Palm for Mrs. Pollifax (11 page)

“Interpol is in this,” she told him gravely, “and my government is in this, and yours, too.”

He shuddered. “That’s a bit thick.” He stared ruefully at the scintillator counter in his lap. “My God, I’ve opened Pandora’s box, haven’t I? You’re involved with my mortal enemies and I’m sitting here listening to you.” He shook his head. “Damn it, I wish I’d allowed you to think up that outrageous lie.”

“You didn’t give me time,” she reminded him.

“Plutonium … It would have to be stolen plutonium, of course.”

“Yes. Presumed to have been sent here.”

“Pretty damned clever sending it
here
.” He began to look interested. “Not a bad drop-off point at all. I don’t have to ask what your precious authorities are afraid of, of course, but they’re not going to relish your telling me this, are they? Why did you?”

She thought about this a moment, a little startled herself at her openness. “I find no evil in you,” she said at last, very simply. “It’s true that you have a somewhat distorted sense of morality in one area but I’m looking for someone with no morality at all. Someone”—she shivered—“completely amoral, without scruples or fear or compassion or decency.”

“Here?” he said in astonishment. “Among the patients?”

“Perhaps.”

He looked at her. “So that’s why you were relieved to find me only a thief. And tonight? What did you find tonight? Who was it out there?”

“I wish I knew. I wish I’d had the cunning to find out.” The memory of Marcel intervened and she steadied herself. When she replied it was casually. “I was downstairs on the ground floor when I found myself playing cat-and-mouse with someone in the dark. I reached the Reception floor and the elevator was standing there and so I slipped inside, planning to walk down a floor to my room, you see, but I could hear whoever it was running upstairs after me, so I was cut off and—”

“And popped in here.” He studied her face shrewdly. “If that’s your story I won’t do any more prying, but to be perfectly frank with you that little anecdote doesn’t begin to match the look on your face when you burst into my room. Do you think whoever it was is still out there waiting for you?”

He had caught her off guard; she realized that she’d not thought of this yet.

Robin shook his head. “You don’t have a poker face tonight, Mrs. Pollifax, I frightened you with that question.” He regarded her curiously. “All right, I said I wouldn’t pry but let’s proceed as if you’ve stolen the Queen’s jewels and the police are lurking. Can you manage a drop of eight feet on a rope?”

She brightened. “Over the balcony?”

He looked amused. “Yes, my dear Mrs. Pollifax, but don’t look so eager. Have you ever before gone up or down a rope?”

“Yes, once in Albania—” She stopped. “Oh dear, I
am
tired, I should never have said that.”

He looked her up and then down, taking in her height, her weight, her flyaway hair, the voluminous robe and woolly bedsocks, and he grinned. “I didn’t hear you say it. I wouldn’t believe it if I did hear it, especially knowing that Americans are not allowed in Albania. Who would believe it anyway, I ask you.” He removed a coil of efficient-looking rope from his suitcase. “Mountain climbing rope,” he explained, patting it lovingly. “The very best. By the way, there’s nothing to this, there’s no ledge at all on this floor but a perfectly splendid one on yours below so there’ll be something under you all the way. I’ll go first and check you out.” Over the coil of rope he studied her and frowned. “You know, it terrifies me discovering who you are, but it’s equally alarming to think your superiors may have sent you here alone and unprotected. I daresay it’s the most absolute affrontery to offer my services but if anything comes up—” He looked embarrassed. “Well, hang it all, I’m already indebted to you, and if you should need a gentleman burglar—”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that,” she said warmly.

“Oh?” He looked startled. “Well, do keep it in mind,
then. By the way, is your balcony door locked?” She nodded and he added a circle of keys to his belt. “Full speed ahead then.” On the balcony he tied the rope to the railing, fussed over the knots, tested the railing and glanced up. “All set?”

It was dismayingly dark out here but she reflected that this had the advantage of blotting out the garden four stories below. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Give me your jewelry case. Once over the railing lean out a bit, rope in hand, and then slide down and
in
.”

“In,” she repeated.

He disappeared and Mrs. Pollifax found herself hesitating until she remembered the lighted halls and the shadowy solariums where anyone could hide. She climbed over the railing and grasped the rope. Closing her eyes she murmured a brief prayer and let go.

