The Company of Saints (27 page)

Her earliest recollection was fear. Fear of the woman who had total power over her. And it was a power that only expressed itself in punishment. The crying child was slapped and pinched in its cradle. The toddler was locked in the dark. There was a particular cupboard that reduced her to whimpering hysterics. Her mother shut her in it for the slightest mistake. A dirty mark on her dress, a poor appetite and, horror of horrors, a fit of bedwetting. That produced the cane. Hélène Blond was beaten into seeming submission. And through the anguish of her childhood, her father came and went unknowing, while her mother loomed, the smiling sadist in the background, daring her to complain.

By the time she was sixteen her mother had developed terminal cancer. While the illness progressed she stayed quiet, daydreaming of the moment when she would find the woman helpless and, leaning over the death bed, put her hands round her throat and squeeze and squeeze. The moment never came. Marguerite Blond went to hospital and died there. Hélène stood by the bed with her father and said nothing. Did nothing. The intolerable hate festered inside her, unrelieved. She carried it out into the world with her, an ordinary young girl, an average student, a walking time bomb that was about to go off and blow itself to pieces.

That was when she decided to try meditation – it helped insomnia apparently. Another Lycée student told her about it and mentioned the institute. They were Chinese, and their methods weren't as other-worldly as the Indians'. She had been, and found it very helpful. At this time she was living with her aunt. Her father was away so much it was decided that she couldn't stay at home. The nights were spent reading until dawn, her nerves screaming for the sleep that wouldn't come. There was no one she could tell about the nightmare. Certainly not her aunt. She hated her. She hated her because she was kind, and all Hélène knew was cruelty. Her aunt was weak and easy to dominate. The girl despised her. She wanted strength and punishment, like before. To inflict on others what she had suffered herself. But not to sleep in case she dreamed.

So she went to the house of Ma-Nang and found there the answer to all her problems. The nightmare stopped. The threatened mental breakdown receded, and a different madness took its place. The desire to kill, to destroy.

She kept the light on for some time. She had been taught to rationalize when she felt afraid or disorientated. The resurgence of her mother's image was the result of her confinement, and the fact that she was at the mercy of another woman. But she had no need to fear. She was strong, invincible in her strength now. She had proved it once. She was France. Nobody would ever get the better of her now. She turned out the light and went to sleep. Her last conscious thought was about Davina Graham. What would she say if she knew that she had killed all those people? That would made her look at Hélène Blond with very different eyes.…

‘It won't work,' Davina said.

He pulled the pillow behind his head. ‘I thought it worked pretty well,' he said. ‘You're a lovely woman, but I wish you'd shut up. You've lost a bit too much weight, sweetheart.'

Davina looked at him. ‘Colin, please. Be serious, can't you?'

‘No,' he said firmly. ‘Not at the moment. I've made love and I'm happy. And I'm not going to let you spoil it. I didn't ask to come back, but back I am, and this time it's going to work, whether you think so or not. Let's clear one point first. You're not in love with Walden?'

She reached her arm across his chest and leaned against him. ‘No. If I was, I wouldn't be in bed with you.'

Lomax stroked her hand and twined the fingers in his. ‘Then that's good enough,' he said. ‘Why don't we start from there? Give it a real chance this time? Or are you waiting for me to say I love you?'

‘Do you?'

He pulled her close to him. ‘I wouldn't be in bed with you if I didn't. So let's call it quits.'

He didn't ask her the question. She waited, but it didn't come. If it had, she would have been afraid to answer. Did she love him? Yes. As a man, as a comrade, as a lover. But not to the exclusion of that other side of her life. And that was why she had said it wouldn't work. Because she was afraid of a second commitment and a second failure. He didn't deserve to be hurt again. That night she told him why she had broken with Walden.

They talked until early morning. ‘Tony thought I'd solve it all by giving up my job,' Davina said. ‘He really expected me to opt for marriage and forget all about it.'

‘He didn't know you very well,' Lomax said. ‘In fact, he must have been blind as a bat if he thought you wouldn't look into that story about his family. I thought he was clever – one of the bright sparks of private enterprise. But I didn't think he'd sell his country out either.'

