Assignment - Lowlands (24 page)

“That depends.”

“I am going to Amsterdam, too,” Cassandra said, easing the powerful car out of the burden of traffic to the main highway south of Amschellig. “You don’t mind if I ask you to accept a lift? You owe me something—after all, I did save your life yesterday when Erich started to fire and I knocked his gun aside.” Her eyes slid sidewise toward him, smiling, and she looked somehow at peace with herself and the world. “So much has happened since I last saw you with the police. I am a good loser, you see. Inspector Flaas has ordered me to remain in Holland until the investigation of the general’s activities is completed. And I do not mind. I am a guest of the state, with a generous allowance.” “And what will you do afterward?”

“I think I will manage, don’t you?”

He considered the smooth line of her hip and thigh and the proud lift of her breast as she guided the Mercedes southward. “Yes, you have the equipment,” he said. “You’ll get along.”

“You rejected me, though.”

“Both times with good reason.”

“But that is all over now. It is like a nightmare—like an illness, as if all the things I said and did with you were done in a fever, when I was out of my mind. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“I feel as if I were reborn today. I want to make a fresh start. I need confidence. When I am through with the police here, I shall go to the south of France, to the Riviera. Something should turn up there.”

“Such as a rich Argentinian cattle rancher?”

“Perhaps.” She grinned. Then she added seriously, “Do you know, I rather like the name of Cassandra. Should I keep it?”

“Why not?”

“Do you say this because it suits me? Because it connotes something evil?”

“I never thought of you as evil, Cassandra. I always—thought you were as much a victim of all this as anyone could be.”

“Even when I tried to kill you?”

“That was yesterday. As you say, this is a new day.” They were silent. Already Amschellig was far behind, and the big red Mercedes traveled a small, narrow side road near the shore. They passed through a small Dutch village nestled along the dike, then another. The clean, shining land of meadows, windmills and tree-lined canals had never looked brighter, Durell thought. Now and then the car lifted as if on wings over a bridge that spanned a canal or stream. The main highway was miles away to their left. They were out of the usual traffic route for tourists, he noted, and the villages they passed, with their small inns and hotels, were unpretentious and honest, not conscious of the tourists who seldom used this route.

He was not surprised when the engine coughed and the Mercedes hesitated. Cassandra made a small sound and eased the car under the shade of a huge old beech tree. Ahead was an inn, a few other cars, and a herd of Frisian cattle in the distance.

The host, a stout and beaming Dutchman, came out of the inn door as the Mercedes rolled to a halt.

“Ah, Frau van Uittal. You are exactly on time, as promised. I have the room all ready, very private, very discreet.” 

Cassandra looked at Durell with wide and innocent eyes. “Oh, dear, I seem to have run out of petrol again.”

Durell looked at the shining, sunny world and then at the blond girl who willingly waited beside him.

“I don’t mind,” he said.