The Doll’s House (17 page)

He said nice things about the way she'd done the drawing room and settled into the sofa beside her. They could catch the late news on television, she suggested. He thought that was a great idea. Then it was very late and time for him to go.

In the narrow hallway he held her face and kissed her lightly on the mouth. ‘Rosa, why don't I stay the night? I'd like that.'

‘I'd like it, too. But I'm going away tomorrow. So it's just for tonight.'

‘That's OK,' he said. ‘I understand.'

He put his arm around her. ‘You're a wonderful girl. I'm going to make it good for you.'

They turned and went upstairs together.

He'd gone by the time she woke in the morning. There was a note on the kitchen table. ‘I made myself breakfast. I'll call you from the office. Thanks for a wonderful evening. Dick.' He'd drawn a silly moon face with a big smile by his signature. It made her smile back. He'd been good for her; a thoughtful and sensitive lover who remembered to tell her how terrific she was and let her fall asleep in his arms. He had a reputation with women. Rosa could see why. He was nice and he had a lot of charm. She was very grateful for the night they'd spent together, but now it was morning and she had to pack for her journey.

She chose simple, elegant clothes for the evening, casual shirts and trousers. She took her few pieces of jewellery, some of it was very expensive. The legacy of James' first fever of romantic love. She dialled Parker at his office.

‘I'm going in half an hour,' she said. ‘I spent the night with a man last night. I thought I'd better tell you. I gave him the same story about a holiday.'

‘Good idea,' Parker said. ‘Feeling a bit nervous, were you?'

‘Yes, I was. How did you know?'

He had a dry little laugh, like a catch in the throat.

‘I'd be worried if you weren't. You did the right thing. Took your mind off it. Is he a boyfriend?'

‘No. I've known him casually for some time. There's nothing in it. I just felt like company. I'm fine today, looking forward to the job. I'll call Marian when I get down.'

Marian was the in-house telephone contact she used to report in. Parker was for an emergency.

‘Good luck, Rosa. And mind yourself.'

She put the phone down, looked round to see she hadn't forgotten anything, checked her bag for keys to the house and the car, credit cards and wallet.

As she closed and double locked the front door, the telephone began to ring. She didn't hear it and after a while Dick Lucas hung up.

‘I want you to go to London,' Harry said to Jan.

They were alone in Harry's house. The Pole looked up at him. He didn't say anything. He was nervous, Harry knew that. He hadn't done a real job for a long time. Making the contacts and getting Rilke to Geneva was not the same as setting up an operation.

‘You're the best co-ordinator I ever had,' Oakham told him.

He put a hand on his shoulder and left it there, signifying his confidence and his trust.

‘I want you to follow the route for Daniel, go over the timetable, see what might crop up to screw the schedule, re-work the route and the time where necessary. Make the contingency plan in case of trouble. Do the things you did for me when we worked together as a team. Bloody marvellous team we made, didn't we?'

The tension eased in him, Harry could feel it.

Jan looked at him. ‘The best,' he agreed. ‘If you'd been with me, they wouldn't have caught me. I often think of that.'

‘Forget it,' Harry advised him. ‘This'll be easy. You stay in a decent middle-range hotel, but nowhere near the Regis. That'll be crawling with Special Branch checking the place out before our target arrives. You don't need me to tell you how to do your job. Just remember, you were the best in the whole bloody outfit at putting an operation together. That's why you've got to go, Jan. Nobody else can do it.'

Jan nodded; he unclenched his hands. They'd been gripping nervously while Harry talked.

‘I'll start with the whore house,' he said. ‘Then work out the route for Stevenson and Daniel. When did they say he usually sends for a girl? Afternoons or evenings? The traffic will affect the timetable if it's between say five and eight at night.'

‘Let's hope it's at night,' Harry answered. ‘It'll be easier to make the snatch in the dark. But we can't bank on it.'

‘I'll work on both schedules then,' Jan said. ‘We'll need two cars. Better to buy second-hand for cash, Harry. We can dump them afterwards.'

