Rhinoceros (2 page)

'Introductions,' Barford announced. 'I told you Tweed was coming,' he began. 'The attractive young lady he has
brought for my delight is his personal assistant, Miss Paula
Grey. Now, this is Lance, my eldest son.'

A forty-year-old, still clad in riding gear, dragged himself
up slowly. His arrogant face was long and lean but without
his father's grace. Clean-shaven, he spoke in an extreme
upper-crust drawl as Paula smiled, extending her hand.
He bent down, took hold of it, brushed his lips across her
fingers, a greeting she disliked.

'Don't often see the likes of you round here, my dear. I
suggest you spend a few days down here.
Plenty of empty
bedrooms.'

'Thank you, but we have to get back to London tonight.'

'And this is Aubrey,' Barford said quickly, glaring at
Lance. 'A little younger, a little politer.'

Aubrey had already risen out of his chair and was
smiling. The smile was warm, welcoming. From his suit he looked like a businessman and he shook Paula's hand,
not holding it too long.

'And this is our guest, Lisa,' Barford said with enthusi
asm. 'She has brains as well as looks.'

Tweed agreed as he followed Paula in shaking hands with a slim, very good-looking redhead who was gazing
at Tweed intently with a quirky smile, her blue eyes
seeming to look inside him. She exuded intelligence and her movements were swift and graceful.

'I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr Tweed.
Please come and join me on the couch.'

'That would be my pleasure . . .'

Other people were introduced. Several women were
looking Paula up and down with an admiration verging
on jealousy. Tweed sat down next to Lisa and they began talking as drinks were served. Paula tried to avoid Lance
but he took her arm and led her to an empty couch.

'I hear,' Lisa began in her pleasant soft voice, 'that you
have a difficult job. In a very special form of insurance.
To do with covering rich people against kidnapping - and
then negotiating their release on the rare occasions when
they are kidnapped.'

'Something like that,' Tweed agreed, secretly thanking
his host for using his cover. 'But what do you do? I detect
just the faint trace of another accent.'

'You have a good ear. My father was German, my
mother English.'

'So are you a linguist?'

'Up to a point.' Lisa hesitated, gazed at him. 'I do speak German, French, Spanish, Italian and
Swedish. What do I do? I'm a confidante. Silly word,' she said apologetically.
'People come to me when they have a delicate problem.'

She lowered her voice. 'I've got one now. Better not discuss
it here. If I could come to see you some time. Although I expect you're very busy.'

Tweed took a card from his wallet, handed it to her.
She cleverly palmed it, looked round casually, slipped it
inside her handbag. The card he had given her gave his name, followed by General & Cumbria Assurance, the
cover name for the SIS, with its Park Crescent address
and the phone number for outside callers.

She had been nervous, he sensed. She seemed to relax when she had taken his card. They chatted about various places in Europe they both knew. The blow fell very late
in the evening. It was after dinner and Tweed had a shock
when he checked the time as Barford approached him,
whispered.

'There's an urgent phone call for you. From no less
than Gavin Thunder, Minister of Armaments. Silly name. Found out where you were from Monica, your assistant at
Park Crescent. You can take the call in the library . . .'

When he eventually returned, Tweed kept an amiable expression on his face. He beckoned to Paula, then turned to Lisa.

'Sorry, but I have to leave now.'

'That's all right.' Lisa smiled. 'I also must go back to my
flat in London. My sister is guarding the
dog. Or maybe
it's the other way round!'

'Do come and see me . . .'

'Do you know how to get to Alfriston from here?' Tweed asked as they drove away.

'Yes. Head back to the A27. I once visited Alfriston for
the day. It's very old, has a lot of character. I'll navigate.' Paula glanced at him. His expression was now grim. 'Is
there a crisis?'

'Jeremy Mordaunt, under-s
ecretary to the Minister of
Armaments, has been found shot dead. Gavin Thunder
spoke to me himself. Arrogant type. I'm not sure why I agreed to his request.'

'Surely it's a police matter?'

'That's what I said. But after Thunder had rung off I
called my friend. Superintendent Roy Buchanan at the
Yard. He said the Minister had contacted him, told him he wanted me to investigate. Roy had checked with the Commissioner and Thunder had already called him, demanded
that I investigate the suicide.'

'I don't like the sound of this. Smells of political over
tones,' Paula suggested.

'That's what I think. And how does the Minister know
that it is suicide? The body was only discovered about an
hour ago. The local police called the MoA.'

'I suppose Thunder thought of you because you were once the youngest homicide superintendent at Scotland Yard, as it was called in those days.'

'Still doesn't make sense . . .'

