The Persian Price (24 page)

‘Yes. You mustn't be seen.'

‘I'll be careful.' He pulled himself upright; his fingers twined in her hair, curling it round.

‘I'll come back as soon as I can. You go to sleep.' He bent and kissed her. ‘You gave me a lot,' he whispered.

‘We gave each other,' Eileen said quietly. ‘I wish you wouldn't go.'

‘Ahmed gets up early,' Peters answered. ‘I don't want to take risks. Not now. You do as I say. Go to sleep. I'll come up later.'

She watched him dress and go to the door. He turned and in the pre-dawn light he made a gesture which she couldn't see. Then the door closed and she heard the lock turning. The room was very quiet, the atmosphere heavy and still. Slowly she ran her hands over her body, miming what he had done. Sleep. To make the voyage of self-discovery and then to sleep. It was impossible. Marriage to Logan for seven years. She had thought of herself as a woman, a wife and a mother, a mature human being. A woman whose life ran along a single well defined track. Meath House and Eaton Square. The smart flat in the Rue St Dominique in Paris. Trips abroad. Dinner parties and business entertaining. A little child, immaculately dressed in pink. Not a hair ruffled or a seam out of place. Mrs Logan Field. Whoever she was, Eileen didn't recognize her any more. And never would know her again.

‘It's dragging on and on,' Madeleine complained. ‘We get messages saying Field has capitulated but no proof! How do we even know it's true? He never lets us near the radio set.'

She and Resnais were sitting in a café in the centre of Nice. They spent a lot of time together. On the surface the atmosphere between them and Peters was friendly, if reserved. None of the three was deceived by it. It was a truce, and waiting to be broken.

‘So we only know what he tells us,' Resnais said. ‘I'm going to make contact with Damascus myself.'

‘No,' Madeleine said quickly. ‘Don't do that. It's too dangerous! If he finds out you've talked to HQ behind his back …'

‘He's keeping control of that radio link in case the husband backs away at the last minute. Then he'll be the only one to know. He won't carry out the sentence and he'll make sure that I don't.' Resnais lit a cigarette.

‘Ahmed says he hasn't slept in his own room for the last four nights. He takes her out in the garden, hidden round the back of the villa,' Madeleine said. ‘He brings her wine, cigarettes, books to read. I admit to you, Resnais, when all this started I was jealous. I loved him and I didn't like him being soft with another woman. But it's more than that now.' She lifted the glass of
orange pressée,
and then put it down without drinking. ‘He's not just sleeping with her, he's corrupted,' she said. ‘He's gone over to the enemy. I've been watching him and he's not the same man. He's not the man I lived with in Tehran and I promise you he's not the man who took the Lufthansa plane. I know he means to let that woman go, even if he has to wreck the whole mission.'

‘And sacrifice himself?' Resnais asked her. ‘He must know the consequences. Perhaps he plans to defect with her. Give himself up and trade information about the PLF …' He lit a cigarette. ‘We'll have to stop him, chérie. And I don't think we should wait any longer. We've held that woman for three weeks. Very soon now, there'll be a decision. Only we won't know it. He can tell us anything – any lie. They can escape together. The next thing we'll know will be when the police pick us up.'

Madeleine swore viciously in Arabic.

‘He was one of the great ones,' she said. For a moment her eyes filled with tears. ‘He gave up everything for the cause. He was an inspiration to so many of us. And that woman destroys him. I promise you, Resnais, she's not going to get away with it.'

‘I don't quarrel with that,' the Frenchman said. ‘After all, we are only anticipating events. First, we have to get rid of him. Then we hold her. And I won't interfere with you, if you want to be unpleasant.'

‘What are we going to do? Don't try to take him unawares – he's very dangerous.'

‘I know that,' Resnais said. ‘But so am I. We will arrange an accident and that way nobody will ask questions afterwards. As far as the PLF is concerned, he will have died a hero. And you and I will carry out the mission.'

He put a ten franc note in the bill and folded both under his empty glass.

‘We'll go back now,' he said. ‘And we must be very friendly to him. Especially you. He must think he has nothing to fear from either of us.'

