Cross of Fire (53 page)

'You're wise ...'

'Wait! I heard something. A shopkeeper told me about a rumour that the peculiar ship from Britain with its hull split
in two may arrive here soon. Bob was interested in that
ship. And in a lecherous man called Lord Dane Dawlish.'

'He's expected?' Paula asked sharply.

'I don't know.'

'Have you any idea where this shopkeeper heard the rumour?'

'Yes!' Isabelle looked pleased. 'He told me he heard it in the Martinique Bar near the front.'

'Could you describe to me the location of this Martinque Bar?' Paula probed.

'Yes!' Isabelle seemed eager to help now. 'I can draw you
a plan showing you how to get there from here. It will be
open now. It's not really a very nice place. I'll get a pad...'

When she had drawn her diagram Paula noticed how
neat and clear it was. Like her handwriting. She drank more
coffee as the French girl made sure she understood the
directions. Although like a coiled spring in her intensity,
Isabelle moved with great gracefulness.

'Can I ask you a question?' she asked when Paula folded the diagram.

'Ask away.'

They had conversed in English ever since Paula's arrival.
A feeling of warmth was developing between the two
women.

'Have you any idea.' Isabelle began tentatively, 'when
we may expect to see Bob back in Arcachon?'

'No idea at all. Most of the time he doesn't reveal to me his movements.'

'Paula!' Isabelle was intense again. 'I almost forgot. This may be something you should know. Bob phoned me some
hours after he'd left. To warn me he felt sure he had seen
an officer called Lieutenant Berthier when he was driving
out of Arcachon late at night. He described him. He said I should be careful of this man.'

Paula was taken aback. Her mind flashed to the incident when he'd driven her to Jean Burgoyne at Admiralty House in Aldeburgh. When he'd attempted his amorous approach. Berthier - who had posed as James Sanders, who was a key
member of General de Forge's inner circle. Arcachon was
no longer the safe haven they had hoped for. She worded
her reply carefully.

'I have heard of this Berthier. He is a dangerous man. Please do take Bob's advice and stay under cover. And now I must go.'

'You must be careful yourself,' Isabelle urged. 'If you
need a safe place to hide, come here immediately.'

'I won't hesitate to take up your offer.' Paula hid her
dismay at the news of Berthier's presence. 'And I will keep
in touch with you.'

Butler emerged from the kitchen. 'Thank you for the cup of excellent coffee,' he said formally.

He waited until they reached the pavement after he had peered out in both directions. They walked towards where
Nield appeared to be sleeping behind the wheel of the
Renault.

'Do you trust her?' Butler asked.

'The only people I trust in this situation are Tweed's team. Berthier turning up here is a shock. We'll have to keep a lookout for him where we're going.'

'And where might that be?'

To the Martinique Bar. That's where the rumour origi
nated that Dawlish's
Steel Vulture
may be coming here. I shudder every time I think of that ship. It takes me back to
when poor Karin and I were scuba-diving off Dunwich.
When we surfaced we saw that evil-looking ship. Let's hope
we can find out something at the Martinique.

It's not really a very nice place.
Isabelle's description of the
Martinique was pure British understatement. Paula, dressed
in a trenchcoat, walked in by herself as Butler strolled in
half a minute later, giving the impression Paula was on her
own. This time Nield did not stay with the car: he wandered in shortly after Butler had entered.

A seamen's waterfront bar - even though not on the
front. Paula walked straight up to the bar. She was aware of
seamen in pea-jackets staring openly at her. One made an
obscene suggestion in a loud voice. She ignored it.

'A dry Vermouth, please.' she asked the barman.

Perching herself on a stool, she chanced a tricky question
when the barman, a rough-looking type with a cast in his
right eye, brought her drink.

'I hear that British twin-hulled ship, the
Steel Vulture,
is due to arrive back in Arcachon soon. Is it?'

'I wouldn't know. My job is to make this place pay.' He glanced over Paula's shoulder. 'The customer you should ask is sitting at that table in the corner behind the door.'

Paula sipped her drink. It was too early in the day for
any drink, but it would look funny if she just left the glass
full. She looked round the bar which had pictures of nude
girls in various poses on the walls. Then she had a bad
shock. Sitting at the corner table was a heavily built man
with wide shoulders, dressed in a clean pea-jacket. Brand.

She had last seen Dawlish's deputy at the shooting party held at Grenville Grange on the river Aide. The day she had
interviewed Dawlish, repelled his advances. Brand was staring straight back at her. He said something to his two
tough companions, stood up, made his way towards her. His large hand gripped her shoulder as he climbed on to
the adjoining stool.

