The Doll’s House (20 page)

‘Oh, I am,' she protested. ‘But I'm a bit old-fashioned about some things, that's all.'

‘Thank God you are,' Oakham said. ‘Have a good morning and remember don't make a drama out of a crisis!' She giggled again and he passed on. She was a nice kid, he thought. I'll give her a raise next month. Always got a smile for everyone.

He had nothing to do for the next couple of hours. He didn't feel like going to Croft Lodge that morning. He wasn't in the mood for Rilke and Monika playing happy families, or for Daniel to sit there eyeing the woman's big boobs. He was carefree and in a buoyant frame of mind.

He'd been thinking about the attractive Mrs Bennet and the more he thought of her, the more carefree he felt. He hadn't bothered about women for a long time. Hadn't needed one for sex, hadn't noticed the clients one way or the other. But she caught his eye. She was different. What had started as a professional courtesy had become a very pleasant interlude. He allowed himself to speculate whether he might end up in bed with her.

She was alone and admitted to being lonely. Not long divorced. He'd stepped a little over the line with her, just to see how she reacted. There was a hint of diffidence about her that appealed to him. He wasn't aroused by aggressive women, and he liked to do his own seducing. Everything was changing gear; the operation in London was within days of coming to a head; the frozen-faced Maeve O'Callaghan had elected herself spokeswoman and said how useful Rilke had been, and how she'd recommend a few more to slip in for some basic training. Life was exciting, full of challenge, just like the heady days before he took off on an assignment without any guarantee he'd come back.

That was why he was thinking of Mrs Bennet. Risk and libido went in tandem for him. He'd been idle and eaten with frustration for so long he'd lost the urge to take a woman to bed. He walked out into the sunshine and set off across the park.

He'd made love to a lot of women, but he had only been in love with one. Judith. Peggy was an aberration. He wouldn't think about her. Only Judith with her bright hair and cornflower eyes had turned his heart over when she smiled at him.

Mrs Bennet. He said it under his breath. Thick red-brown hair, not golden, deep hazel eyes, not blue … A small waist he could put both hands round and squeeze to excite her, soft skin and a mouth that would taste sweet inside. Why wait? Dinner tonight. He'd never believed in wasting time.

‘There's something wrong here, but I don't know what it is. It's just little things. The way that woman looked at me, the odd-job man picking me up when I was out walking. I know it all sounds so vague,' Rosa went on. ‘They wouldn't be putting up signposts—'

Jim Parker interrupted. ‘I told you, you've got a good instinct. Rely on it. Leave the photographs at Ipswich police station. I'll put a call through now. They'll send them down to Special Branch. If there's a unit loose over here we want to know about it. Good girl, Rosa. That was good thinking. No sign of the Pole?'

‘No,' she said. ‘There is an assistant manager but he's away at the moment, something about his father being ill.'

‘And Oakham?' he asked.

‘We had a drink together last night. I think he's interested.'

‘I'll bet,' Jim Parker agreed. ‘Nice-looking girl like you on her own …' Rosa took a deep breath.

‘I'm scared,' she said.

‘Glad to hear it. Don't rush anything. Let him dangle a bit.'

‘You know the man I spent the night with before I came, the American? I've asked him to come down for the day. I think we should get into that Adventure Trail and have a look. I
know
that pick-up was deliberate; I wasn't supposed to get in there. We might see something.'

Parker hesitated. ‘This American – is he likely to catch on?'

‘No,' Rosa reassured him. ‘He's a naval attaché in London. Very nice, rather a playboy type. He wants a re-run of that night; I don't. But I thought he could be useful down here.'

‘Don't let him persuade you,' Parker's tone was firm. ‘It could put our friend Oakham off.'

‘I won't,' she promised. ‘I'd like to know if I was right about that girl.'

‘Sorry,' he said, ‘not my department. Not officially, anyway. If I hear anything when they look at the pictures, I'll let you know. Forget about it, Rosa. It's Oakham we're interested in. And be careful.'

‘I will,' she said. The line cleared. She'd called from a public telephone on the road at the end of the long drive from the hotel, reversing the charges.

Ipswich police station. She hurried back to her car.

