The Doll’s House (16 page)

He drew up at the roadside, checked his map. He was afraid he'd missed the turning. But no; it was further on. He traced the line with his finger. He looked at his watch. He'd bought the watch at Charles de Gaulle Airport. All his possessions were new. His clothes, even his razor and toothpaste. He'd been stripped of his identity down to the labels on his underclothes. He had been safe in Turkey when the car crashed and blew up. His father had called on old comrades for help, and help had been given. He was dead. He didn't exist.

He slowed, following the route, watching for the signpost. Then he saw it. The painted board by the roadside.

Doll's House Manor Hotel. His new home. He turned cautiously and found a pause in the line of traffic when a car slowed and allowed him to cross into the drive. They were polite people, the English. Nobody would have given way for another motorist at home.

He hit the first speed-bump and swore as the car bucked. He was careful to go very slowly after that.

When he called from Paris, Oakham had said, ‘Get here around twelve fifteen. I'll be watching out for you.' He was ten minutes late, but he saw Oakham come out and down the steps as soon as he opened the car door and got out.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Zarubin. Welcome to the hotel.'

They shook hands, Harry bowed slightly to him.

‘Come with me please, I'll get your luggage sent up, sir.'

Vassily followed him, a boy in blue livery was hurrying down to unload his suitcases. By the reception Harry paused.

‘If you'll register, sir. Thank you.'

Vassily signed.

‘If you give reception your car keys they'll put it away for you. Jane?'

The pretty girl behind the desk smiled at Vassily; he smiled back. He handed her the keys.

‘Thank you.'

Oakham was by his elbow, solicitous, deferential.

‘I'll take you up; we've given you the Denmark suite. I think you'll find it satisfactory. This way, sir.'

Jane watched them go. He was a very famous author. Writing a book on the President playwright who'd been imprisoned by the Communists. Jane was a simple girl who didn't bother too much about politics, but even she had been affected by what the Romanians and the Czechs had done.

He was much younger than she expected. Rather handsome in a way, she decided. She liked his deep voice and the accent. Mr Oakham had emphasized what an honour it was for them to be chosen by such a distinguished man. He was to be shielded from noise or disturbance, his meals sent up if he preferred not to use the restaurant. If he wanted secretarial assistance, the hotel would provide it. Jane was a shorthand typist. She hoped he might ask for her. The sitting room of the Denmark suite had been fitted out with a desk, a filing cabinet and a word processor. Harry had explained that the publishers were paying for everything.

Mr Zarubin found it impossible to work in London. He had sought political asylum seven years ago and taken refuge in England. Jane thought it was a romantic story even before she saw him. Now she couldn't wait to describe him to the other girls.

Inside the suite Harry and Vassily Zarubin faced each other.

‘How are you? For a corpse, you look pretty healthy! You must have had a hell of a detour getting here.'

‘It was long,' the Russian admitted. ‘You should have been a stage actor. You were very good downstairs. I like the bow.'

‘I bow to all my guests, especially the ladies,' Harry laughed. ‘It's expected. You'll find everything you need, I think. Help yourself to a drink. What do you think of England? First time isn't it?'

Zarubin was stretched out on the sofa; he'd poured a helping of vodka into a glass and was drinking it neat. There was no mini bar in the Denmark suite. A tray of spirits and mixers was provided courtesy of the management. He glanced up at Oakham.

He said, ‘It's small. Pretty if you like small places. What am I supposed to do all day with all of this?'

He gestured towards the loaded desk in the corner. Oakham sensed antagonism.

He said, ‘Work out a curriculum for your first assignment. Rilke's got three clients coming in at the end of the week. Belfast shit. Get yourself settled in and take a walk round, the grounds are nice, and I'll call through to you around seven. We're having a meeting I'd like you to sit in on. I'll come and collect you.'

He left Zarubin alone. He walked down the stairs rather slowly. He was right about the antagonism. Zarubin was the youngest and probably the toughest of all of them. He would need careful managing. It would be quite a culture shock for him to be shut up in a country hotel, play acting for a lot of employees.

Harry Oakham took the call from Hakim. He didn't say much; he listened and asked questions.

On the other end Hakim demanded, ‘When will you carry out the contract?'

‘When I've worked out the details and had a dummy run,' Oakham answered.

‘He's only here for a week, and he could change his mind and go early.'

Hakim sounded anxious and impatient.

‘Then we miss the job,' was the reply. ‘I'm not going into anything without the proper preparation. You wouldn't like it if we cocked it up. You call in when he arrives – or if he changes his plans.'

He hung up on Hakim who had started to argue.

At seven he fetched Zarubin. At seven thirty they went to Croft Lodge to meet the others.

They'd gathered in the sitting room. Jan offered drinks, watching the door for Oakham. He was nervous and ill at ease. The snoop had been got rid of, Harry was confident and dismissed his fears, but Jan couldn't stop worrying. Once the snoops got on to you, they didn't go away without finding something. He knew all about snoops; they wore ordinary clothes so you didn't notice them, and then they grabbed you and suddenly they were in uniforms and they opened the door into hell …

Oakham came in. He smiled at them.

‘We're all here, good. Jan, you've been looking after everybody, now how about a Scotch for me? Thanks.'

