The Doll’s House (31 page)

‘I've been thinking,' Harry said, ‘about what you said last night. About stopping this lark and getting out.'

Jan looked at him; Harry smiled a little into the sunken eyes, anxiety lurking in them like unshed tears.

‘You have? What do you think, Harry – can we do it?'

‘We can do what we damned well like,' Oakham assured him. ‘We've got a nice sum in Switzerland, enough to keep us both very comfortably for a very long time. We've got passports – they are not in the name of Oakham or Ploekewski, but they're absolutely valid. We can take off, collect the loot and settle somewhere quiet like Italy. Property's cheap; nobody gives a damn so long as you can pay. I think it sounds rather good, don't you?'

Getting out ahead of the Libyans with that money wouldn't be easy but he wasn't going to tell Jan that.

Jan said nervously, ‘Why do you want to do this? It's because of me, isn't it? Because I cracked up …' He turned his head away to hide the tears that filled his eyes.

‘No,' Harry answered. ‘No, it isn't. And I'm not conning you, I wouldn't do that. It's for myself. I've met a lady, Jan. Someone very special. She's going to be working in Europe; probably Brussels. I want to be able to spend time with her. Italy's only a couple of hours away by plane.' He patted Jan's arm. ‘So you see, I'm a selfish bugger after all.'

After a long pause the Pole said, ‘It's not like Peggy, is it? That's how you talked about her …'

‘No, don't worry about that,' Harry spoke firmly. ‘This isn't just letch. She's a wonderful girl, very bright, independent – sweet with it. There'll be no ties for either of us. Unless she wants them. That may happen but not for quite a while … I don't mind. I haven't felt like this since Judith.'

There was a silence between them then. At last Jan spoke to him. ‘If it's like that,' he said, ‘then it's right for you. Where did you find her?'

‘Right here, she's staying in the hotel. I was with her when you phoned that night. I'm sorry, old son. We went off for the day and stayed in a pub. I owe you one for that.'

‘You don't owe me anything,' Jan protested. ‘I'm glad, Harry. I'm really happy for you.' And then he frowned, remembering. ‘Daniel?' he said. ‘Any word?'

‘No,' Harry Oakham answered. ‘Nothing. I told Zarubin he'd called in to keep him and that little skunk Rilke quiet. But he hasn't. Werner's keeping an ear to the ground through the Embassy in London; no news from them either. But if anything breaks, they'll know. And Werner will tell us.'

‘You think he could have been picked up?' Jan asked. ‘That's why he hasn't called in—' He bit at his raw lip, and winced.

‘Maybe,' Oakham considered. ‘But if there's a definite suspect they'll let the foreign embassies know to reassure them. They're all under high-level security at the moment in case this is the first move in a terrorist campaign. The view is it's the Fundamentalists hitting at the pro-American Arabs and possibly the European nations who supported the Gulf War. Monika's Red Brigade background supports this theory. Though why they worry about the Germans God knows. They did fuck all to help – I better be on my way. I'm going to have a cosy chat at Croft Lodge. Tell you what – I'll get Jane to route all calls for me up here to you while I'm gone. Just in case Daniel surfaces. And don't worry. He's a cagey sod; he'll keep his head down till he's sure it's safe to get in touch. So you stay in here and stick by the telephone, all right?'

Jan managed a weak smile. ‘All right. If he does call, shall I get on to Croft Lodge?'

‘No,' Harry answered. ‘The less those two know the better. I have a gut feeling they're going to run out on us. So I think we may get in first. I'll come up when I get back.'

‘A spy? Here in the hotel?' Rilke's colour had changed to a pasty grey. He cursed obscenely in German. ‘And you said nothing?'

‘I hadn't any proof. I still haven't. But my instinct says she's wrong, Hermann. I can smell it.' Zarubin tapped the side of his nose with one finger.

He'd told Rilke he'd seen her watching the Irish; he'd mentioned the little flash of sunlight, and Rilke had exploded.

‘A camera! She was photographing them? But why? Who is she working for? God in Heaven—'

‘That's what I have to find out. I need to get into her room. She lied about the Adventure Trail; I tried to warn Oakham but he wouldn't listen. She's got a hold on him, Hermann, so we'll have to act without him. If she is a plant, then British Intelligence must have suspected from the beginning. If I can search her room I'll find something. And I know what to look for. Daniel has called in, so we're safe for the moment. But if I'm right about her – then the sooner we get out of here the better for both of us. Oakham is coming this morning. I want you to keep him here. Keep him talking. Give me as much time as you can. I'll go back to the hotel and think of some way to get in.'