9

Resnais watched Madeleine with admiration. They were eating dinner on the terrace. She had brought out two bottles of wine, sat next to Peters and linked her arm through his. She gave him a warm smile.

‘I feel like a party tonight. We've been gloomy and quarrelsome for long enough. I drink to you.' She passed him her glass and Peters had to drink from it. Resnais made his contribution.

‘To the success of the mission. I feel very confident it will go our way.'

‘It's looking promising,' Peters admitted. ‘I had a radio message this afternoon saying Logan Field had agreed to the demands in principle. It may take a week or two before they announce that Imperial's pulling out of Imshan. I think we've got it made.'

‘But that's wonderful,' Madeleine exclaimed. ‘What a triumph for the PLF – to shut off that oil supply to the West! It's such a pity no one will know.'

‘That's the whole point,' Resnais said. ‘It's got to be kept secret, otherwise the oil company would dispense with Logan Field and go ahead. They wouldn't care what happened to his wife.'

Peters had been waiting for them to bring Eileen into the discussion. He looked up at them both; he sounded quite disinterested.

‘If the deal goes through,' he said, ‘nothing
will
happen to her.'

‘I want to go into Nice tomorrow,' Madeleine said. She spoke to Peters. ‘Will you drive in with me? Resnais doesn't want to come and I'm bored on my own. Please. Ahmed can sit outside her door if you're still worried about that old business. Not that you need to be. Resnais is all right now, aren't you? He's got himself a woman.'

‘More than one,' the Frenchman said, grinning. ‘There's a very nice little brothel behind the Place Gambetta. Pretty girls and not too much money. Not that you need it.'

He shrugged and leaned back, smiling at them both. The girl was very good. He wasn't surprised by her deceit. He had never trusted a woman in his life, but he admired her acting skill. There was no trace of bitterness or hostility; the violent rupture might never have taken place; she was behaving as if their old relationship would be resumed. And she was leading Peters in the direction he had told her.

‘I've been Madame's chauffeur long enough,' he said, ‘while you and she were sulking. Now it's your turn to run after her. I'm going off tomorrow to fish. There's a man on the beach who runs a motorboat and takes people out for the day. I'm fed up with sitting around here.'

Peters hesitated. The atmosphere between them had been sour and suspicious in spite of the superficial truce. He needed to keep them neutral at the least. He disliked the feel of Madeleine's body pressed against him, and her scent, expensive gardenia mixed with female sweat, nauseated him. Everything animalistic which had once aroused him now chilled him with disgust. The oiled brown skin, the breasts bursting through the cotton shirt, its ultimate button deliberately left undone, the flashing smile and hot green eyes. He couldn't have touched her after holding Eileen Field. But he needed to keep her quiet. If Resnais were out of the house, there was no danger in leaving Eileen in the Algerian's care. He knew better than to open that door and go inside.

‘Okay,' he said. ‘We'll go into Nice. When do you want to go?

‘In the morning. We can swim and I can do some shopping. Maybe you'll take me to lunch?'

‘Maybe. If you don't want to go to the Negresco.'

‘Don't be cruel, chérie,' she said softly. ‘I haven't been near a place like that since I left home.'

There was a moment, after they finished dinner and Resnais went upstairs to bed, when Madeleine made a genuine move towards him. She had suffered considerably when he left her bed; pride and jealousy had corrupted her love for him into a fiery hate. She despised him for his weakness and raged against him for forsaking the political principles which had brought them together. But worst of all was the knowledge that the woman they had kidnapped, epitome of the spoilt, useless female of the capitalist species, had aroused feelings which Madeleine herself had been unable to touch. She had agreed with Resnais that Peters must be killed and she had spent the evening manoeuvring him into position for the Frenchman. But when the moment came she tried once more; the love which had not completely died in her was crying out for a reprieve.

‘I miss you,' she said. She caught his hand and brought it to her mouth; she bit his fingers and kissed the hard palm. ‘Come back to me,' she whispered. ‘Come to bed tonight.'

She had never begged in her life. She was an independent woman, mistress of herself, capable of withholding or giving her body as she felt inclined. She abdicated everything by slipping down by his knee and stroking it.

