The Avenue of the Dead (30 page)

‘What do you mean, used to look at you?' he demanded, and saw the twinkle in the beautiful eyes.

‘Still do, thank heavens,' she admitted. ‘It's strange that Davy should find someone else so soon. But however dotty he is about her, I don't think she feels the same. I watched her; she's quite independent, although you can bet your boots they're having an affair – yes, they are, John, so don't argue – but I don't think she's in love with him because she's still in love with Ivan Sasanov. Which is a pity, isn't it?'

‘I don't know,' Kidson said slowly. ‘I should think Lomax is the kind of man who'll get what he wants in the end. If you're right about them.'

‘I'm right,' Charlie said. ‘She promised to phone the hotel, but she never did. Where are they, John?' And then she saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, and she sat up quickly and made him look at her.

‘John? What are you hiding from me? Where's Davina gone?'

He knew her too well to try and lie his way out. There was no stopping his wife when she was determined about something. She had that much in common with her sister. ‘She's gone to Mexico,' he said. ‘She thinks the Russian agent who doubled for Liz is hiding out there. She and Lomax have gone down to try and flush her out.'

Charlie leaned back against the pillows. ‘I needn't ask if she's in danger. Oh God, darling, why does she keep on with this sort of thing?'

‘Because she lost Ivan and the baby,' he said gently. ‘She has to wipe that out. With luck, this may do it.'

‘It won't,' Charlie said. She threw back the bedclothes and pulled on one of the expensive flimsy negligées she had bought specially for the trip. She went to the dressing table, sat down and began to brush her hair. ‘She won't stop because she's just like you, John. And Grant and Sir James and all of you. She loves it. That's the truth. If poor Major Lomax thinks he can compete against your bloody Service, he hasn't got a hope in hell. Now I'm going to get dressed and you can take me out to dinner.'

‘That's very satisfactory, Mrs Maxwell. Your heart and blood pressure are excellent. In fact you are in very good shape.' Doctor Felipe looked down at his notes. He was a tall slim man in his mid-thirties, almost theatrically handsome with big black eyes and flashing teeth. He had a charming manner which didn't detract from his efficiency. ‘You have no record of illness beyond the usual, appendix and tonsillectomy. And you may be just a pound or two over the perfect weight for your height.' He looked at her, and she could imagine the damage he would do to susceptible middle-aged women who were worried about losing their looks. ‘You can do that very easily here, without too rigid a regime. I think a medium diet, and a programme of exercises and some massage. You don't need steam treatments, they're too drastic for what you want to lose. And perhaps a relaxing stay with afternoon rests and early bed-times for the first three days. If I could diagnose anything, I would say you were a little tired. Would that be right?'

‘Absolutely,' she agreed. ‘We've had a hectic time since we came to America.'

He put his notes aside and said, ‘And why did you come all the way to Mexico? There are plenty of health farms in the States.'

‘We're planning to tour the country after we leave here,' Davina said. ‘It seemed a good way of doing everything on the spot. Besides …' she hesitated.

He waited a moment and then said encouragingly, ‘Yes?'

She gave the impression she was embarrassed, and then squared her jaw and said in a lower voice, ‘I've heard you have a marvellous plastic surgeon here. That's one of the reasons I came.'

‘We do indeed,' he agreed. ‘There's no reason to be shy about it – we have clients from all over the American continent. If you are thinking of a breast implant, or buttock reduction – I can't say I see the need for either, but if you would like to see our surgeon, Doctor O'Farrell, it can be arranged.'

‘It's my nose,' Davina said. ‘I'd like something done about it. Without anyone knowing, of course.'

He raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Mrs Maxwell, I don't see anything wrong with your nose. It's in very good proportion to your face. Your jaw, now – that is a little square. Why do you want to change your nose?'

‘Doctore Felipe,' Davina said, ‘you're not a very good salesman, are you?'