‘If it was a camera,' Rilke said, ‘she may keep it with her. They're made so small they're no bigger than a box of matches.'

‘Unlikely,' Zarubin countered. ‘She wouldn't risk losing her bag, or pulling it out by accident. If there's a camera of the kind we're talking about, it'll be hidden in her room.'

‘If you find nothing?' Rilke demanded.

Zarubin looked at him. ‘I've never been wrong yet,' he answered.

‘And then what do we do?'

‘We ask her a few questions,' he said. ‘I'll give her to you, Hermann. And we say nothing to Oakham. We can't trust him. He's gone soft. Just keep him busy. And I will come later, if things go well.'

‘A spy,' Rilke was muttering; his fear was changing to rage. ‘So clever, so full of himself, and there's a spy under his nose!'

‘And in his bed,' Zarubin remarked. ‘I'll leave now. Don't let him suspect anything.'

‘I'm not a fool,' Rilke snapped. ‘He's coming to bluff his way out of his mistake and I'll let him think he's got away with it. You can leave him to me. Just get into that room!'

Rosa woke late; she was still asleep when her breakfast was brought up. The sun shone through when the curtains were drawn. She lay for a little while, propped on her pillows, thinking of Harry.

It had been better between them than before; surely impossible, but it had happened. And afterwards their mutual tenderness was as powerful as their passion.

At moments they had laughed together in pure joy, then fallen asleep locked in each other's arms as if they couldn't bear to move apart.

She raised herself and smiled in contentment with the world. The orange juice was sweet, the coffee perfect. The day was glorious. Like the future. She would go to Brussels, and he would follow her there. They'd be together; lovers, friends, bound by nothing except their love for each other. He didn't want to own her; he didn't want to be owned himself.

She got up, taking her time, pleased with herself as she stood naked in the bathroom; you look as good as you feel, she said to her reflection, and blew herself a kiss before she stepped into the water.

Harry was busy that morning; he'd promised her the evening and the night, and she could idle the day away. I was going to ring Jim Parker, she remembered, after she had dressed. Give him the bad news: Harry Oakham is straight. I've found the love of my life, but nothing sinister for you. So sorry, Jim …

She hadn't told Harry that Brussels wasn't a simple posting. She was bound by her signature on the Officials Secrets Act. If she ever did tell him, perhaps when her tour was up, she knew he'd be amused.

‘I'll drive into Dedham, wander round the souvenir shops … have my hair washed. Buy him a present, something silly, like a tie. Why do women always buy ties for their men, and the men never wear them because they're too dull or too gaudy? She laughed at herself; happiness was making her light-headed, foolish. I miss him so much already, and there's half a day to kill before I see him …

She was humming as she came downstairs. She said ‘Good-morning', to Jane at the desk. ‘Isn't it lovely again?'

‘Yes,' Jane smiled back at her. ‘You've brought it with you, Mrs Bennet – we haven't had a single bad day since you came!'

‘Good-morning.'

Rosa turned. It was that persistent man again, looming up beside her. She said curtly, ‘Good-morning', and started to walk towards the door.

‘Are you going for another walk?' He had followed her outside on to the steps.

‘No, I'm driving into Dedham. I've got to hurry, I'm late for an appointment.'

‘I hope you have a nice morning,' Vassily Zarubin said, and swung away back into the hotel. Rosa glanced behind her with relief. For one moment she thought he might have been crass enough to ask for a lift. He was incredibly thick-skinned; she'd conveyed her dislike to the point of rudeness and still he refused to be snubbed. She hurried down to the car park. She got into her car and started the engine.

Zarubin came up to the reception desk. Jane looked up and blushed. ‘Mrs Bennet's key please,' he said hurriedly. ‘She's forgotten her purse – she asked me to bring it down to her. We're going into Dedham together.'

Jane reached up and took it off the hook. It seemed quite natural. They'd left together, he'd come rushing back …

‘Thank you,' Zarubin said, and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Jane gazed after him. Lucky Mrs Bennet with Mr Oakham and that romantic Russian vying for her …

Outside the room Zarubin opened the door, slipped the latch on and came down immediately.

