Albatross (40 page)

Walden had insisted that they leave Venice. He looked as strained and preoccupied as she did. ‘Davina,' he said, ‘spend one day with me in Paris. One day and a night won't make any difference.'

She didn't hesitate. ‘Of course it won't. You've put off things for me often enough. We'll go to Paris – can we fly direct?'

It was part of the balance in their relationship that Walden always made the travel arrangements, chose the hotels when they went away and took over the organizing of their lives. She said to him, ‘Why Paris, Tony? Any special reason?'

‘I'll tell you when we get there,' he said. ‘You've started smoking again. I wish you wouldn't.'

She didn't answer. Ever since the tragedy the day before, Walden had lost his exuberance. He seemed weighed down and uneasy, quite unlike himself. She stubbed out the cigarette. Something was wrong, something more than the revulsion of a sensitive man to violent death. Knowing him so well, she couldn't account for the sudden change of mood. Paris, for twenty-four hours. Why?

‘We can fly via Milan,' he said. His smile was tense.

While she lay awake, he hadn't slept either. ‘And I suppose you're going to book into the Ritz again?' Davina tried to make it sound lighthearted. ‘No good me suggesting some nice little pension on the Avenue de l'Opéra?'

‘You always suggest it,' he answered. ‘Just because you stayed there once and there weren't any lumps in the mattress. And I always say no. If we can't get a decent room at the Ritz, we'll try the Crillon. Or the Georges V. Go and pack while I get on the telephone.'

Tim Johnson took a launch out to Marco Polo airport. The explosives expert wasn't staying at the Gritti; Johnson booked in with him at a more modest hotel and they went over the routine report Modena had given Davina.

‘We're seeing the Boss Lady after lunch,' Johnson remarked. ‘See if you can dream up a theory or two by then. Our gallant Italian allies are going to tell us fuck-all. So I picked up these odds and ends for you.' He put a plastic bag on the table.

The expert, a genial' man inappropriately named Moody, opened it, sniffed at what was inside and then probed gently. ‘Wood, metal and, er, something else. I know what it feels like.… Where the hell did you get this, sir?'

‘Out of the canal, near enough to where it happened. About a hundred yards away from the actual explosion. I just fished up what I could in the dark. Felt a bit messy. It may be just ordinary garbage and flotsam.'

Moody put his nose to the bag again. ‘I don't think so,' he said. ‘I think you've got something for the lab and the forensic boys as well.'

‘Good,' Johnson said briskly. ‘We'll go and see Miss Graham at three. She's flying back today.'

They arrived at Orly airport at eight o'clock. There was a car to meet them and, as they drove off the Périphérique, she slipped her hand into his and said, ‘The Ritz or the Crillon?'

‘The Ritz,' Walden said. ‘Luckily someone had cancelled. We have our usual suite. I also ordered dinner there. You look tired, my darling.'

‘I am,' she admitted. ‘But I'm curious too. I asked you why Paris, remember?'

‘I know you did.' He glanced out of the window. ‘Isn't it the most beautiful city in the world? And look – how marvellously typically French. Look at that Tricolore! What a sense of theatre!'

The Arc de Triomphe was bathed in floodlights, and between its arches, fanning out in the breeze, there blazed a vast flag.

‘Now, we would never do that,' he said. ‘Only the French have the self-confidence to be so magnificently vulgar.'

They had a small suite on the first floor overlooking the Place Vendôme. There was a huge bowl of red roses in the bedroom.

‘Tony,' Davina said, ‘don't tell me they remembered?'

‘No, I did.'

There was a card with the flowers: ‘With all my love always, Tony'. She held it in her hand, and suddenly the luxurious bedroom felt cold.

‘Darling,' she said, ‘what's wrong?'

‘I was going to wait till we got back to England,' he began slowly, hesitating. The bedroom wasn't cold; she shivered and knew that the chill was in her own tense body as she listened. ‘I've been so happy with you, Davina. You're the only woman I've ever loved in my life, do you know that? Darling, don't look at me like that. Sit down, sit down. Come here beside me.'

His distress was making it worse. He took her hand and held it tightly between both of his, while she sat close to him, frozen and sick with anticipation. He stumbled over his words and suddenly Davina couldn't bear it.

