Dangerous Deception (16 page)

“Well, later, when the – insurance had paid up, Bryn instructed you to go to the States to find a buyer, and somehow or other you came up with the Zimmermans. They followed you back over here, outwardly on holiday but really, as you said earlier, to see what was on offer before they signed anything. And Sinbad took them to see the paintings.”

“Go on,” he said again.

“Well, they're to be removed from the castle on Tuesday night and taken to Swansea docks—”

“I laid that on a plate for you, didn't I?” Philip said bitterly.

“No doubt they'll be removed before they reach the US coastline.”

“By helicopter.”

“Yes. Well, that's about it. Except that you said they were worth a couple of million.”

“In other words, there's precious little you don't know.”

“I suppose not.” I pulled nervously on a blade of grass.

“So how in God's name can I expect you not to go to the police, now that you have it all so pat? You, a respectable, law-abiding citizen!” He made it sound like an insult.

“Because I promised,” I said, aware of sounding naive.

“Because you promised!” he repeated heavily. “Ye gods!”

“And because,” I went on raggedly, “I don't want anything to happen to you.”

“Matthew again. I've a lot to thank him for, haven't I?”

“No, not because of him this time.”

My voice was barely audible, and I don't think he heard me. He was saying roughly, “And no doubt he's the reason you expect me not to give you away?”

“I know it's a lot to ask.”

“One hell of a lot. For a start, how am I going to explain you? That's the immediate problem if, as you say, Carol will be there when we get back.”

“I know; you'll have to switch to her, and it's bound to cause comment. The trouble is, we don't know how many of them there are at the hotel, but Sinbad at least will be suspicious, having given all the information to me.”

“You can't go back,” Philip said, “that's clear enough. I'll run you to the nearest station and you can make your way back to London. After that, you're on your own.”

I shook my head. “It wouldn't work. For one thing, it would confirm that I know something, and they'd have no difficulty tracking me down – my address is in the register and Bryn would find me in minutes. Also, how could you explain my sudden disappearance, specially after what happened to Dick? It would look extremely suspicious.”

He bent forward and put his head in his hands. “Have you any better suggestions?”

“You could tell Carol you thought I
was
Goldilocks, until I complained someone was playing tricks on me. I'd thrown the letters away, and you retrieved them from my waste-paper basket.”

“Hardly convincing. Anyway, I
wouldn't
have mistaken you if I'd received her message.”

“Then miss out that bit. Just say we knew each other in London. I told someone that, and at least it's the truth. Sinbad will be slated for not checking more thoroughly, but as long as everything goes off all right, perhaps it won't matter.”

He said caustically, “You're forgetting that your pal Morgan witnessed our meeting, when we were playing according to the script. I can hardly go through the same routine with Carol.”

He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. “I'll have to get word to her to act as though we don't know each other – which, of course, we don't – and say I'll explain later. God, what a mess. And you're really telling me you'll let those paintings leave the country without lifting a finger to stop them?”

“Yes. I swear it.”

“And you still don't know where they came from?”

I stirred, staring at his half-eaten sandwich. It was curled and dry now, the once moist ham dark and hard.

“I seem to remember hearing of a fire in a gallery somewhere. They managed to save a lot of the pictures, but several valuable ones were lost.”

“The word ‘lost' is suitably ambiguous.”

I said quickly, “I don't want to know any more.”

He was staring down at the grass. “Then we come to us,” he said.

I swallowed. “How do you mean?”

“Today we're all lovey-dovey on a picnic, this evening I go after someone else.”

I drew a long, unsteady breath. “That's easily explained; you overstepped the mark and I gave you the brush-off.”

“It has a familiar ring.”

Sudden tears stung my eyes. I said tartly, “Can you think of anything better?”

He didn't answer directly. “Let's recap, then. To anyone at the hotel who
isn't
involved, your charming scenario will hold good. You give me the push, so I make a play for Carol. Incidentally, how many people did you tell that you were expecting me?”

I thought back. “Only Clive and Morgan. But the waiter, Harry, knew already, even before I did. Philip,
he
must be Sinbad!”

Philip said grimly, “If any one of those three is, God help us. We'll just have to play it by ear. And what if, despite Carol's arrival, Sinbad goes on thinking you're Goldilocks?”

“We'll have to convince him otherwise.”

“All right. I don't like it one bit, but since I seem to have no choice I'll play it your way. I just wish to God you were safely in London and had never set foot in this damned place.”

A cloud moved over the sun and I shivered, only too aware now of the dangers that faced us. For behind those pantomime names were dangerous men, intent on the fortune almost within their grasp, and neither Philip nor I could expect any mercy from them if our deceit was uncovered.

Hard on that thought, I said urgently, “Look, you asked me earlier to drop this for Uncle's sake; now I'm asking – begging – you.
Please
don't go through with it. We can go to the police now, tell them where the paintings are, and lie low till they're recovered and everyone's rounded up. Oh, please, Philip!”

“You forget,” he said drily, “that I'm as heavily involved as the rest of them. If, as you put it, ‘everyone's rounded up', that'll include me.”

“But if you tell the authorities—”

“Turn coppers' nark, you mean? Save my own bacon at the expense of my colleagues?”

I caught desperately at his arm, feeling him stiffen. “But suppose something goes wrong? What would happen to you?”

He tilted my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. They were a deep, burning blue. “It seems to me,” he said softly, “that you're more concerned about my welfare now I'm a seasoned criminal, than when I was an upright insurance man. Right?”

I nodded speechlessly, and a few of the tears spilled on to my cheeks. He said something under his breath and, his hand still on my throat holding me away from him, kissed me once, bruisingly. His eyes when they met mine again were unreadable.