“Good girl,” said Robin, catching the rope and guiding her in close to the balcony. “With a little training you’d make a splendid burglar.” He helped her over the railing, turned his pencil-thin flashlight on the door to her room and a moment later it stood open. “I trust you locked your other door, the one into the hall?”

She shook her head. “No, I thought I might have to retreat in a hurry.”

“Then I’d better take a look around and make sure nobody else used it for a hasty retreat.” He followed her inside and while she put away the scintillator counter he glanced under her bed, into her closet and then disappeared into the bathroom. She heard him swear softly and then he sputtered angrily, “What the devil!”

She turned questioningly toward the door just as he reappeared pushing a frightened Hafez in front of him. “Behind your bathtub curtain,” he said grimly.
“Hiding.”

Hafez stood very still in front of her
but there was no quietness in him; he was taut with anxiety. He had been crying, of this there was no doubt, because his eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks still damp. “Where have you been?” he cried despairingly. “I came to find you and you’d gone and I waited for you so long.”

“Behind the shower curtain?” inquired Robin dryly.

“No, no, monsieur, in that chair over there—for fifteen minutes—but then I heard your voices on the balcony and I was afraid.”

“But why?” asked Mrs. Pollifax softly. “Why aren’t you in bed asleep?”

He hesitated, looking at Robin.

“I think you can regard him as a friend,” Mrs. Pollifax told him.

Hafez looked doubtful.

“Try,” begged Mrs. Pollifax.

“If you say so, madame,” He turned back to her. “I have come to take you to my grandmama. She is awake now. Please,” he urged, “you will come with me quickly?”

“At two o’clock in the morning!” exclaimed Mrs. Pollifax.

Robin said flatly, “Nonsense, lad, Mrs. Pollifax isn’t going anywhere except to bed.”

Watching Hafez, Mrs. Pollifax realized that she had heard of people turning white but she had never seen it happen before. The color literally drained from Hafez’s
face, as if his whole world depended upon her coming with him and Robin, as judge and jury, had turned down his appeal. She was touched and astonished. Rallying, she said, “On the contrary, it needn’t take long.” Turning to Robin she explained, “It’s not as if his room is on another floor, it’s just down the hall at the other end.”

Robin said angrily, “Are you mad?”

“Probably.”

He sat down in the chair by the desk and mutinously folded his arms. “Well, I’m staying right here, I’m not leaving until I see you settled for the night. Damn it, that’s why I escorted you, remember?”

She gave him a forgiving glance. “I won’t be long.”

He added furiously, “If you’re not back soon I’ll turn the whole Clinic upside down. What’s the room number?”

“It is 150, monsieur,” said Hafez, regarding him with awe.

Robin nodded and Mrs. Pollifax gave him a last thoughtful glance as she gathered up her skirts. His attitude struck her as exaggerated, considering how little he knew about the events of her evening, and she wondered what caused it. “Let’s go, Hafez,” she said quietly, and heard him sigh with relief.

The hall was mercifully empty. Hafez tiptoed ahead of her and Mrs. Pollifax, who had only slightly recovered from her last venture into the halls, was happy to tiptoe with him. Down near the end of the hall Hafez stopped and drew a key from his pocket. Unlocking the door he beckoned her inside the dimly lit room. Somewhat nervously she stepped across the threshold and hesitated.

The normality of the scene reassured her. This time there was no Serafina, and the door to the adjoining rooms was closed. A small lamp burned at the night table, throwing shadows against the wall and a circle of light across the bed in which Madame Parviz sat braced against a number of pillows. She wore a rough homespun robe with a hood that shaded her face but even at a distance Mrs.
Pollifax could see an uncanny resemblance to Hafez. A pair of brilliant dark eyes watched her approach; in the dim light they glittered under deeply cut lids but as Mrs. Pollifax drew closer she was shocked to see dark shadows under the eyes, like bruises. It was a ravaged face, once exotic, still handsome but drained of all vitality now. Only the essence of a strong character remained, and a certain imperial air that she shared with her grandson.

“Grandmama,” said Hafez quietly, “here is my friend Madame Pollifax.”

“Enchanté,”
murmured the woman in a low voice, and one hand lifted to indicate the chair next to the bed. Her voice when she spoke was filled with exhausted pauses, as if a great effort was being made. “I understand you—paid me—a call yesterday. When I was—asleep.”