'Miss Paula Grey. Now what would a nice lady like you
be doing in Arcachon - and in a bar like this?'

'If you want to talk to me will you kindly first remove
your paw?'

'A choosy dame.' The hand left her shoulder. 'It's a small world, as they say.'

'As you just said - so what are you doing here far away
from Aldeburgh?'

'Still the nosy investigative reporter. Always asking ques
tions. One day that habit will get you into nasty trouble.'

'I happen to do the occasional interview. My main job is
with an insurance company.'

Brand grinned unpleasantly. 'And you're practised at evading questions. I asked why you were here. In this bar.
In Arcachon.'

Paula swivelled her stool, to face him, to make it easy to
get away if necessary. She smiled icily.

'Brand, I'll make a deal with you. I'll answer you if you first answer me. Fair enough?'

'No, it isn't.' Brand's expression was ugly. 'Don't get clever-clever with me.' His hand reached out again, grasped her forearm, held it tight. Paula willed herself not to wince. He had the grip of an ape. 'The last woman who tried that is still bruised all over. I want an answer ...'

'I can give you one.' Butler had come up behind Brand. His tone was as controlled as his expression. 'Miss Grey and
I have an appointment to keep. And if you don't take your
hand off her pronto I'll break your arm. Maybe both arms.'

Brand let go of Paula, dropped off his stool, swung round
to face Butler who stood a good two inches higher. Brand bunched his huge fist, stared at Butler who stood quite still.
Something about Butler's stance, his poker-faced expression,
bothered Brand. He shrugged, turned to go.

'I could make mincemeat of you,' he growled.

Try it,' Butler suggested.

Brand's bull-neck, his face, reddened. He turned back
and measured up Butler again. His arm stiffened, ready to
strike the first blow.

'You can have a brawl if you want to,' Butler went on
calmly. 'Of course someone will call the police and I have
plenty of witnesses as to who started this. When you're
lying poleaxed on the floor.'

'You'll be late for your bloody appointment.'

Brand marched off back to the corner table where his two
companions waited. One of them had started to get up
when he saw what was happening. Nield, who had wan
dered close to the table, pressed his left hand hard on the man's shoulder. He held him down as he spoke in French,
his eyes flickering to the other man.

'DST. Make any trouble and I'll crack you on the skull.'
His right hand was inside his coat, gripping the Walther. 'And then I'll haul you in for questioning as a suspected
terrorist...'

Paula and Butler passed the table where Brand had just
sat down again. Dawlish's right-hand man looked away
from the group as it left.

Paula reacted as she settled herself beside Butler who
was behind the wheel. Nield slipped into the back of the
Renault.

'Thank you, Harry. That was getting grim. Did you see the size of his hand? He was really hurting me. But he backed off from you.'

'Which is interesting,' Butler commented. 'It was the
mention of the police coming which scared him off. Of
course, you know who he is.'

'Brand. Dawlish's close confidant, as far as we know. He
got uptight when I asked him what he was doing in Arca
chon. I'm wondering whether the
Steel Vulture
is expected.
If
that's why he's here.'

'Unless he has some other job in mind first. Where do we
go now?'

'To the Villa Forban so so I can meet Jean Burgoyne. She
is confident de Forge won't be there today. But we'd better
be careful - very careful.'

'I thought that was why Pete and I were with you.' Butler remarked drily.

He'd studied the map Lasalle had provided Paula with
showing the most solitary route to the villa. He was driving
along the windswept front as Paula had suggested. She
wanted to check that there no sign of the
Steel Vulture.
It
was a dirty day for any fishing vessels out beyond the
shelter of the
bassin.
Paula suddenly sat up very erect.

The front was almost deserted. A strip of folded canvas
above the window of an ice-cream parlour was flapping
furiously, trying to tear itself loose. Even inside the
bassin
waves were rolling in, high and surf crested. In the distance
the clustered masts in the port were swaying madly. One
man, dressed in a trenchcoat, his hair flying all over the
place, was striding towards them. Paula felt sure she recog
nized the athletic stance, the swinging stride of the tall
solitary walker.

'Harry, pull in when we reach that man coming this way.'

As he came closer Paula saw that it was Victor Rosewa
ter. The last person she'd expected to see in Arcachon. She stepped out into the wind as Butler parked the car.

'Victor! What a wonderful surprise. I certainly never expected to see you down here.'

Rosewater gave her a bear hug, glanced into the car and looked a question at Paula. How like him she thought - not to pry directly.

'It's all right,' she assured him. 'They're Tweed's. So you can talk freely. What are you doing?'