‘It's not
his
country,' she retorted. ‘He doesn't have one. I've realized that since. All he had was his business and me. He doesn't even like his sons much. He was a sitting duck for Borisov's agents. And I was a sitting duck too, in a way. I trusted him.'

‘But not enough,' Lomax said.

‘Which was lucky, as it happened.'

‘So how do things stand now?'

‘I arranged for a leak,' she explained. ‘It must have been convincing or they'd have exposed him.'

‘Which you didn't want,' Lomax said casually.

‘No, I didn't. Believe it or not, Colin, he suffered enough through losing me. And I'm not being conceited.'

‘I'm sure,' he said.

‘What was the story?'

‘That I'd left him for somebody else.'

‘And it worked?'

‘I don't know – I haven't heard from him since that night. Which is surprising. I must say, I didn't think he'd give up so easily.'

Lomax lit a cigarette and passed it to her. ‘He's still a risk,' he said. ‘You'll have to do something about him, darling. Once on the hook, they never let go. You know that as well as I do.'

Davina hesitated. ‘He's on file,' she said at last. ‘Humphrey will have passed it on to MacNeil. They'll keep an eye on him.'

He laughed.

She looked at him in surprise. ‘What's funny?'

‘You are,' he said. ‘You're getting to sound like your friend James White.'

She moved away from him. ‘Don't say that. It isn't true.'

He drew her back to him. ‘No, it isn't,' he admitted. ‘Not yet, anyway. Give me a kiss or make me breakfast.'

She looked at her watch. ‘Breakfast,' she said. ‘My God! Look at the time – I've got to be in the office in an hour.'

He showered and dressed, and ate coffee and eggs while she checked her briefcase and made two telephone calls. He watched her and didn't say anything.

Tony Walden wouldn't have had a chance. She'd got out of bed and slipped into her second personality the moment her foot touched the floor. Bloody fool, thinking he could gamble with her career and then offer marriage as an alternative. He'd taken her away from Lomax, but he hadn't really known her at all. Any more than she had known him.

He was no longer jealous. Now that it was over, he recognized how it had eaten into him, giving a subtle bitterness to everything he did. He wasn't jealous of Tony Walden any more. And he was going into the first round of what would be a long, hard battle. To get Davina Graham back into his life. It wouldn't be easy, but he was determined that this time he was going to win.

They left the flat together. In the entrance hall he kissed her lightly. ‘Dinner tonight?'

‘Am I cooking?'

Not yet, my love, he thought to himself. But you will be. ‘I am,' he said. ‘Come to the Barbican. Make it eight – give me time to get my apron on.'

‘You idiot,' she said, and kissed him hard on the lips.

The arrangement to meet in Brussels had been made at short notice. Tony Walden's secretary booked him into the Georges V as usual, and pencilled in the name of his client in the engagement schedule. He was busier than ever these days. He seemed to immerse himself in work and trips abroad, and there was a noticeable change in him, which his staff discussed among themselves. He was withdrawn, irritable; he seemed loath to spend a weekend out of the office unless in an aeroplane. Everyone knew he had been having an affair for the past two years with the woman who had been his assistant for a short period. It was obvious that this was over, and this accounted for his changed manner.

There had been other women in his life. His devoted secretary, Frieda Armstrong, had known about the weekends spent at hotels in Paris or Madrid, the cheques that went to furriers and jewellers, the permanent suite at the Ritz where he entertained clients, and women friends. Frieda had been in love with Walden for years, and suffered miserably when he became seriously involved. She didn't mind the casual mistresses, beautiful blondes didn't worry her. A clever, independent woman like Davina Graham was a rival she couldn't cope with. Better that stupid, glossy wife.… She was sorry for him, because he was obviously unhappy.

The Belgian client was important – whenever they contacted him, Walden set aside other engagements. She said goodbye to him as he left the office for the airport that Wednesday morning. He looked tired and heavy-eyed; she noticed he had developed a nervous habit of picking at his thumbnail with his index finger. The cuticle was so sore that there was a rim of blood round the nail. She wanted to say something, but she didn't dare.