‘You're leaving me,' she said. ‘For God's sake, why?'

‘I can't tell you why,' he said. ‘We just can't go on being together any more.'

‘I love you,' she protested. ‘You love me, I know that. Is it your wife? Tony, for Christ's sake, you've got to tell me the reason! It's just not good enough to say we can't go on and you can't tell me – I won't accept that!'

‘No,' he answered. ‘It's nothing to do with Hilary. That would be simple.' He didn't look at her, he kept his head down, gripping her hand in his. ‘I've known for months now that we had to break up. I couldn't face it and I lied to myself. But not now, not after Venice.'

She said, ‘But why? What happened in Venice couldn't happen to me! I told you, I'm safe. You're talking nonsense.'

‘Not nonsense,' Walden said quietly. ‘I'm just finding saying goodbye to you difficult, that's all. Will you listen to me and not interrupt? Please, Davina?'

‘I'll listen,' she said. ‘What else can I do?'

He went on slowly, dragging the words out until she could have screamed. ‘You know I love you. You're the most important person in the world to me. And that is why I wanted to spend our last night together in Paris. I wanted to make it beautiful for you. I wanted to tell you in the place where we've been so happy and had such wonderful times.'

She pulled her hand away and got up. She walked into the sitting room. Such wonderful times. That suite held memories: stolen weekends when they left their responsibilities behind; the joy of exploring Paris together; the sweetness of their nights. She broke down and wept. Not since losing Ivan had she cried aloud as she did then. She heard him say close to her, ‘Even the roses – they were waiting for you the first time we came. It was a mistake, my love. I shouldn't have told you here.'

She turned round to him. ‘Then why did you?' she demanded. ‘Why choose this of all places to tear us both to pieces? You and your bloody roses – you like a bit of theatre yourself, don't you? How could you do this, Tony? How could you hurt me like this?'

He tried to take her in his arms, but she fought fiercely, pushing him away. She saw the anguish on his face and suddenly her anger disappeared. She felt sick and cold and unbearably empty.

‘All right,' she said. ‘You say it's over. I can't argue – I won't beg either, thanks very much. But I want to know why. You owe me that, Tony. I want to know the reason.'

‘I can't answer that,' Walden said.

‘Because you don't love me and you don't have the guts to say so?'

‘You know that's not the reason.' His voice rose. ‘You know I love you! Christ, I need a drink – where do they keep it in this goddamned place?'

Her voice stayed level. ‘In the cupboard over there. You ought to know, it's always in the same place. If it's not because of your wife, and you still love me, what else could it be?'

She watched his back, listened to the awkward clatter as he fumbled with glasses and swore in Polish. ‘I didn't want to get mixed up with you,' she went on. ‘I had a good man who wanted to marry me – you were the one who made the running. You were determined to start something up between us. Now you've had enough, I suppose that's the answer. What am I supposed to do, Tony? Shake hands and say it was fun while it lasted?'

He swung round on her then. She saw that he was angry now. He changed colour, turning very white when he was angry. He came close to her and said, ‘I'll tell you what you do. Give up your job with the SIS. Resign, and there will be no problem. I'll get a divorce and we'll get married!'

Suddenly Davina was calm. ‘What has my job got to do with it? Are you saying that if I resign we can stay together? Tony? Is that what you mean?'

‘Yes,' Walden said flatly. ‘And now, my love, you can answer your own question. And think about it seriously. I meant what I said. I'll marry you and we can be together for the rest of our lives.'

She sat down and after a moment said, ‘Get me a drink, will you?'

He brought her a glass, hesitated, and when she held out her hand, he sat beside her. ‘I didn't think you'd be so bitter,' he remarked. ‘Maybe I didn't realize how much you loved me?'

‘When you're hurt,' she said quietly, ‘you lash out. Anyway I do. I'm not going to leave my job, but you're going to tell me why it matters. And by the way, you might try trusting me a little bit. Pass me a cigarette, will you? You can't nag me about smoking now.'

‘I've never hit a woman,' Walden said, ‘but, Davina, if you needle me.… Just shut up and drink your drink, will you!'

