.
How about you?”

Adam didn’t answer. He had begun looking at
his watch every few moments. The waiter arrived with breakfast about fifteen
minutes later: Adam waited in the bathroom. When he reappeared he showed no
interest in the food, so Robin ate four kippers and most of the toast. Nine O’clock
passed; a porter took away the breakfast trolley and Robin began to pack. The
phone rang and Adam jumped nervously as Robin picked it up.

“Yes, Stephen,” she said. “No, I won’t need
any help with my luggage. Not this time.” She put the phone down. “We depart
for Frankfurt at ten.”

“I know,” said Adam.

“We ought to make Lawrence the orchestra
manager. He seems to know everything even before it’s been decided.” Adam had
been thinking the same thing. “Well, at least I’ve found someone to help with
my luggage for a change,” added Robin.

“I’ll carry the double bass for you if you
like,” offered Adam.

“I’d like to see you try,” said Robin. Adam
walked over to the large instrument that was propped up in its case against the
wall. He tried the double bass from all angles but couldn’t manage to do better
than hold it off the floor for a few moments. Robin joined him and with one
flick she had the stem on her shoulder and the instrument balanced perfectly.
She walked up and down the bedroom demonstrating her prowess.

“It’s a matter of skill, my puny friend,”
she said. “And to think I believed all those stories last night about your
outrunning half the Swiss police force to spend a night with me.”

Adam tried to laugh. He picked up his
trenchcoat, checking the icon was zipped up. But he couldn’t stop himself
shaking from a combination of fear and anticipation.

Robin looked at him. “Don’t worry,” she said
gently. “It will all be over in a few minutes’ time.” Then she saw the paper on
the floor. “I should sue them if I were you.”

“Why?” asked Adam.

“You’re a lot better looking than that.”
Adam smiled and walked across, and just managed to get his arms round her to
give her a hug.

“Thanks for everything,” he said. “But now
we have to go.”

“You’re sounding more like one of my lovers
all the time,” said Robin, mournfully.

Adam picked up her suitcase while Robin
jerked up the stem of the double bass onto her shoulder. She opened the door
and checked the corridor: two of her colleagues from the RPO were waiting by
the
lift,
otherwise there was nobody else in sight.
Robin and Adam joined the two musicians and after “Good mornings” no one spoke
until the lift doors slid open. Once the doors were closed Robin’s colleagues
couldn’t resist taking a closer look at Adam. At first Adam was anxious they
had recognised him from the newspaper. Then he realised that it was who Robin
had spent the night with that fascinated them. Robin gave him a lewd wink, as
if she fully intended to live off this one for a long time. For his part Adam
ducked behind the double bass and remained in the corner breathing deeply in
and out as the lift trundled down towards the ground floor. The doors sprang
open and Robin waited for her two colleagues to leave before she shielded Adam
as best she could all the way across the foyer. His eyes were now fixed on the
front door. He could see the bus taking up most of the road and several members
of the orchestra were already clambering on. One more minute and he should be
safely away. He watched as the drums were packed carefully in the large boot.

“Oh, God, I forgot,” said Robin. “I’m meant
to put this in the boot at the back of the bus.”

“Do it later,” said Adam sharply. “Just keep
going until you reach the coach door.” Then he saw the car on the far side of
the road. He felt light with relief, almost dizzy. The car door was being held
open for him. Another man was seated in the back just as Lawrence had promised.
Ten o’clock struck somewhere in the distance. The man dressed in chauffeur’s
uniform, hat pulled down over his forehead, stood by the open door. He turned
towards the hotel in anticipation. Adam stared towards him as the man’s eyes
scanned the hotel entrance. The uniform wasn’t a good fit.

“Into the bus,” hissed Adam.

“With this thing?
They’ll kill me,” said Robin.

“If you don’t, he’ll kill me.”

Robin obeyed, despite the adverse comments
as she lumbered down the aisle with her double bass screening Adam from the
gaze of anyone on the far side of the road. He wanted to be sick.

Adam slumped into a seat next to Robin with
the double bass between them.

“Which one?” she whispered.

“In the chauffeur’s
uniform.”

Robin glanced out of the window. “He may be
evil, but he’s damned good looking,” she said, inconsequentially.

Adam looked disbelieving. Robin smiled
apologetically.

“Everybody’s in,” called a man from the
front of the bus, “and I’ve double-checked and we seem to have one extra.”

Oh, my God, thought Adam, he’s going to
throw me off the bus.

“My brother,” shouted Robin from the back. “He’s
only travelling with us for part of the journey.”

“Oh, that’s okay then,” said the manager. “Well,
let’s be on our way.” He turned to the driver.

“He’s started looking at the bus,” said
Robin.

“But I don’t think he can see you. No, you’re
all
right,
he’s now turned his gaze back to the hotel
entrance.”

“I didn’t realise you had a brother,” said
the manager, who was suddenly standing beside them. The coach moved slowly out
of the square.

“Neither did
I
until this morning,” mumbled Robin, still looking out of the window. She turned
and faced her boss. “Yes, I forgot to mention to you that he might be in
Switzerland at the same time as the orchestra. I do hope it’s not going to
cause a problem.”

“Not at all,” said the manager.

“Adam, this is Stephen Grieg who, as you
will already have gathered, is the orchestra’s manager.”

“Are you a musician as well?” asked Stephen
as he shook Adam’s hand.

“No, I can truthfully say that I have never
been able to master any instrument,” said Adam.

“He’s tone deaf,” butted in Robin.
“Takes after my father.
He’s in tyres, actually,” she
continued, enjoying herself.

“Oh, really.
Which company are you with?” enquired
Stephen.

“I’m with Pirelli,” said Adam, mentioning
the first tyre company that came into his head.

“Pirelli, the company that
produces those fabulous calendars?”

“What’s so special about their calendars?”
asked Robin innocently. “If you want one I’m sure Adam can get you one.”

“Oh, that would be great,” said Stephen. “I
hope it won’t put you to too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” said Robin, leaning
over Adam conspiratorially. “Actually, to let you in on a little family secret
there is a rumour at HQ that Adam will soon be joining the main board. The
youngest member in the company’s history, you know.”

“How impressive,” said the manager, taking a
closer look at the orchestra’s latest
recruit.

“Where shall I send the calendar?” bleated
out Adam.

“Oh, direct to the RPO. No need to tell you
the address, is there?”

“In a brown envelope, no doubt,” said Robin.
“And don’t worry about the year. It’s not the dates that he gets worked up
about.”

“What time are we expecting to reach
Frankfurt, Stephen?” shouted a voice from the front. “Must leave you now,” said
the manager. “Thanks for the promise of a calendar. Robin’s right, of course – any
year will do.”