They had left the Barford estate behind and joined the fast-moving traffic on the A27. The
headlight beams of their car pierced the dark and when Paula checked her
watch it was close to midnight.

'Where has the time gone?' Paula wondered.

'Well, we had a leisurely dinner before we returned to
the drawing room and chatted some more. The signpost
says Alfriston coming up, off to the left.'

'I was just going to warn you about the turn-off. We'll soon be in Alfriston. It has occurred to me why you did
accept this weird, if not illegal assignment. You've had two calls from Cord Dillon about the suicide of Jason Schulz in Washington. So-called suicide, according to
Cord, who even called you from a public phone out
side Langley. Which suggests he doesn't trust his own outfit.'

'This mysterious Mark Wendover he's sent over has
probably arrived by now. Newman was going to meet his
plane. We will know more after we meet Wendover.'

They had turned off the A27, were driving along an ill-lit road which was little more than a lane. Paula decided it was
time to lighten the atmosphere.

'You really seemed to get on well with Lisa, chatting
her up before and after dinner.'

'Very intelligent, strong-minded,' Tweed remarked, 'but
there is something odd about her.'

While Tweed was still in East Sussex, Lisa had driven
back to her flat in town. She covered long distances
at speed in her sports coupe. The roof was closed, the
heating turned full up. The moonlit night illuminated the beautiful countryside once she left the A27 behind, but
outside the temperature had dropped below zero.

After slowing to descend the curving road on the north
side of the Downs she pressed her foot down again. There
was no other traffic at that hour and on either side spacious fields covered with a blanket of glistening frost spread out.
It is still not quite the end of March, she thought. And I have contacted Tweed.

Lisa drove at a sedate pace on reaching London. The
last thing she wanted was to be stopped by a police patrol
car. Taking her usual precaution, she parked in a side street
near her flat. The car was her getaway in an emergency.

As she walked quietly along the deserted street to her flat
she turned suddenly to look back. No one was following
her. Glancing up at her first-floor flat window, she saw the light was on behind the net curtains. Helga, her sister, had not bothered to close the heavier curtains, which bothered
her. But she could hardly expect her sister to take the
precautions she herself always took.

As Lisa paused, taking out h
er key, she looked up again
and frowned. The glass in front of the lighted window
was fractured. Vandals? A brick hurled up? Tiger, her
Alsatian, would have torn the culprit to pieces had he
been able to get at him.

Once inside the hall, she closed the door quietly, locked
it, put on the chain. She was uneasy. Without putting on
the hall light she crept up the stairs, avoiding the treads
which creaked. What was the matter with her? My nerves
are tingling. Must be fatigue.

Lisa had the key to her flat door in her hand. As usual, she inserted and turned it quietly. Ridiculous with Helga and Tiger inside. She called out once she had closed the
door, not wishing to startle her sister. Then she realized
there was an ominous silence - normally Tiger would have
heard
her, come rushing out barking with pleasure.

She pushed open the half-closed door to the living
room, then froze. Helga was lying on her back under the
window, legs twisted from when she had fallen, a red
patch on her blouse over her heart. Beside her Tiger was
equally motionless, a large hole where the right eye should
have been.

'Oh, no! Oh, my God!' she whispered.

Lisa looked at the torn net curtain, at the two jagged
holes in the glass, at the scratches made by Tiger's paws
close to the holes. She felt faint, sat down on a nearby
chair, a lump in her throat.

'Get a grip on yourself,' she snapped.

Half her mind was paralysed by the horror while the
other half worked out what had happened. Like herself,
Helga, the older sister, had red hair, was about the same
height. The fatal shots had been fired from a window across
the street. The gunman had seen Helga - maybe standing
by the window after nightfall - had assumed it was Lisa.
Tiger had charged at the window, clawing at the glass. The
gunman had shot him to keep him quiet.

Lisa went down on her knees, crawled across in case
the gunman was still across the street, felt Helga's pulse.

Nothing. Tiger also was dead. She crawled back, only
stood up out of view of the window.

'Do something. React!'

That was what her employer would expect of her. Not to
crumble in an emergency. There was nothing she could do to help poor Helga. She had to get out of this flat quickly.
Alive. She had a vital mission. She was the Messenger. She
had to reach Tweed in the morning. To warn him of the terrible danger. That was why she was here.

She slipped into the narrow hall, went into the bedroom, blotting out the memory of the bodies in the living room.
She packed her things in a small case neatly but quickly.
Then she rolled back the
carpet, used a screwdriver to
lever up the loose floorboard. With mild relief when she
saw that the file of papers with vital data was in the cavity.
Grabbing hold of it, she stood up, slid the file inside the
outer zip-up compartment in her case. Bending down
again, she replaced the floorboard, rolled the carpet back
in place.