She lit her cigarette, sipped the brandy. The lights were twinkling in the Place Vendôme outside their windows. ‘At least I've stopped shaking,' she said. ‘That's something. It's blackmail, isn't it?'

There was silence for what seemed a long time to Davina. Then he looked at her and said simply, ‘Yes.'

The man called Italy stayed on in Venice till the end of the week. He became very bored, watching television and reading the art books and magazines. The girl hadn't given up trying; even on the last night she approached him. She wanted to sleep with what he'd done, not him. He told her so. She banged her door and he left the house early the next morning without seeing her again. There were checks at the airport. He bought a train ticket to Pisa and the carabiniere passed him through the barrier. From Pisa he boarded a train. It was a long, tiring jouney, but the train was full of people like himself, sleeping all night in the uncomfortable second-class carriages, some dozing on their luggage in the corridors. Nobody noticed him. Finally he took the bus to his village at the foot of the mountains. He ate a meal with his parents and gave them the souvenirs he had brought back from his holiday. Then he went to bed and slept through till the next day. He would never see or hear from his comrades again. That was the rule, and it guaranteed their safety. And his own. He was back at work in his father's chemist shop. He had made his contribution.

The device used, Humphrey told James White at their next lunch, must have been some kind of mine, either laid in the path of the cruiser or attached in some way. Considering the vigilance of Franklyn's bodyguards, it was difficult to see how it had been done. White nodded. Details bored him now; he liked to hear the broad issues, the personal gossip. He had never been a technical man. Humphrey sensed that he was impatient. ‘Everyone seems to think it's a terrorist group,' he said. ‘Except Davina.'

James White looked up and said mildly, ‘And who does she say did it?'

‘Borisov's people.' Humphrey sounded impatient. ‘She's got that man on the brain, you know, Chief. She sees his hand behind everything. I said to her yesterday, “He isn't God, you know. He can't be blamed for every crackpot killing in Europe.”' He didn't repeat her reply because it stung. ‘If the person who killed Franklyn was a crackpot, what the hell is a professional?' And he knew she was right. It was a supremely professional job, its operator equipped with the kind of technology that ruled out the splinter groups of political fanatics. His choice of word had been a slip of the tongue: Crackpot. She had swept his theories aside because of it. Tim Johnson supported Humphrey's view that money and expertise were at the disposal of the assassin, but he didn't believe they came from Moscow.

Davina was flying to Washington on Tuesday, Humphrey told Sir James. ‘Needless to say, they're having a fit over there. The President himself has told Langley to go ahead and find the killer, and let the Italians argue about it afterwards. I suggested Johnson should go with her instead of me.'

‘Don't let him take over too much,' White remarked. ‘You could find yourself eased out, my dear Humphrey. He's a thrusting young man.'

‘I have plenty to occupy me,' Grant replied. ‘There's nothing to be gained in Washington for anybody but Davina. She's the Boss Lady, to use Johnson's awful phrase. He'll be a glorified aide, that's all. And by the way, Chief,' he leaned across the table slightly, ‘I've started some inquiries about our friend Walden. One of our chaps in West Berlin has some good Polish contacts. He'll report back in a week or two.'

‘What are they going to look for?' James White asked.

‘Old associates,' Grant answered. ‘Family, friends, anyone in official circles who knew him before he came here. Anyone who's been in recent contact with him. We know he has a mother and sister living in Cracow. Our German friend says that if there is a lead his people will find it.'

‘That's good, Humphrey,' Sir James said. ‘I don't think you're wasting your time. I think something will come out of this. By the way, Charlie Kidson has decided to set herself up in London. It seems she's out of mourning. Perhaps one shouldn't call it that since Kidson is still alive.'

‘He's in a clinic,' Grant said, ‘drying out. I can't think why they bother.'

‘It wouldn't look good if he died,' White remarked. ‘It wouldn't encourage others to claim their reward in Moscow. God knows how they kept Burgess going for so long. A thought occurred to me, Humphrey. See what you think of it. Now that I'm out to grass, I don't want to step on anybody's toes. I thought I'd ask Charlie to lunch. See what she's up to – would you agree?'