The Old Vengeful (24 page)

But if he knew it he wasn’t demonstrating it now, as he had done at Coucy le Château, Elizabeth observed: if anything, he looked tired and rather worried, and somehow younger because of that, not older.

“The long and short of which is that we have a name and an address in Paris—and an appointment for 11 o’clock: Professor Louis Belperron, of the Sorbonne, editor of the
Annales historiques de l
’
Empire
, and author of books too numerous to mention—not to add innumerable contributions to the
Revue des études napoleoniénnes
, and so on and so forth.”

“Paul, that’s wonderful—“ Only his lugubrious expression cautioned her. “—isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s wonderful.” Whatever it was, said his face, it wasn’t wonderful.

“Then … what’s the matter?”

“The matter, Elizabeth … is that I spoke to David Audley last of all, after Bertrand and Del Andrew … that’s the matter.”

Elizabeth frowned. “But why … ? Doesn’t he want us to see … Professor Belperron?” A spark of anger kindled suddenly on Paul’s behalf. “Isn’t he pleased with you—with us?”

“Pleased? No, he’s not pleased—he’s bloody
delighted!!
He’s so damn pleased he’s busy galvanising his Professor Wilder on the
Vengeful
back in England … and probably half the research section as well, for all I know.” He drew a deep breath. “He’s so pleased that I’ve got to send Aske to Charles de Gaulle Airport tomorrow afternoon to collect him, so he can tell us in person how pleased he is … among other things.”

“He’s coming to France?”

“And then we’re all going on a jaunt to Lautenbourg—‘Tell Aske to book rooms in a Michelin-recommended hotel—somewhere where the food’s good’ … sweet Jesus Christ! Where the food’s good!”

In any other circumstances the prospect of actually visiting the scene of the great escape would have overjoyed her, but Paul’s misery was infectious. “That’s bad, is it?”

“Yes, it’s bad.” He fell silent for a moment. “You don’t know David Audley as I do.”

He made the prospect of Audley daunting. And yet at the same time the memory of that big man, with his strange handsome-ugly face and rough-gentle manner, excited her intensely: wherever Audley was, that would be the centre of things and the answers would be there.

“I know he likes you, Paul.” She tried to reassure him and to make amends for her treachery. “In fact, I think he’s fond of you, even.”

For an instant he stared at her incredulously, and then his expression blanked out; and she knew, but too late, that she’d said exactly the wrong thing.

“If I may say so, Elizabeth … that’s a damn silly remark—“

“I mean—I meant, he
respects
you—“

“I don’t care if he worships the ground I tread on.” He bulldozed over her. “What
I
mean is what I said last night, only more so: I think the Russians are making a fool of him. The difference is that
now
I’m not just guessing. Because now the evidence points that way.”

“What evidence?”

“What evidence …” He got up, and walked round the end of the bed towards the open window. And then stopped suddenly. “Put the light out, Elizabeth.”

She fumbled for the switch. “What is it, Paul?”

“Nothing. Just a precaution.” He waited, and she guessed that he was accustoming his eyes to the darkness. “In the field you take precautions, that’s all. And this is the field, Elizabeth—‘some foreign field’ … but that’s not what I intend it to be, for either of us … so, as of now, we take the proper precautions—okay? I should have done it before … I’m getting careless, like Novikov … or maybe not like Novikov …”

“Yes, Paul.” Excitement was only a thin skin on top of fear, she realised: “the field” was no more than an abbreviation of “the battlefield”, where men died.

“What evidence.” He was a silhouette against a skyline faintly lightened by the illumination of the old city. “It was always on the cards that they’d stage a diversion of some kind. What I don’t know is whether you were planned to be that diversion, or whether they’re bright enough—and quick enough—to take advantage of you when you turned up out of the blue … I just don’t know …”

He was speaking as much to himself as to her, and she didn’t dare disturb his line of thought. Because this was something she’d never seen before—never heard, never even remotely imagined: this was a man struggling with a problem which involved not only his comfort, or his business—his job, his livelihood, his income … even the security of his country, which he was paid to safeguard—but
his life
—

And her life too?