Oakham moved away. He sat opposite Jan and listened to him with a mixture of relief and affection. He was all right, he just needed nursing along a little. He was getting fired up now with the details. Once a great pro, always a pro, Oakham thought. Those stupid bastards had thrown him on the dust heap after his release. He'd been right about Jan. They'd been wrong. As wrong as they'd been about him, when they sent him off with a lunch at the St Ermin's and a stingy handout. They thought he'd knuckle down and take it like a good fellow. Splendid fellow, Harry Oakham! Used to be a very hard type in the old days … Seems to have settled down quite happily now. Runs a hotel somewhere, so I heard.

Like fuck! Harry murmured in his mind, listening to Jan talking himself through the plan of operation. You shoot us, if you've any sense. You don't just leave us wandering loose.

‘When do you want me to go, Harry?'

‘Tomorrow morning,' was the answer. ‘Stay with it till the job's done. Then get the others rounded up and back here.'

‘When are they coming up?'

‘Give it two days after the target arrives,' Oakham suggested. ‘Then call me. I'll give a final briefing just before they go.'

‘Tomorrow then,' Jan said. He looked at Oakham for a moment. ‘You really have faith in me, don't you? I'm glad about that. I won't let you down, Harry.'

‘Of course you won't. Want a nightcap?'

‘No thanks. I'll sleep better. I'm looking forward to this. I'm looking forward to it.'

He went out and Harry Oakham poured himself a brandy. They'd worked out the plan as a team and it was based on Vassily Zarubin's outline.

Daniel had filled in his part, Stevenson had been told what to do and didn't argue with it and Monika had sat there waiting for her role to be fleshed out, with a smile on her beautiful face.

An Arab prince, guarded night and day by his own tribal bodyguards and the strong-arm goons of the Special Branch.

They'd search his suite. They'd double check the guest list. He'd bring a food taster with him, that was customary, to shield him against poison. He'd travel in a bullet-proof limousine with armed men on either side of him and a plain-clothes police car behind. There'd be protection when he gambled, when he went to see the eye specialist who was treating him for cataract. Wherever he went and whatever he did, he would have a human shield. Except when he was in bed with a woman.

Hakim's contact had given him the name of the agency the Prince used when he wanted a girl. Or sometimes two girls. He had one particular favourite. He asked for Denise, and Denise was collected by one of his cars driven by one of his Arab drivers and brought to him at the hotel. She was tall and blonde. He'd given her an expensive present last time he was over and she'd visited him most evenings when he wasn't playing roulette at the Claremont Club. The contact said that no whore ever spent the night. They left as soon as the Prince had finished with them. And returned in the same car with the driver who'd been waiting to take them back home. Denise usually wore a gauze scarf and modestly covered her face when she came and went.

He finished his brandy. What a coup, if they brought it off! He grinned, thinking of the panic in the Security Services. The cat among the pigeons. The sparrow hawk in the dovecot!

He went to bed and slept untroubled till his early tea was brought up in the morning.

Jan drove off after breakfast. He took a large amount of cash with him. He'd booked into the Kensington Gore Hotel under the name of Peters.

His first task was to leave his own car in a long-term car park and buy second-hand transport for cash. He would use public transport till he bought his first car. Afterwards there'd be no chance of the dealer remembering a registration number. Harry said goodbye in his office. Jan looked calm and rested; the old glint was in his eye. It warmed Harry's heart to see it.

‘Good luck, you old sod,' he said fondly, and for a moment they embraced. Then Jan was gone.

On the dual carriageway that skirted Braintree, he and Rosa passed each other as he headed for London.

The journey took under two hours; Rosa was a fast driver, and the roads were clear once she left London. It was a very warm day, with bright sunshine and a few white clouds innocent of rain.

She was feeling nervous again, and it made her impatient at the wheel. She overtook a slow-moving family car and had to pull in sharply against oncoming traffic. James hated driving with her; he said she was too aggressive. Rosa slowed down after that; she'd taken a stupid risk and she was irritated with herself.

