The Cauldron (20 page)

Whatever he was going to say was lost as the phone rang. Monica picked it up, asked the caller to repeat the name. She pressed the security button.

'It's that hoarse-voiced person called Waltz again.'

'I'll take it. Monica, could you make me a pot of strong coffee while I take this call?'

She gave him an odd look, left the room. Only then did Tweed start talking on the phone. He had a long conversation while she was away. Mostly he listened, then he asked a few questions and listened intently again. He had just finished the call when Monica returned. She poured him a cup without sugar or milk.

'Black as sin.' she remarked.

"There's a lot of it about.' he responded, drinking half the cup. 'A lot of sin.'

He stood up, resumed pacing round the office, hands clasped behind his back. After a while he paused, made his comment, then resumed pacing.

'I'm beginning to wonder if I'm using the wrong person as an agent. If I am, it could turn out to be a major disaster.'

He then went on pacing slowly, his eyes glazed as he concentrated on something which was deeply troubling him. Monica knew all the signs. He was weighing up his options, balancing one against the other. She also knew he would suddenly make up his mind and erupt into action. Again he was interrupted by the phone ringing.

'No peace for the wicked.' said Monica and answered the phone. 'It's Professor Weatherby, the seismologist.'

'Yes, Weatherby.' Tweed said, now sitting behind his desk.

'Tweed, I was clearing out some old files. I found one compiled by Ethan Benyon while he was with me. He must have left it behind. I found the contents disturbing, highly disturbing. If you could come over I'll explain what I've discovered.'

'Would now be too soon? No? I'm on my way...'

Telling Monica to hold the fort, that he was rushing to see Weatherby, Tweed slipped into his jacket and left.

'I wonder who Waltz is?' Monica said to herself.

* * * *

The Yacht Club building where Grenville was holding his impetuously arranged party was an old two-storey place with rough-cast walls painted white. As Newman parked his Merc., with Vanity alongside him, he saw Maurice's car pull up behind him. Beside him sat Paula. They could hear dance music floating out of the building into the warm night.

Earlier Paula had phoned Maurice, inviting him to join her at the party. He'd agreed immediately.

'I'll drive over and collect you. No, I positively insist...'

It gave Paula a pang when she glanced down the road alongside the creek. That was where she had dashed out to intercept Adrian Penkastle. If she hadn't done he'd have presumably continued his way to some pub. And she had an idea that when he was too far gone some landlords would let him stay the night. Had that happened he would probably still be alive.

'A penny for your thoughts,' said Maurice.

'I was just thinking how good the music sounds.' She looped her arm through his. 'We're going to enjoy the party.'

'We will if I have anything to do with it...'

Grenville, a good host, was waiting for them with the door open. Inside couples were sitting at tables drinking. Others were dancing on the floor. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.'

'Colonel,' Newman began, 'this is a friend of mine. Vanity Richmond.'

'Wish she was my friend.' Grenville greeted her jovially, taking two glasses of champagne off a sideboard and handing them to his guests.

'And behind me,' Newman went on, turning round, 'is Paula, another friend.'

'Greedy!' Grenville chuckled. 'Don't think you can monopolize them both for the whole night.'

'And this is Paula's escort, Maurice Prendergast...'

Reaching for another glass of champagne, Grenville's hand froze. The gesture lasted hardly a second but Newman noticed his host's expression had stiffened, then he was his normal affable self.

'Welcome, Paula. I insist we have a dance together later.' He switched his gaze back to her companion. 'Welcome, Prendergast. Hope you don't mind my pinching her off you during the party.'

'It's a free country.' Prendergast answered with a smile.

They sat down together at a side table for four. Seafood was served - generous portions of crab and lobster. Newman wondered how Grenville afforded this lavish fare. The moment the food was demolished Newman invited Vanity to dance, took her on the floor. Maurice suggested to Paula they follow suit.

'Do you mind if we wait a minute? I'd like to digest my enormous helping.'

Which wasn't her real reason. She wanted to watch Newman dancing with Vanity. Her blazing red mane picked her out from all the other couples, and she was a very good dancer. She pulled Newman closer to her as they moved round the floor. She rested her pointed chin on his shoulder, her hair touching his face. He was saying something which caused her to burst into laughter.

'Those two are getting on well together,' Maurice said.

"They certainly seem to be,' Paula agreed.

Glancing round the room, she estimated there were about a hundred people present. A mixture of young and middle-aged. Many had the look of the 'exiles' Newman had mentioned to her in her room. Maurice guided Paula onto the floor as Newman returned with Vanity.

'I'll get you another glass of champagne,' Newman suggested.

'I think I'll wait awhile. Who are you looking at so so closely?' she asked.

'No one in particular.' he lied.

Opposite him, at a table on the far side of the room, Colonel Grenville was staring fixedly at Prendergast. His eyes reminded Newman of twin gun barrels. He was so intent on watching this particular guest that the ash at the end of his cigar toppled down his smart blue suit. He appeared not to notice what had happened.

As they danced, Prendergast cast the occasional glance in his host's direction, then looked away quickly. What the devil was going on? Newman was puzzled. Vanity drew his attention to the band - five youngsters perched on a dais at the end of the room.