“If there was a Russian Audley running the operation I’d guess this is pure opportunism—that they didn’t know about you, but you fitted the bill so perfectly that they dropped everything else in preference for you—in preference for the old
Vengeful
.”

It was strange, but she wasn’t cold any more. The thought of Father, and what he had done, had chilled her; but now she was aware of the warm darkness all around her, and of the slightest prickle of sweat at her throat.

The silhouette changed, and she was aware that he had turned back inwards, to face her. “Guessing isn’t evidence—if that’s what you are about to say—I’m aware of that. But I’m not guessing when I say they have
Audley-watchers
over there, on the other side. I could even give you a name—the name of one of them whom we know about, if it would mean anything to you. And he’s a scholar, like Audley … an archaeologist, not an historian, but a Russian Audley, all the same.” He nodded at her. “He’d know very well how obsessed David is with the past. And if he knows Audley’s in charge on this side … and that’s a reasonable assumption by now … then the evidence starts to pile up.”

She wanted to say
What evidence
? again, but instinct ruled against it.

“Contemporaneity, Elizabeth—that’s the first piece: unconnected things which happen at the same time, and then influence each other. Your father died … and Lippy died—and they were both old men, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary … And Ray Tuck was in trouble, and Danny Kahn was greedy—that’s nothing special, either. But all those were their contemporaneous events, not ours, do you see?”

Instinct still silenced her.

“Your
Vengeful
, let’s say … But there was also
our Vengeful
—or what David Audley made of our ‘Vengeful’—really
their
‘Project Vengeful’, which I’m inclined to think now has nothing to do with yours, Elizabeth. Nothing whatsoever.”

Instinct snapped. “But, Paul, if—“

“He made a mistake—“ he overrode her “—or, not quite a mistake … He wanted this job for himself so badly … or he didn’t want someone else to get it … that he used your
Vengeful
to get it.” The silhouette nodded at her again. “And maybe it was that someone else who put out the word that the great David Audley was at work—“ shrug”—or maybe I’m doing
him
an injustice … maybe the Russians spotted me sniffing about—that’s probably more like it. Because if I’ve added up two and two correctly I’m the one who hasn’t been so clever. And that’s what worries me, Elizabeth dear—if this is going wrong, then I’m to blame too. And I’ve got enough on my conscience already … like, sometimes I feel too much like the Angel of Death flying over the battlefield—“

“
Paul
!” His voice had become too elaborately casual for conviction when she could sense the mixture of fear and guilt emanating from him. “If what you say is true—what about that Russian who was watching me?”

“Novikov?” The voice cracked. “Elizabeth—Novikov is the best bit of evidence of all! Novikov is a pro—a top-flight pro!”

“Yes? So what, Paul? You spotted him—“

“I spotted him? Damn it, Elizabeth—
even you
spotted him! Doesn’t that tell you anything? Christ! Do you remember when that little bugger Aske said ‘No one follows me when I don’t want him to’, or something like? Do you think anyone spots Aske on his tail when he doesn’t want him to?” Paul momentarily lost his cool. “Christ, Elizabeth! Novikov’s ten times the man Aske will ever be—if he didn’t want to be seen, neither of us would have seen him, don’t you understand?”

This time it was the mixture of his anger and his self-contempt which silenced her.

“He followed
me
, Elizabeth—and I didn’t see him, because he’s better than me. But then he let me see him—and from that moment the old
Vengeful
was afloat again, with a vengeance—can you at least understand
that
? David Audley may have baited the hook himself, but it was Novikov who made the sinker bob up and down—and we all swallowed it, hook, line and sinker. And now it’s stuck in my throat, and I can’t bloody well dislodge it—that’s what I’m saying!”

She could see most of it at last; part of it darkly, or indistinctly, because it was out of her experience; but she could see the loom of it through the half-light and the mist, like some great three-decker bearing down on her with its gun-ports open and its guns run out and double-shotted, ready to blow her out of the water with one broadside.

“But… But haven’t you told David Audley all this, Paul?”