“That's by way of apology,” he said unevenly, “for ever thinking you could be—”

He broke off and his fingers made a brief, caressing movement as they left my throat. I caught at his hand and held it tightly between mine, tears now raining down my face. I had no pride left, no control, just the need to keep him with me, and if possible out of danger.

“But there must be some way out! I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you—”

He tore his hand away, his eyes blazing in his white face.

“Stop it, Clare, just stop it – do you hear? Don't you realise how long we've been working on this thing, the planning, the timing, all the intricate details? Then you come blundering along and expect me to chuck it all in just to please you! Well, God help me, once I might have done, but not any more. As it is, you near as dammit ruined the whole operation. So for God's sake stop crying and pull yourself together. And—” his voice was low and vicious – “leave me alone!”

I gazed at him, shock drying the tears on my face, and he turned violently away and started to gather up the uneaten food. Unmoving, almost unbreathing, I watched him, the lines on his face etched as if in stone, his mouth grim.

So it had come to this. Philip now regarded me as I once had him – someone whose presence was unwelcome, to be brushed out of the way, escaped from. What satisfaction it must have given him, to see me beginning to love him, to make me admit it.

My breathing steadied to a series of deep, shuddering gasps. A bird called suddenly from the hedge, and it was as if a spell had been broken. A shaft of sunlight struck the gold shandy can, hurting my throbbing eyes.

He spoke at last, and only an undercurrent in his voice gave any hint of the emotional storm that had passed between us.

“So we've established that, as far as the people at the hotel are concerned, I tried to get out of line and was dealt with accordingly. Are you going to slap my face, or do we take that as read?”

“I'm not in the mood for facetiousness,” I said, with what little dignity was left to me. I got to my feet and he bent to pick up the mac and shake it out. In silence we made our way back to the car, and in silence we drove all the interminable way back to the hotel. If there had been a red car behind us, with machine guns sticking out of each window and a James Bond smokescreen behind, I doubt if either of us would have noticed it.

As we turned off the main road, I made my stiff little speech. “I should like to apologise for making an exhibition of myself. It must have been the strain. I promise you it won't happen again.”

Philip's reaction took me by surprise. His foot jammed on the brake and the car rocketed to a halt. He said, “Clare – don't! I'm sorry if—”

But I'd had more than enough of his cat-and-mouse games. I wrenched open the car door and half fell out, regained my balance and started to run stumblingly down the unmade road, through the gateway and across the gravel to the hotel. I pushed my way through the swing doors and stopped short.

I could hardly have made a more effective entrance. Afternoon tea was about to be taken into the lounge. There were several people in the hall, but through the mist of my tears I registered only Harry, the waiter.

“Mr Hardy will not be sitting at my table for dinner,” I said clearly. Then, aware of the staring faces, I snatched my key and ran up to my room, where I flung myself on the bed in a storm of tears.

‘… waste and solitary places;'

Shelley:
Julian and Maddalo

BY DINNER-TIME I had, at least outwardly, regained my composure. With head high, I went downstairs and into the dining-room.

My table, sure enough, was set for one only, but Dick Harvey's next to mine was also laid. Surely – but no, I'd underestimated Harry's tact. Philip was already seated across the room; my neighbour must be the newly arrived Goldilocks.

The interest that our separation was causing was almost palpable, and I felt the colour flame in my cheeks. But this, after all, was the impression we'd intended to convey. He hadn't looked in my direction, and after that one quick glance, I ignored him.

Morgan paused at my table. “Have a good picnic?”

“Diabolical,” I said.

“Hence the segregation?”

“Please, Morgan—” I looked up, and his eyes widened as he saw my face.

“That bad?”

I said in a low voice, “Everyone's looking,” and felt the gentle pressure of his hand.

“I'll see you after dinner.”

He'd just seated himself when Carol came in. There was a moment of total silence, every knife and fork immobilised. I looked up, and my heart contracted. So this was what Bryn had meant by ‘initial impact'.

She was the most striking girl I'd ever seen. Her hair was so pale as to be almost white, cut very short, with jagged points framing her face. Her skin was a clear, sun-ripe gold, her eyes green and thickly lashed, her mouth sensuous. There was no denying she was beautiful, but I instinctively disliked her.

She stood arrogantly just inside the room, as though acknowledging everyone's attention. Philip shouldn't find it difficult to make advances to her; the only danger would be his being trampled in the rush.

Harry hurried towards her, almost tripping in his eagerness, and ushered her to her table, which service she acknowledged with a gracious inclination of her head. Her almond eyes flicked over me without interest, then circled the room, and heads turned hastily away. All but one. Across the room, Philip's eyes met and held hers. I felt a little sick.

I made a passable attempt to eat my meal, and it ended at last. Looking neither to left nor right, I went out into the hall. Morgan followed me and took my arm. “Now, tell uncle what happened.”

I moved evasively.

“Don't say it's none of my business, because I rather think it is.”

I recited the line we'd agreed: “He was taking too much for granted, that's all.” And added quickly, “What do you think of the new arrival?”

“A bit obvious for my taste, but Master Philip seemed impressed.”

So he too had seen that exchange of looks.

“To hell with them both,” he said cheerfully. “Let's see about some coffee.”

Several people were already in the lounge, and Phyllis Bunting had as usual taken up her position behind the urn. We joined the Mortimers, and after a slightly hesitant start, our conversation was natural enough. No one mentioned Philip, and though, in ones and twos, the other diners came through to join us, he and Carol were not among them. They must have gone directly to the bar.

After a few minutes the groups divided and re-formed. The Zimmermans and the teachers set up a table for bridge and the Mortimers announced their intention of going for a drink.

“Are you two coming?” Pauline asked. Morgan was getting to his feet, but I shook my head.

“Not just yet.”

With a surprised glance, he sat down again, and the Mortimers, with a casual, “See you later, then”, left the room.