'They're quite good,' she commented. 'And they're playing a mixture of the old and the new. I rather think Grenville instructed them to do that - something to please his mix of guests and ages. He's a very good organizer.'

'And amazingly quick,' Newman remarked. 'He must have been phoning up all over the place this afternoon.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because of the late hour when he called me to invite me. I don't think I was an afterthought.'

'Can't imagine you'd be that with anyone - especially a woman.'

Newman was cursing himself inwardly. He had nearly slipped up badly because he'd seen Grenville only that afternoon, a fact he was concealing. The trouble was, he knew, his mind was full of Vanity.

Later Grenville danced a quick-step with both women in turn. Newman noted he was surprisingly agile on his feet, more like a man of forty.

The party went on into the early morning hours. At 3 a.m. Newman suggested they left. Grenville was a little too cordial when he said 'goodbye' to Prendergast, a fact which Newman observed with interest.

They returned to Nansidwell. Prendergast wanted to drive Paula back but she insisted that was ridiculous since Newman could take her in the Merc.

1 would have thought you'd at least let me do that for you.' Prendergast said forcefully.

'Well, I won't.' she told him. 'We've had a lovely time. Don't spoil it.'

'You're the one who's spoiling it.'

Newman had stood nearby, saying nothing. Paula had to work this one out for herself. He was glad he'd escorted Vanity inside his car with the windows closed against the night chill. At least she couldn't hear this conversation, which was on the verge of turning ugly.

"Thank you for a most pleasant evening - or early morning – Maurice.' she said firmly. 'I'm going back now with Bob. Good night.'

She omitted to kiss him on the cheek, walked briskly to the Merc., got inside the back, shut the door.

'Good night, Maurice.' Newman said.

'Have you two got something going between you?'

'Good night, Maurice.' Newman repeated.

He walked swiftly back to the Merc. He had to get away from Maurice before he slammed him one on the jaw. On the way back there was very little conversation. Paula was seething inwardly. Vanity was sleepy after her late night.

Arriving at Nansidwell, Newman found a message from Tweed waiting for him.

Phone me urgently as soon as you return. In the usual way
.

He showed the message to Paula as soon as Vanity had gone to bed. She read it, handed it back to him.

'He means call him from the phone box in Mawnan Smith.' she said.

'I can do that myself now. Maybe you'd sooner get off to your room?'

'Like hell. I'm coming with you. I want to know what's going on. And after that absurd conversation with Maurice I'm very alert.'

13

Tweed was away so long after leaving to talk to Weatherby that Monica began to worry. She was relieved when he returned well after midnight. Then she saw the expression on his face. He sat down behind his desk, looking grim.

'Something wrong?' she enquired.

'Something is very wrong. After listening to Weatherby I think my bizarre theory as to what is going on with Moloch was right. It's horrendous.'

'You'd sooner not give me any details?'

'Not at the moment. I have to work out what to do. I suppose there haven't been any developments?'

'Yes, there have. I managed to get hold of our contact in Paris, Loriot. He said he'd phone me back and later he did. It's about Vanity Richmond.'

'Yes?'

'She was reported earlier to have an English father and a French mother. Loriot found out she did indeed have a French mother. Now deceased. Vanity was born in Grenoble. She's thirty-eight. Her father was an attach^ at the British Embassy in Paris. When he was moved back to Britain her French mother came with him, bringing Vanity with her, who was then ten years old.'

'I see.'

"There's something else. Cord Dillon phoned me from Langley. Joel Brand, Moloch's so-called second-in-command, passed through San Francisco International airport. Cord's man at the airport followed him to Black Ridge...'

'So-called? Is that your phrase?'

'No, it's Dillon's. He says it's not clear which of the two men - Moloch or Brand - is running AMBECO.'

'Curious. Very. What is really interesting is that Brand is now back in California. Which again fits in with the theory I've built up as to what is planned.'

For once the phone ran when Tweed wasn't pacing his office. Monica took the call, told Tweed it was Newman on the line.

'Tweed here

He listened while Newman gave him a terse report on the events at the Yacht Club. He mentioned Colonel Grenville's reaction to the arrival of Maurice Prendergast.

"Thank you.' said Tweed. 'Warn everyone to be ready for instant departure from Cornwall. Play it canny. Only partly pack your cases. When I tell you to come back, you come back fast. All of you. Hope you enjoyed the party. What you've told me may be important. Goodbye ...'

He began making notes on a pad in his swift, strong handwriting. It took him a while to complete his list. Then he handed the pad to Monica after tearing off the sheet he'd written on.

'First thing, shred that pad. I don't want Howard snooping round, finding it and tracing the impressions of what I've written.'

His manner was brisk despite the late hour. Everything about him told Monica he had decided what to do. Action was about to erupt.

'And the next thing?' she enquired after shredding the pad.

'Call British Airways at Heathrow. Book open tickets, return, for a flight to San Francisco. Undated,' he emphasized. 'First-class tickets for Paula and me. Club class for Newman, Marler, Butler and Nield. That way they can lose themselves in the crowd. Tell them each passenger is travelling separately.'

'So it's California,' she remarked. 'You've broken the logjam.'

'Pity Philip Cardon wasn't still with us. He'd have come in useful when we do visit California.'