The Company of Saints (25 page)

‘Tell me what they did to help you?' He spoke gently.

It sounded simple, innocent enough. Deep breathing, relaxation in small groups, therapy through music. And hypnotism. And drugs to help the process? Sometimes. They made it easy to concentrate, to listen. He could imagine how easy. And so the ideas had been implanted. Very gradually and subtly, and always as part of a group. A small gathering of specially selected pupils. First the myths were dispensed with. Religion in general. She repeated the old Marxist maxim: ‘Religion is the opium of the people.' In the case of the young Italians, Christianity was the special target – legends developed to repress the natural human instincts. All Christianity offered was a bitter tyranny. And they turned all its tenets upside down. Pride was a virtue. Sexual expression a right, in any form. Anger was energy and should be developed. Hatred was strength. Indifference was necessary to survive. And death was an end in itself, to be embraced at will. They were told society had crippled them. To free themselves they had to strike back. And mingled with the deeper psychological suggestions were a few clichés about disarmament and peace to soothe the remnants of conscience.

Modena listened, seldom interrupting. They had taken a sick girl and used her problems to pervert her mind until the sickness was nearer madness. She found the liberty, the peace they promised her. Drug-induced, filled with suggestions, influenced by group indoctrination, Elsa Valdorini had been recruited into the select band of students who were pledged to attack the enemy, wherever Ma-Nang said it was to be found. Among that group had been the young northerner, the chemist's son from the sleepy village in the Dolomites. God knew what inner turmoil motivated him. Now Modena would never know. The girl had stopped talking. She leaned forward, her head hanging in exhaustion. ‘I can't tell you any more,' she mumbled.

Modena got up, stretched his stiff body and yawned. ‘You've been very helpful.' She looked up at him. He felt very sorry for her.

‘You can still save me from that place?'

He understood now why the cell with the padded walls had held a greater terror for her than death.

‘Yes,' he said, ‘I can save you from going there.' He pressed the buzzer and a wardress opened the door and came in. ‘Take her back to her cell,' he said. He went out without turning round to look at her. He was feeling too sorry for her. It would be better not to see her again.

The staff at Anne's Yard were used to crises, but there was an electric atmosphere that evening. The night staff had come on duty only to find that their daytime colleagues were still there. And the Boss Lady and her assistants were in the office on the first floor, waiting for what? The rumours were inexact; they centred round an ex-agent, Colin Lomax. He was bringing someone in.

Humphrey didn't join in the excitement. He didn't believe in dramatic successes. Long experience had taught him to proceed carefully, and always to err on the side of pessimism. Davina sensed his reserve, but shrugged off the irritation. He was jealous of Lomax, jealous of her and of Johnson. It was a pity because it denied him the satisfaction of his immense skill at the job.

‘Tim,' she said, ‘you've made all the arrangements?'

‘They've got a room ready at Welton,' he said. ‘Everything's fixed up, including a car and an escort.' MacNeil at Special Branch had alerted the staff at the SIS training centre in Gloucestershire. A room was prepared for Hélène Blond there, with absolute security – to keep her inside and any unwanted visitors out. Welton was a large Victorian mansion, enclosed in a three-hundred-acre estate. It was a deceptively informal place, where a suspect would easily lower his guard. The atmosphere was that of a stay in a friendly country house. There was no sign of the elaborate system of alarms and television surveillance. Hélène Blond would remain there while she unravelled the mysteries of Ma-Nang and its killers for Davina Graham.

‘Humphrey,' Davina said suddenly, ‘I think we should telephone the Chief.'

He couldn't help showing his surprise. He thought he was the only one who called Sir James that.

‘He suggested Colin,' she explained. ‘He'd like to know what's happened. Why don't you speak to him?'

‘Shouldn't it be you?'

She seldom bothered to score. But he had gone behind her back over Tony Walden, and James White knew the result of his investigation before Davina told him.

‘I don't talk to him as often as you do,' she said, and noticed a tinge of colour creep into Humphrey's grey cheeks. He picked up the phone.

Davina didn't listen; she looked at her watch. Lomax had called at just after six. They should be arriving any minute.