‘I want you so much. I still love you.'

It was an effort to touch her. An even greater effort not to move aside and escape the caresses that he did not want. He laid his hand on her head and tried to be kind. He knew as he did so that all she would understand was the rejection.

‘It's better not,' he said. ‘It had started to complicate things. And we can't afford that. We're friends and comrades now. We've got to be content with that.'

She got up and, to her credit, managed to shrug as if she didn't mind. He didn't understand the motive and he admired her self-possession.

‘As you wish,' she said. ‘I suppose a lot of women have made themselves look foolish over you. So I have joined the club. I'll go up then. But we're going to Nice tomorrow?'

‘I'll be ready at ten,' Peters said. ‘Goodnight, Madeleine.'

As soon as she had left the terrace he had forgotten her. She hadn't made a scene and he was grateful. It was eleven o'clock. Resnais must be asleep and he would have to give Madeleine time to go to bed. Then he could go upstairs and into Eileen's room. He felt in his pocket for the key.

He had tried to analyse himself and her. Sexual desire was an easy explanation. He had wanted to go to bed with her and this was the motive which had made him attack Resnais and reject Madeleine. Equally she was frightened and lonely and had conceived a masochistic hunger for the man who held her prisoner. It was all very glib and probable, but it wasn't the explanation. There was something much more fundamental than a physical bond or a twisted psychological urge. All the protectiveness in his nature, the single-minded championship of people in the mass, had suddenly narrowed and channelled towards one person. She wasn't the most attractive and certainly not the most beautiful woman he had known. But she was the only human being for whom he felt personally responsible. Nothing must happen to her. That was as far as he had allowed himself to go. Nothing else had changed. His beliefs were the same. His loyalties were unchanged. He regretted nothing he had done in the name of his political creed and he would do it all again. But Eileen Field was set apart from it. He took the key to her room out of his pocket. There was a mark in his palm. He had never loved anyone in his life since the death of Andrew Barnes. Not his parents, or a close friend, or a woman. Now he did. It was very simple and he didn't argue with it. He put the key back and went inside.

Upstairs, waiting by her bedroom door, Madeleine heard him cross the passage and walk on past his own door. She opened hers and saw him going into the room where Eileen Field was kept.

At six that morning, Resnais went downstairs and into the kitchen. It was fitted with every modern contrivance, looking more like an operating theatre than a place where food was prepared. He passed the stove complex with its eye-level oven and gleaming extractor hood and pressed a switch on the control panel. He then turned the extractor knob anti-clockwise and pulled at the cupboard fitment on the left. It swung outward. Behind it, in a space big enough to walk in, was a room stacked with guns and ammunition. He lingered for a few moments, examining the assorted rifles, revolvers and a selection of the latest small arms, including the auto-loading Armalite AR-IS, a popular weapon in guerilla attacks. He loved guns; they were said to be a phallic symbol. Resnais dismissed the idea as typical bourgeois claptrap. There was nothing wrong with his penis and he still loved to use and handle guns. He chose a Russian M-1930 rifle with a telescopic sight and a box of ammunition. He went back into the kitchen, closed up the cupboard, reset the knob on the control panel, and packed the rifle and bullets into a long case he had brought with him. It came from a sports shop in Nice and normally contained a fishing rod. He went out to the garage. There were three cars: a Renault 5, which was normally used for going short distances, a big Rolls, gleaming white, which was the Algerian millionaire's favourite toy, and a long, low-built, E-type Jaguar. He put the case into the Jaguar's boot, locked it and pocketed the key. He didn't want Peters taking the fast car. Then he went to the terrace, pattered lightly down the fifty rock steps to the sea and went for an early swim. He was eating rolls and drinking fresh coffee when Madeleine came down. He grinned at her and pulled out a chair with one hand, the other waved a buttered roll. He was in excellent spirits, laughing and joking, describing his swim. Madeleine didn't respond. She didn't eat anything. She drank the strong coffee, tight-lipped and sullen. She hadn't slept well and her eyes were tired. Jealousy was a bloody goad, applied by the memory of where the man she had loved had spent the night. There was no mercy, no trace of sentiment left in her now. She looked at Resnais.