The smile faded. ‘I'm not a salesman, I'm a physician. The fact that I have to check on the health of a number of people who would benefit from a hard day's work doesn't change that. I prescribe our treatments as I would prescribe medicine in my own surgery. You don't really need to lose weight; you do need a rest. In my opinion, both as a man and a trained psychologist, you should not interfere with your face by altering any of the features. It will not be satisfactory and you could suffer trauma afterwards.'

‘I'm very sorry,' Davina said quietly. ‘I didn't mean to be offensive. I was just surprised – I suppose I expected a hard sell and I didn't get one.'

He had stood up, his notes on her gathered in one hand; the other was in the pocket of his white overall. She had the impression that it was clenched into a tight fist. ‘There are doctors in this clinic who will persuade you to have everything from a pedicure to an implant of unborn lamb's testes to stave off the natural ageing process. I am not one of them. If I was hasty-tempered, I apologize.'

‘But I
would
like to discuss this with Doctor O'Farrell,' she said. ‘He'll probably say the same as you.'

He opened the door. ‘I hope so, Mrs Maxwell. I'll make an appointment for you today. Have a pleasant day, and I'll see you again before you go. If you have any problems, I'm in residence here, just call me any time.'

She went along the corridor to Lomax's room. He had changed into a track suit, and she thought suddenly, he looks all wrong for a place like this. He's superbly fit and it shows.

‘You know what you remind me of,' she said.

‘Tell me.' He gave a wry little grin. ‘I know it's going to pay me out for coming here, but go ahead.'

‘You look like a member of the SAS in training.'

He came towards her and pushed the door shut. He held her by the shoulders at arms' length. ‘And you look like a beautiful spy.'

They kissed, then Lomax let her go. ‘I was issued with this and some swimming trunks and shorts. I thought I'd have a quiet jog and check the layout of the place. What's your programme?'

‘Medium diet, mostly rest for the first three days. I'm seeing the plastic surgeon today. The doctor is an odd type – there's more to him than meets the eye.'

‘Oh?' said Lomax. ‘In what way?'

‘It's difficult to explain,' Davina said. She sat on the bed, which was antique and crowned with fat little Spanish cherubs. ‘At first sight he seemed the typical smooth quack – good-looking, full of charm, and I expected to get the full sales treatment when I asked about plastic surgery. It's one of their biggest money-spinners here; clients pay thousands for a simple nose job. Instead, he told me I didn't need it. I put my foot in it by making a joke and, my God, he got furious! I could have kicked myself for making the crack at him. I got the feeling that he hates what he's doing here. He doesn't fit, Colin. Not under the surface, and the surface is pretty thin.'

‘I think,' Lomax said, ‘that we should re-think our strategy.'

‘You've already done that by coming with me,' she pointed out. ‘There aren't going to be any more changes.'

He looked at her and said simply, ‘Let me find her and get her out. I'm trained for this kind of thing, you're not. And if you're right about Felipe you've drawn the joker. See the surgeon, talk to him, find out what you can, and then please, my darling, leave it to me.'

Davina hesitated. She took his hand in hers. ‘You can't go wandering round the women patients' rooms – I can.'

‘All right.' He wasn't going to argue with her. He was going to say yes to everything. ‘All right, you pinpoint the target and we'll move from there.' He pulled her towards him and kissed her. ‘What did you say you wanted done?'

‘My nose,' she said. ‘And do you know what he said? The same as you said once – my jaw is too square!'

‘It's the sign of a determined character,' Lomax murmured.

‘If I say something,' Davina said slowly, ‘you're not to go overboard on it, will you promise?'

‘Promise.'

She pushed her hair back from her forehead; he knew the gesture well. ‘I'm frightened,' she said. ‘It's all so white and clean and welcoming and everybody gives you their big smiles, but I'm more frightened than I've ever been. So you needn't worry, Colin, love.' She kissed his cheek. ‘I shan't take any risks, and I'm very, very happy you jumped the gun on me and moved in too. I wouldn't want to be here on my own.'

‘You were never going to be, my sweetheart,' he said gently. ‘But I've learned now not to argue.'