She'd been expected at the station, ushered into an interview room and handed the film over to an officer in civilian clothes. They'd said nothing but ‘good-morning' and ‘thank you', and she'd hurried out. Jim Parker's telephone call had a fast car with motorcycle escort speeding on its way to London minutes after she left.

She felt suddenly hungry. She'd been taut with nervous tension, waiting outside in the early morning taking the pictures, parking off the road while she talked to Parker. Then the fast run to Ipswich with its bewildering one-way system. She found a little tea room that served morning coffee and cakes. It must be anticlimax, she insisted, but her hands were shaking as she lifted the cup.
It's Oakham we're interested in
. And it was Oakham that frightened her. It was an odd feeling, and she didn't know how to come to terms with it. She had never been afraid of a man before. It made her aware of her feminine disadvantage – the physical imbalance that placed her at any man's mercy. And this man showed no mercy.

Rosa sat for a long time, while the coffee turned cold and the milk on top formed a thin brown skin.

‘I've only myself to blame. Parker laid it on the line for me. He didn't minimize the risks. I went into it with my eyes wide open and I can't walk away from it now. And there's a good chance I'm wrong after all. Fifty-fifty at least. I may have over-reacted to that girl in the hall, and she's nothing but a secretary or PA in the company on the way to a conference.

The ground in the parkland may be like a bog in places, and someone lying out there injured could be a nightmare for the hotel staff.

And Harry Oakham could be exactly what he says he is: a man starting a new life, with a busted marriage behind him, just like mine.

She remembered Parker playing the devil's advocate, and his example of the wartime assassin who'd retired and lived a normal life with a respectable career. Rated an obituary in
The Times
. Parker could be wrong and so could she.

She might have no more to fear from Harry Oakham than an attractive man in the first stages of sexual pursuit. And she, Rosa, could surely handle that.

She spent the afternoon touring the little villages, stopping at antique shops, where she bought a china figure because it was something she could give her mother, and on an impulse, bought a bright blue summer dress from a boutique.

The Doll's House Manor Hotel seemed like a friend as she stepped into the big reception hall. She went up to the desk. ‘I'd like to book for this evening,' she said. It was the friendly girl with the bright smile.

‘Mr Oakham's already done it for you,' she said. ‘He left this message, Mrs Bennet.' Rosa slit the envelope. It was one of the manager's compliment cards. ‘I'm off duty this evening. Please join me for dinner.'

7

Zarubin went down to the bar early. He'd spent the afternoon working out a complicated schedule on subversive techniques using micro computers, had begun a program with a special input key and fed the basic facts about Rosa Bennet into the system. He ordered himself a drink, vodka on the rocks; he was irritated to find they only had one variety, when at home there were so many flavours, and waited for her to come in. When she did, he appreciated her choice of colour and clothes. Black with a ruffle of scarlet on the shoulder. No jewellery to detract from the smooth, tanned skin of her throat, diamonds gleaming in her ears.

He stared across at her until she looked up. Then he raised himself from his seat slightly and said, ‘Good-evening.'

‘Good-evening,' she had a pleasant voice, but there was no invitation in it, or in the way she opened a magazine and started reading. The barman approached her.

‘Champagne, madam? Mr Oakham's compliments.'

‘No, thank you,' Rosa shook her head. ‘Could I have a whisky instead with soda and ice?'

‘Certainly,' the barman withdrew. The old man was making his mark all right. Champagne last night, same again on order, and dinner for two.

The staff were riveted. Even the restaurant manager had raised an eyebrow at the idea of the manager dining alone with one of the guests. Hotel owners could do what they liked, and often it was good policy to join important clients. But tête-à-têtes were not recommended. Jane, at reception, had been giggling over it ever since this morning.

Vassily Zarubin got up. He walked over to where Rosa was sitting and said, ‘Excuse me, are you reading the evening paper?'

‘No,' Rosa handed it to him. ‘Please take it.'

‘Thank you.' She picked up the magazine again. He went back to his place. The whisky arrived, and a few minutes later Oakham walked into the bar. He flashed her a quick smile and went up to the man who had tried to get into conversation with her.

‘Good-evening, sir. Everything all right?'

‘Can you order some pepper vodka?'