Walden arrived after a smooth flight. He was met by a hired car and driven to the Georges V. A beautiful city, Brussels. Warm in the summer sun, busy with tourists. But he didn't really notice anything around him until he was in his hotel room. As always, there was fresh fruit and a complimentary bottle of champagne. The hotel knew how to welcome a rich customer. He looked at his watch. An hour to wait. He lay on the bed and hooked his arms under his head. There was no painted ceiling here as there had been at the Gritti in Venice. Davina wouldn't walk out of the bathroom and come to lie beside him. He hadn't slept with a woman since he had left her flat that night. He had avoided his wife, who seemed poised to ask or tell him something – he didn't know which, and he didn't care. The house in the country bored him as much as she did. He could feel her impatience when he was at home. She had to keep her boyfriend out of the way until he went back to London. He found escape in the office. Work was a refuge, and his success was escalating. More accounts were coming, bigger and richer than before. There had been an article on him in the
Financial Times
, describing him as the most dynamic force in advertising. There was a photograph, taken five years earlier, showing a sleek, smiling man, exuding confidence. So much was still at risk, and the danger hadn't disappeared. He had lost the woman he loved. The emptiness was unbearable if he gave himself time to feel it.

At five minutes past midday, the phone rang. He answered it and said, ‘Yes, let the gentleman come up.'

He was a prosperous Belgian in his mid-fifties, over-polite, finicky in manner.

‘I hope you had a good flight over, Monsieur Walden?'

‘Yes, very good. I was surprised to get your message. I thought we had resolved the matter.'

The Belgian shook his head. ‘Unfortunately not. Your proposal to make over the bulk of the Swiss money to a designated account was well received. I personally recommended it. But there has been a change of mind. My friends are not interested in the money.'

Walden felt the sweat breaking out. Not interested in the money. What was this – the carrot-and-stick technique? Yes, we'll settle for that and you can sleep easy – but no, we've decided we want something else instead.

‘What are they interested in? And don't ask for the impossible. I have no access to information any more. They know that.'

‘Yes, yes, they do. We have our own sources of information, and everything has checked out. Your former friend has a new man. Well,' he shrugged a little, ‘not a new one. The one she had before you.' Seeing Walden's face he said, ‘You didn't know this?'

‘No.' There was a moment's silence. The Belgian seemed content to wait. ‘This man,' Walden began slowly. ‘The one before me … is it a Major Lomax?'

‘Yes, that is the name. He worked for the Secret Service.' She had given him an alibi as she promised. With Lomax. ‘If they don't want to take over the Swiss account, what do they want?'

The man's face was bland. ‘You must make contact with Miss Graham again.'

‘Don't be a fool! If they think I'd get anything out of her if we did meet, they're crazy! She probably wouldn't even see me.'

‘Please,' he lifted a smooth, rather plump hand, ‘please – listen to me first. Nobody is expecting you to get information. All you have to do is persuade her to meet you, and give her a present. That's all. Surely,' he went on, ‘surely you didn't part on such bad terms … after all, she left you – didn't she?'

Walden saw the trap. The bastard, he thought. If they suspect I admitted the truth to her, they'll smash me.… ‘She left me,' he said angrily. ‘I'd been away in Australia and she got bored. I didn't know quite how bored. I didn't know she'd taken her old lover back.' He tensed, his suspicion rising. ‘But get one thing absolutely clear. I won't do anything to harm her.'

‘Monsieur Walden,' the Belgian said patiently, ‘please don't think we are fools. Nobody would suggest that you do anything that could cause Miss Graham any personal harm. Our friends know that nothing would persuade you to do that. Every man has a price, but he also has a threshhold which can't be crossed. No one is suggesting that you hurt a woman you have loved, however much she has hurt you.' He smiled. ‘You must think our friends are very poor psychologists. Now, let us be reasonable and put this in perspective. You are in an extremely vulnerable position. You have committed a currency fraud that could send you to prison for a minimum of two years. You have used clients' money illegally. Your business is dependent upon you –
you
are the business, Monsieur Walden. The result of an investigation would ruin you financially and professionally. It would disgrace your wife and sons to have you serve a prison sentence. I am sorry to remind you of all this, but these are the facts. Now, all you have to do to avoid this happening is to persuade Miss Graham to see you, and get her to wear this.' He took a box out of his pocket and handed it to Walden. ‘Examine it please. Satisfy yourself that it is genuine. For myself,' he added gently, ‘I've never heard of any woman being harmed by a present from Cartier.'