‘He wants to speak to you.' She turned, and took the phone from Humphrey. Sir James's voice was briskly cheerful.

‘Good news, I hear. He's an able chap, your friend Colin. Well done to both of you.'

‘I don't deserve the credit,' Davina answered. ‘He did it.'

‘Nonsense,' came the reply. ‘You persuaded him back. Don't let him slip away again.'

When Lomax came in with the girl, there was a moment of silence while they all stared at each other. She was an ordinary looking girl, maybe less than twenty years old. Brown hair hanging straight to her shoulders. A pleasant face that could be pretty if it had a different expression. And eyes like flat brown stones.

Davina moved towards her. ‘Mademoiselle Blond. It is good to see you here.' Her French was better than the man's, Hélène thought. She had that air of authority that Hélène hated. She remembered the supercilious Irena Duvalier, with her condescending manner to her niece's unimportant friend. This woman had a different kind of self-assurance. Not because she was rich, but because she was powerful.

‘Thank you.' She made it sound like an insult.

Lomax had lit a cigarette and withdrawn to an armchair, where he perched on an arm. Out of the corner of her eye Davina could see his foot swinging backwards and forwards. She knew it was a danger signal. ‘You came to England of your own free will?'

‘Yes.' The answer was curt. ‘He said I'd be safe here.'

‘That's right. Do you place yourself willingly under our protection, Mademoiselle Blond? I have to establish this before I can authorize your stay in this country.'

Hélène looked round. ‘What would you do if I said no?'

Davina didn't hesitate. ‘Put you on the nine o'clock to Paris.'

The girl stuffed her hands into her skirt pockets. She shrugged slightly. ‘I want to stay in England,' she said. ‘Will that do you?'

‘I think so.' Davina sounded casual. ‘My colleagues are witnesses and what you've said has been recorded. A car is on its way for you.'

‘Where am I going?' There was a note of anxiety in her voice. The first sign of anything but dour hostility, Davina noted.

‘To a house in the country,' Johnson answered in his very confident French. ‘It's a comfortable place, like a good hotel. You'll be free to do what you like so long as you stay in the grounds. And it's absolutely secure. Nobody can do you any harm. I'm sure you'll like it.'

She didn't answer. She gave him an unpleasant smile. ‘I have no clothes,' she remarked after a pause. ‘And no money. No cigarettes.'

‘Everything will be provided for you,' Johnson assured her. There was a buzz on the intercom. ‘I think that's MacNeil's people now,' he said to Davina. ‘Shall I take the young lady downstairs?' There was a tinge of sarcasm in his description.

Davina nodded. ‘Yes, Tim. Thanks.' She walked over to Hélène.

‘Goodbye,' she said. ‘I'll come down and talk to you tomorrow. Go with Monsieur Johnson, the car and driver are waiting downstairs. And when you get to the house, ask for whatever you need.'

Hélène Blond turned to the door. ‘I will,' she said. ‘You can be sure.'

When the door closed behind her, Davina went over to Lomax. ‘Colin,' she said. ‘You're a marvel. How did you do it?'

‘You want an official report?'

‘No, of course not,' she said quickly. ‘Tomorrow will do. Just tell me how you did it. Tell me what happened.'

‘As I think I said the other day,' Lomax remarked, ‘I talk better when I've eaten.'

She answered immediately, ‘Then that's what we'll do. It's my turn this time.'

‘I'll go home now,' said Humphrey. ‘When are you setting off in the morning, Davina?'

‘Nine-thirty,' she said. ‘And I want you to come with me, Humphrey. And Tim. He's bilingual, he can translate for us without missing anything.'

‘Congratulations,' Humphrey said to Lomax. ‘Before I hear the official version, I'd like to make one comment.'

‘About the girl?' Lomax asked him.

‘Yes.' He hunched his shoulders for a moment. It was a funny movement, expressing contained repugnance. ‘I think we should be very careful. I kept thinking of a word that described her while she was in this room. It's not a very fashionable one nowadays. She's evil.'

‘I wouldn't argue with that, Humphrey,' Lomax said quietly.