‘I'm sure we can. Is the work going well?'

‘Thank you, yes.'

‘I hope you enjoy your dinner. Excuse me.' He came and sat down beside Rosa. ‘I ordered champagne for you, Mrs Bennet.'

‘I know. I changed it to whisky.'

‘Don't you like bubbly?' It was such an odd, old-fashioned word. It dated him.

‘I'm afraid I have to drink quite a lot of it socially and whisky makes a change.'

He wore a well-cut dark suit and a silk tie; his shoes were polished like a guardsman's on parade.

‘Who is that man over there?' Rosa asked him. She wished she hadn't said that about drinking champagne socially. It gave him a chance to question her about herself.

‘V.S. Zarubin,' Oakham told her. ‘Haven't you heard of him? He's a famous Russian dissident author. He's here finishing his book on that playwright chap who is president of Czechoslovakia. Insists on peace and quiet and rattles away on his WP all day. Only comes down to eat. Why?'

Rosa dismissed it. ‘Oh nothing. He tried to pick me up, or I think he did. I must have been wrong.'

‘It says a lot for you.' Harry Oakham didn't flicker. ‘Normally he's pretty dour, never mixes with anyone. I never realized that Russians were so morose. It's all those old movies, where they rush about doing Cossack dances and playing the balalaika – judging by him they're not a barrel of laughs. Why do you have to drink champagne socially – is your husband in the wine trade?'

‘Not my husband,' Rosa said it sharper than she meant to. ‘I'm in the Foreign Office. I was talking about embassy receptions.' Never lie when it's safe to tell the truth. That had been hammered into her by Parker. You'll trip yourself up if you do.

‘Good God,' he said. ‘Are you a very high-powered diplomat?'

‘Not yet, but I hope to be.'

‘I'm overawed,' he said gently.

‘Don't be. It's no big deal. But I think I'm moving in the right direction. That's why I came here, I needed time to clear the cobwebs out of my brain and get my priorities right.'

‘It seems to me it must have been your ex that had the cobwebs,' Harry remarked. ‘Did it hurt? The break-up, I mean. You don't mind if I ask?'

‘I don't mind now,' she admitted. ‘Yes, it did hurt. It hurts like hell when you've been breaking your neck to keep a balance between your husband and your job, and he walks out for someone else.' She didn't mean to say it but it came out, like a buried thorn piercing the skin. ‘She was pregnant. That's what got him.' There was an awkward pause after she said it.

‘Why don't we go to the table,' Oakham suggested. ‘We can look at the menu there.'

‘Can I really be off-duty?' He leaned a little towards her.

‘I thought you were,' Rosa said. He'd drawn her out and she hated herself for letting it happen.

‘Actually Saturday is our busiest night,' he admitted. ‘I didn't want to wait till Wednesday before having dinner with you, so I took the time off. I haven't taken anyone out since I left my wife. I hope you don't think I'm being pushy.'

‘I thought your wife left you,' she said.

‘I offered her all my worldly goods, not that there was all that much, so I gave her a push, if you like. We hadn't been happy for years and it was time to make a break. Neither of us shed tears.' She almost believed him. ‘Let's choose what we want to eat, and I'll pick a nice wine to go with it. You're so easy to talk to, Mrs Bennet. I could end up telling you my whole life story. Pretty boring stuff unfortunately.'

‘I don't believe that,' she answered. It had to be done. ‘Why don't you call me Rosa? You
are
off-duty—'

‘It suits you. It's unusual. Is it short for Rosemary?'

‘Rosamund,' she corrected. ‘My father loved old-fashioned historical names. Everyone calls me Rosa.'

‘Your father sounds rather nice. Tell me about him.' He took the menu while she talked, leaned back, didn't open it immediately.

When she had finished he said, ‘I was christened Henry Arthur George.'

‘Good Lord! That is a mouthful—'

‘After my father and grandfather and some godfather who coughed up a silver mug and was never heard from again. So I ended up as Harry. Now let's do some serious reading.'

It was one of the best dinners she had ever eaten. The room was splendid, with fine panelling and subdued lighting. Candles shed little pools of light on the tables; the dishes came and went and the marvellous wines he chose were poured and followed by liqueurs and coffee.