He handed the key back over to Jane, who went very pink because he brushed his hand against hers. And smiled at her. ‘It's not there,' he said. ‘I couldn't see it on the table. It doesn't matter. I have money. I will be glad to pay for her.'

Lucky, lucky Mrs Bennet, Jane sighed again as he hurried out and disappeared from view.

He turned left, skirting the wall under the dining room, and round by the rose garden, through the shrubbery to the back stairs. The service door was always open. And close by were the service stairs leading to all floors. He slipped inside and within a few moments he was at Rosa's door. He pushed it open and went inside. There was a ‘Do Not Disturb' notice on the floor by the unmade bed. He hung it on the handle outside and slipped the catch down, locking it. Then he began to search the room.

‘I want to know they've paid the money!' Rilke repeated it.

Harry gave up trying to placate him. And besides, maybe he should check.

He'd taken it for granted that Hakim's people had honoured their agreement; there'd been scandal and world coverage enough to satisfy anyone.

He hadn't been too concerned about the money. Just as Jan pointed out, it wasn't his top priority. But the whereabouts of Daniel was worrying him now that Jan was safe.

‘I want confirmation it's been paid over,' Rilke went on obstinately, his voice rising angrily. ‘You may trust scum like Hakim, but I don't.'

‘I don't trust anyone,' Harry pointed out. ‘On principle. But a deal is a deal in our little world, Hermann, otherwise nobody survives. All right, I'll get on to Geneva.'

‘Why don't you phone now?' Rilke demanded.
Keep him occupied
, Zarubin had instructed.

‘Because I can use the scrambler in my office,' Harry retorted.

‘It's perfectly safe to call from here,' Rilke said. ‘I have a right to know what's happened.'

‘What's the hurry?' Harry asked quietly. ‘Thinking of backing out?' Rilke wasn't fazed by the suggestion.

‘Stevenson and the others haven't contacted us; even if Daniel's safe, we know nothing about them. It might be necessary to move quickly. Don't tell me you haven't thought of it yourself!'

‘Bill is holed up with his friends, following my orders,' Harry dismissed it.

‘You don't know the criminal element in London, Hermann. Bill's one of the boys. He'll be looked after, so will the others. I've no worries about them. All right, I'll ring Geneva. Can't have you losing beauty sleep, can we?'

Rilke gave him a look of hatred as he turned to the telephone. Rilke glanced at his watch. He'd kept Oakham talking for an hour, exploring eventualities, arguing over the money in Switzerland. When he asked where Vassily Zarubin was, Rilke said he was working on a chess problem and would come when he'd finished.

Since Daniel was safe, Zarubin wasn't worried about their security. Harry dialled and asked for their contact at the bank. He gave the agreed code name for his own account. There was a pause; Rilke came up close to him. Harry said, ‘It has …? Good, could you repeat that please …?' and passed the phone to Rilke. Then he took it back and said ‘Thank you', and to Rilke, ‘Satisfied? I told you they'd pay up. And the joke is, I didn't even need to stir up the real dirt – about Denise – the Arabs don't mind homosexuals – Daniel said a lot of them prefer to bugger women …' He felt Rilke was due a kick in the teeth for the fuss he'd been making. Harry was pleased to see by his expression that the shaft had hit the mark.

‘I'll be on my way,' he said. ‘You can tell Vassily his money's in the bank if he turns up.'

‘Why don't you stay for a drink?' Rilke suggested unwillingly.

Harry shook his head. ‘No thanks. I've got work to do – I've got a hotel to run. Not lonely without Monika, are you?'

Rilke didn't retaliate; he had no talent for irony. He looked at Harry with a gleam of malice. He thought, If Zarubin's right, there'll be another woman here instead of Monika.

He just said coldly, ‘No. I don't enjoy the company of whores.'

‘I can imagine,' Harry said pleasantly. Rilke watched him stride away towards the hotel. Zarubin had been given enough time, provided he'd found the opportunity. Rilke poured himself a glass of wine and lit one of his mild cigarettes. If the woman was a spy – he felt a rush of fear mingled with rage – if Zarubin's instinct about her was right and he found confirmation in her room … Rilke pondered, smoking rapidly.