The shuttle from New York disgorged its cargo of businessmen, government officials and visitors. The tall, spectacled man hailed a cab and drove direct to the Press Club. His entrance into the bar brought acquaintances crowding round him. The word spread that Dave Benson had flown in, and that meant there was trouble for someone in official circles. He didn't drink alcohol; it had caused him problems when he was in his thirties. A broken marriage was the first casualty and his career had seemed likely to be the next. Benson gave up drink, joined Alcoholics Anonymous, and discovered social injustice. The self-destruction was channelled into fighting what he believed to be corruption and oppression, and the self-disgust changed to hatred of the status quo. Dave Benson agonized over the poverty of the Third World and wrote blistering denunciations of the genocide of primitive people in Central America. He espoused the lost and the hopeless because he couldn't identify with his own society any longer. He needed a lance under his arm if he wasn't going to take a glass in his hand. He genuinely hated and mistrusted the system that governed his country and the people in it. He was also bitterly opposed to the oppression of dissidents and Jews in Soviet Russia, but less motivated to go after foreign dragons than the ones roaming the United States.

A veteran pressman bought him juice and asked him what he had come down for. ‘To do a story on a security cover-up,' Benson said.

‘What kind of security? Or aren't you trading today?'

‘I'm trading,' Benson answered. ‘How long has Ed Fleming been out of his office and what's the matter with him?'

The other man eyed him for a moment. ‘What do
I
get?' he said.

‘The truth,' Benson answered. ‘As soon as I dig it out. What gives around town on Fleming?'

‘Marriage problems. She's a lush. He's given out he's got a stomach ailment, but no hard medical evidence or statements from his office. And there's a lot of activity in his area, I'm told.'

‘What kind of activity?'

‘CIA,' was the laconic answer. ‘But you know Washington, somebody sees a new face at a window, and it's the CIA. I wouldn't bet on it.'

Benson drank his fruit juice and set down the empty glass.

‘I would,' he said. ‘They're setting up a cover job on this guy. We can't have crap on the ground when the President walks by.'

‘What kind of crap?'

‘We'd have to trade a little more for that,' Benson remarked. ‘I'll buy you lunch.'

‘Doctor O'Farrell, can I speak with you a moment?'

‘Of course, doctor. Come in. You can go get yourself some coffee, Anna, while I consult with Doctor Felipe.'

Jaime Luis O'Farrell was a very dark-skinned Mexican. His grandfather had come from County Monaghan as an immigrant and drifted down on the tide of poverty to Mexico, where he eked out a miserable life as a casual labourer and married an Indian girl who bore him eight children. His grandson owed his features and the dark pigment in his skin to the Indian, but his eyes were as grey as the skies over Monaghan. His own father had been bitterly ashamed of his Indian blood, and savagely determined that his own children should be educated to take their place in the world of white people. He had driven them with his fists and his feet towards escaping their background.

He had succeeded with only one, the dark-skinned son who reminded him too well of his mixed blood but was so brilliant that he won a scholarship to medical school in Los Angeles. At Mexico University, Jaime Luis had become politically commited.

When they were alone, Felipe said, ‘We have two new clients. A married couple called Maxwell. I saw the wife this morning, and I have Mendoza's notes on the husband. They make interesting reading.' He handed them to O'Farrell, who read them and then looked up.

‘Yes. They are an unusual couple, aren't they? He refused to let Mendoza examine him. Says he has come to stay near his wife. Wants to play squash and swim, doesn't concern himself with diet. It sounds reasonable enough. But why is the wife here? She doesn't need to lose weight. From your notes she's a very healthy woman. Tired, you say here.'

‘On edge,' Felipe corrected. ‘Very tense. She wants her nose changed. It doesn't need changing. I told her so, but she insisted. She wants to see you today. I said I would arrange it.'

‘Why not? It would be well to have a look at her myself. Did Mendoza say anything more about the husband than he wrote down?'

‘What you'd expect,' was the contemptuous answer. ‘Not much pickings to be had there. You know what he's like.'

‘A leech sucking on other leeches,' O'Farrell said softly.

‘I'd like to say to some of these fat pigs who come here, why don't you go to one of the villages and live with the people for a week or two? You'd soon lose weight!'