“Oh … I’ve told him, Elizabeth—I’ve told him!” He paused. “I told him last night, when I was guessing—remember?—and he told me to obey orders—remember?” Another pause. “And I told him tonight, too … And he pulled rank on me—he told me to do my
f
ffing
duty—and David only swears like that when he intends to, when he doesn’t want any argument, and there isn’t going to
be
any argument… But what I ought to be doing is pulling you out of here tonight, and running like hell for safety—that’s what I ought to be doing! Because there’s been something wrong with this operation from the start. And I don’t like it.”

His vehemence frightened her into silence.

“Because if I’m right the Russians will be doing something pretty soon—something to make us believe we’re on the right track, to confirm what Novikov did—anything to keep us from looking in the right direction … That’s why you must keep your door locked, Elizabeth—do you see?”

Now she wasn’t merely warm, with that delicate trickle at her throat: she was clammy with his fear, which was more infectious than his unhappiness.

“Have you told this to Humphrey Aske, Paul?”

He drew in a breath. “I haven’t told him that I think David Audley’s making a fool of himself—and us … if that’s what you mean. But I’ve put him on second watch, keeping an eye on your door and mine from three-thirty onwards. And it’s ‘Stand-to’ for both of us at seven—“ his voice rearranged itself as he spoke, as though he had belatedly realised the effect he was having on her “—don’t worry, dear—we’ll watch over you between us. You can sleep soundly tonight.”

That was one thing she wouldn’t be doing. But now everything was unreal, and the prospect of what sleep might bring was as scary as not-sleeping.

“I’ll go, then.” The silhouette moved from the frame of the window into darkness.

“No!” The thought of being alone panicked her.

“You’ll be quite safe. We’ll be watching—I told you.”

“No.” She could see the outline of him clearly, dark against almost-dark, at the end of the bed. “Don’t go.”

Silence.

“Very well. I’ll stay here … there’s a chair here somewhere—“ the darker outline moved as he felt around blindly “—you go to sleep, Elizabeth.”

“No—I didn’t mean that—“ But what did she mean? And if he did stay she would snore, and he would hear her snore “—I mean … couldn’t you be wrong, Paul?” But that wasn’t what she meant, either: the truth was that she didn’t know what she meant. “I mean … David Audley said there wouldn’t be any danger—that we would be safe over here, in France—?”

“Yes.” He bumped the end of the bed, and the tremor ran through her. “Yes, he said that, Elizabeth.”

She simply didn’t want him to go, that was it: she was lonely, more than afraid, and she didn’t want to be alone, as she had always been. That was it.

“So you could be wrong.” She didn’t want him to go, and she didn’t want him to sit down in the darkness in the corner of the room, and she didn’t want him to stand up like Death at the end of her bed.

“Yes, I could be wrong.” He sounded far away. “I’ve been wrong before—yes …”

He had been wrong before
—but that wasn’t what he meant now, his voice said.

“I was wrong once before, Elizabeth.” Just in time he saved her from saying something pointless. “There was this girl I knew— woman, rather …
colleague
, rather—Frances was her name, and she was damn good … in fact, she was better than Novikov and Aske and me rolled into one—she was
good
…
and pretty as a picture with it, and I adored her, Elizabeth.”

The darkness shivered between them.

“Which is dead against the rules—and against all commonsense as well, which is what rules are all about: ‘gladiator, make no friends of gladiators’ is the rule—and it’s a good rule.”

She saw now why he had reacted against what she had said about David Audley’s feeling for him.

“She didn’t know, of course. Nobody knew …
She
didn’t know, and
they
didn’t know … because everything I ever said to her was the wrong thing to say—and it was … like, I was always trying to jump into bed with her … and I
was
, too—I couldn’t think of anything cleverer to do, I suppose—and she couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

Silence.

“But I could stand the sight of her—any time.”

Silence.

“So one day I looked at her. It was raining—and I was glad to see her… So I looked at her, Elizabeth, when I should have been looking somewhere else.”

Silence.

“And that was a mistake, Elizabeth. And she died of my mistake … in the rain, in my arms, Elizabeth.”

It was very strange, but only for one fraction of a second was she sorry for poor dead Frances. Because poor
dead pretty
Frances was still her enemy, and if ever there was a moment for defeating her enemy
it was now
—when the dark was her ally.