“Yes, Hafez and I have become friends,” said Mrs. Pollifax, smiling. “You’ve a very charming grandson, Madame Parviz, I’ve been enjoying him.” Her own voice sounded alarmingly healthy and she lowered it.

Madame Parviz did not respond to the pleasantry; her eyes remained fixed upon Mrs. Pollifax with an intensity that was embarrassing. “May I—ask a favor, then, Mrs.—Pollifax?”

The abruptness was startling in a woman so obviously gracious. Mrs. Pollifax glanced at Hafez, standing at the foot of the bed, and saw that he was watching her with the same intentness. “But of course,” she said, suddenly very still and alert. “Of course.”

“If I may ask—one thing Hafez—cannot do. A cable-sent from the village?”

“A cable,” repeated Mrs. Pollifax.

“
Not
from—the Clinic.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Pollifax, almost holding her breath now. “You’d like me to send a cable for you but not from the Clinic.” Turning practical she reached for her purse. “I’ve pencil and paper. If you’ll dictate what you’d like—”

Hafez said quickly, “It is already prepared, madame.”

And this was true: from beneath her blanket Madame Parviz drew a sheet of Clinic stationery and offered it to Mrs. Pollifax. “Please—you will read it?”

The silence as Mrs. Pollifax accepted it was heavy with suspense and she realized it was because two of the three people in this room were holding their breath. The mood was contagious and she heard herself read it aloud in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “To General Mustafa Parviz, Villa Jasmine, Sharja, Zabya:
HAFEZ AND I SAFE AND WELL LOVE ZIZI
.”

Having read it Mrs. Pollifax was struck by its normalcy and curious at its necessity. “But it’s not to be telephoned from the Clinic,” she repeated.

“Please—no.”

From the adjoining room, behind the closed door, there came an abrupt human sound resembling a snore; it
was
a snore, decided Mrs. Pollifax, hearing the sound move down the scale and then repeat itself and she saw Hafez and his grandmother exchange a warning glance.

“Is something wrong?” asked Mrs. Pollifax quietly.

“Wrong?” Madame Parviz turned quickly toward her and produced a laugh that was high and unnatural. “But—of course not!” Having managed this she leaned back exhausted against the pillows. “But—of course not, madame,” she echoed.

“She is tired,” Hafez said in a low voice.

The audience had ended. “Yes,” agreed Mrs. Pollifax and arose and moved with him to the door. There she stopped and looked at Hafez thoughtfully. “You and your grandmother are very close, Hafez.”

He nodded. His eyes were wary.

On impulse she leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “I like you very much, Hafez, and I think you’re an ingenious young man.”

“I beg your pardon, madame?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. Good night, I’ll go to my room now.”

She walked down the empty hall and entered the sanctuary of her room with a sense of relief. Robin sat in the chair by the desk, arms still folded across his chest. “Well?” he said, glowering at her.

“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath.

“You finally met the vampire grandmother? You’re satisfied?” A close look at her face and he sighed. “All right, you’re not satisfied.”

“It’s been—a strange night,” she admitted.

“You’re reckless,” he said. “Good God but you’re reckless. Upstairs you were frightened of the halls, pale as a ghost, and then thirty minutes later you’re tootling off on impulse with a small boy whom
anybody
could have sent. Anybody.”

“Yes,” she said absently.

“I get the feeling you’re not hearing me.”

“It’s just turned Sunday,” put in Mrs. Pollifax, frowning. “Where can one send a cable on Sundays, Robin?”

He gestured toward the night table. “You pick up the telephone, and provided the night porter’s at the desk, and providing he’s the one who speaks English—”

She shook her head. “I mean where does one go to send one personally, from an office.”

He sighed. “You’d have to go to Montreux for that, to a PTT building. The telegraph is open on Sundays—8:30, I think, closed most of the afternoon and open again in the evening. I’ll take you down in my car if you’d like.”

She gave him a skeptical glance. “At 8:30 in the morning?”

He climbed to his feet. “Yes, at 8:30.” He studied her face a moment and then said quietly, “Suppose you meet me at eight beside my car, which is parked around the corner from the main entrance. It’s a dark blue Mercedes convertible. Will you do that?”