There was no reason to be apprehensive. She was going into this on little more than Parker's gut feeling. It could very well be wrong. Harry Oakham might be exactly what he was supposed to be: a man with a violent past in his country's service, who had retired into normal life. There were dozens of examples. Parker had quoted one to her, playing the devil's advocate during their long briefing. A man renowned for dispatching enemy agents and some British doubles with a knife, had set up as a commercial film producer after the war, and died a respected old gentleman with his obituary in
The Times
.

All she had to do was trail her coat. The phrase stuck in her mind. She avoided the sequence that followed.
Does that mean I have to sleep with him …? I can't answer that. That's for you to judge
…

It suddenly sounded so improbable, driving down a leafy road towards the hotel on a beautiful morning in rural England. She'd come home at the end of her stay and think what an incredible waste of time it had all been. And laugh at herself for those silly moments of premonition, like the cold chill in her old room at the weekend. She slowed, seeing the sign, and like Vassily Zarubin, waited for a gap in the cars coming across her path. It was a splendid house. Wonderful red brick glowing in the sunshine. She took a long, deep breath, and pulled up outside the entrance.

A young porter opened the door for her. She pressed the button to unlock her boot and asked him to bring in her cases. She was met by the receptionist in the hall. She was a pretty girl with a welcoming smile.

‘Good morning,' Rosa said. ‘I'm Mrs Bennet. I booked in last week.'

‘Yes, of course.' Jane consulted her list. ‘You have a room on the first floor looking over the rose garden. Sign here, please.'

Rosa registered. There were a lot of bookings. Somewhere a Hoover buzzed faintly. Another girl was refreshing a big flower arrangement with a watering-can and taking out faded blooms. It was friendly, busy, supremely normal.

She heard the girl say, ‘Oh, there you are, Mr Oakham. This is Mrs Bennet; she's just arrived.'

Rosa's heart bumped. She turned and there he was, standing beside her, with three people at his back.

She saw him smile and hold out his hand. When she took it he gave a little bow.

‘How do you do, Mrs Bennet? I hope you'll enjoy your stay. And do let us know if there's anything we can do for you.'

He had dark eyes; a little grey in the hair, a military bearing, as if he were a retired Army officer. A mouth that had lines around it as if he had laughed a lot over the years. Charm flowed at her. Magnetism was a better description. And something else, which he didn't quite conceal. He didn't want to linger. He was in a hurry.

‘Thank you so much,' she answered. ‘I'm sure I'll enjoy my stay with you.'

She felt the presence of the two men and the woman who had been following him when the receptionist intervened. Rosa glanced towards them. The men looked away. They were in their thirties, she guessed, dressed inconspicuously; one wore a heavy moustache, the other had glasses. They deliberately avoided looking at her, unlike the woman. Provocatively, she stared at Rosa. Rosa looked into her eyes. They were pale. She found herself transfixed by the most chilling, hate-filled glare, and it so disconcerted Rosa that she took a step back, as if she'd been threatened with a blow.

‘This way please,' Rosa heard Harry Oakham say. ‘Just follow me through here.'

She waited by the reception desk.
I must have imagined it
.
If looks could kill
. The worn out cliché came to her mind.

She said to the receptionist, ‘Are they guests here?'

Jane said cheerfully, ‘Yes, but just for one night. They're going on to some sales conference. They're from Ireland. Mr Oakham's looking after them. We hope they'll recommend us. We don't get many business bookings.'

‘That's where the money lies,' Rosa lingered. ‘It's been such a bad time for everyone lately, hasn't it? And the hotel's just changed hands too.'

‘Yes, that does put people off for a bit,' Jane confided. ‘But all the staff stayed on and Mr Oakham hasn't changed anything. He takes more trouble with the guests than the other manager. Goes round every evening talking to people. And the assistant manager, Mr Pollock, does the same. He's very nice too.'

‘I expect I'll meet him then,' Rosa suggested.

‘He's just gone away for a few days,' Jane explained. ‘His father's not too well. Now, will you be in for dinner tonight? We do get quite full on a weekend in the evenings.'

‘I shan't be going anywhere for a bit. It seems so nice here, I don't think I'll want to.'

‘Gino will take up your luggage. And don't forget, if there's anything you need, just ring the housekeeper.'