Within half an hour the office was in darkness. The day staff had dispersed and the house was quiet except for the night telex operator, a security guard and the duty officer.

Humphrey went home to Ronnie and relaxed, thankful to be cosy and lose himself listening to the cheerful trivia of Ronnie's day. Johnson drove down to his wife and sons and spent a happy evening watching television, and thinking as he did so of the interrogation that would begin next day. His family believed they had his full attention. He had a gift for thinking of several things at once without losing concentration on any of them.

Davina and Lomax went back to the steak house in Brompton Road.

And in her luxurious bedroom in Welton Manor, Hélène Blond lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling with the bedside light on. She was safe. For the moment. But tomorrow another contest began. And again, as with her mother and Isabelle Duvalier, who had befriended her, her opponent was a woman.

Davina didn't ask any questions until they ordered coffee. Colin had lost the look of strain around the eyes. They narrowed when he was tense, as if searching for an enemy.

‘I've been very patient,' she said quietly. ‘But I can't sit through the coffee
and
the brandy. Now, Colin, please tell me about it.'

He didn't waste words. She liked the economy of his style. It was more like an official report than a description. But when he told her how he'd jumped ahead of the car and knocked Hélène Blond out of its path, she said, almost involuntarily, ‘Oh, my God! What a risk to take!'

He raised his eyebrows mockingly. ‘I'm not in a wheelchair yet,' he said. ‘I can still move. But it was a shambles afterwards. The bastards ploughed right through the group on the pavement. Even she was shocked for a minute.'

‘Which took some doing, you mean? I was amazed when Humphrey said that. Evil. And you agreed with him. Why?'

‘Let me tell you about her aunt,' Lomax said slowly. When he'd finished, Davina lit a cigarette. ‘We haven't had brandy,' he reminded her. ‘Why don't we go back and drink it in my flat? I've got a decent Armagnac. Waiter?'

‘I'm paying for this,' she reminded him.

‘I'm still on the pay roll. So I'll pay.'

Davina said lightly, ‘It's always the woman who pays, or didn't you know?'

‘Not you, darling,' Lomax answered. ‘You've got all the credit cards.'

When they went into the street he took her arm. ‘That was a dirty crack,' he said. ‘I'm sorry. Come back and have that drink, will you?'

‘On one condition,' she answered.

‘I don't like conditions,' Lomax said. ‘But tell it to me anyway.'

‘That you come down to Welton tomorrow and sit in,' she said coolly. ‘Here's the car. And since you're in such a macho mood, you can drive!'

He opened the door and slid in behind the wheel. They didn't talk on the way to the Barbican. Except for that one flash of friction, it had been comfortable, no, she thought in surprise, companionable, between them. And that was very different from their old relationship.

He drank a lot of Armagnac. She had only one glass. They talked, and the picture of Hélène Blond began to take shape. But the House of Ma-Nang didn't tie in with the iron-headed girl who had stood in her office. ‘There's nothing meditative that I could see in her,' Davina said. ‘The last thing in the world she seemed was any kind of spiritual freak.'

‘You're thinking of the Flower People,' replied Lomax. ‘With bare feet handing out flowers to red-necked policemen. That's a long time ago. I think our little blossom has been meditating on something very different from peace and brotherly love.' He tipped some more brandy into his glass, offered it to her and put the bottle down when she refused. ‘It seems to me,' he said, ‘that whoever is behind this Ma-Nang lot, whoever they turn out to be, must have a pretty good base in Russia itself.'

Davina had forgotten how late it was. Debate always sparked her off and Lomax had the knack of provoking thought. ‘Which brings it back to Borisov,' she said. ‘I've said he was behind it from the start. I still say so.'

Lomax grinned. ‘You're going to find that bloody difficult to prove. But I've got a suggestion to make. Why don't you stay the night?'

Davina got up. ‘You're drunk,' she said. ‘Why don't you get a good night's sleep and meet me outside my flat at eight-thirty tomorrow. We can drive down to Welton together.'

‘I haven't said I'd come yet,' Lomax said. ‘I've got a business to run. And that wasn't a proposition, darling. No funny stuff intended. I can't play the gentleman and take you home, because I
have
had a drink or two.'