‘What's going on?' Rilke demanded.

He had noticed the Pole twitching. The Russian, Zarubin, had stretched himself out in a chair, legs stuck in front of him, glass cradled on his chest. He was watching them all in turn.

‘We've been offered our first big contract,' Oakham announced. ‘A one-off job. And, let me tell you, the money's very big.'

‘How big?' Daniel demanded.

He wore his new suit and he'd shaved. Cruelty was Rilke's vice, greed was Daniel's.

‘A million, in sterling. Nothing on account, so we've got to get the job done or we come out with nothing.'

There was a brief silence. They were all professionals and they were there because they were greedy. Bill Stevenson, looking as out of place as a prize fighter at a tea party, would have done it for fun. He yearned for violence, the way Daniel yearned for money.

It was Zarubin who asked the question. ‘For that money it must be a killing. A difficult target?'

‘Quite difficult,' Oakham agreed. ‘But not impossible.'

He paused for effect. He's a showman, Rilke thought, sneering inwardly. He wants us to jump when the ringmaster cracks his whip.

‘Prince Abdullah Al Rashid.'

‘The Saudi?' Daniel stared at Oakham. ‘That's not a contract, that's suicide!'

‘He's coming to London,' Oakham said. ‘He'll be staying at the Regis Hotel. Seeing an eye specialist, playing a bit of roulette and banging blondes.'

‘In London,' Rilke remarked. ‘It might be possible.'

‘It
is
possible,' was Oakham's retort. ‘We'll have inside information on his movements. So we can plan with certainty. I've worked something out already.'

‘Who's the paymaster?' Rilke asked.

He was hunched forward, concentrating on Oakham.

‘My guess is Tehran, via the Lebanon. I know the contact well. He's reliable and he's got the backing for this. It makes sense after all. Abdullah's pro-America and anti-fundamentalist. They wouldn't want him succeeding his father. The Crown Prince has heart trouble. Abdullah would be the next King of Saudi. And he's the old man's favourite; he has a lot of influence.'

‘What's the plan?' Zarubin asked him. He was excited in spite of himself. It would be a challenge to get near such a target. He was guarded at home like the crown jewels and surrounded by bodyguards when he travelled abroad. It would need brilliant planning and attention to detail. His special talents.

‘There's a contingency,' Harry went on. ‘I screwed another fifty grand out of them for it. They want a public scandal. They don't want a Muslim martyr, they want him smeared. So we're going to have to kill him and throw mud at the same time. Which brings me to the rough plan I worked out.' He turned to Monika. ‘You have the starring role, my dear.'

Dick Lucas saw her walking down the King's Road. He eased into the kerb and pulled up just ahead of her.

‘Rosa! Hi there!'

She stopped, saw him and waved. He got out of the car and came up to her.

‘Hello, Dick.'

‘Where are you going? Can I give you a lift?'

‘I was on my way home. I thought I'd walk.'

‘Why don't I drive you?' She'd last seen him at the American Ambassador's party. She'd hurried off home to James, worried because she was going to be late for dinner. Very late for everything as it turned out. ‘Come on, I want to hear about Brussels,' he urged.

He took her arm and helped her into the passenger seat. He put the car in gear.

‘Where to?' he asked. ‘Where do you live?'

‘Marcham Road. I'm not going to Brussels. I'm in the process of a divorce.'

He glanced quickly at her, surprised.

‘That's tough. I'm sorry.'

They drove in silence for a while.

‘Take the turn off to Fulham,' she directed.

‘Why don't I give you dinner,' he suggested. ‘I was always asking, remember? You could tell me about it.'

It was Rosa's last night in London. The night before she went down to Suffolk. Suddenly she was grateful for the invitation. She didn't want to spend the evening alone.

‘I'd love to,' she said. ‘Thanks, Dick. Where shall we go?'

‘There's a good French restaurant just close by: World's End. I go there a lot. I'm sure we'll get a table. Shall we try it?'

‘Why not?' She looked at him and smiled.

He smiled back. He was nice, uncomplicated.

He was well known at the restaurant. He was warmly greeted and given a good table with a view of a little paved garden at the back. It was lit up when it grew dark.

‘This is very nice,' Rosa said. ‘I'm so glad you suggested it.'

‘I'm glad I saw you walking,' he answered. ‘You want to talk about what happened?'

‘Not much to say really. It was a shock because I wasn't expecting it. My career was the trouble. James, my husband, wanted me to give it up, stay at home and have a family. When I wouldn't, he found someone else who did. So I said no to Brussels and stayed in England to get the divorce sorted out.'

‘So what's the next plan? You should have called me. I've got a great shoulder to cry on!'

‘I'm sure you have,' she smiled a little. ‘I'm taking a holiday. Two weeks or so; I'm due for leave anyway. Then I'll get back to work and see what's on offer. My boss's been so good about it.'

‘Sir Hugh Chapman, isn't it? Nice guy. Why don't you get sent to the States? I'm due home at the end of the year.'

She said, ‘You're not married, are you, Dick?'

‘No. I had a lady in mind, but she didn't like the Navy. So we agreed to put it on the back burner while I did my tour in England. She didn't wait that long. Three months after I left she married another guy.'

‘Did you mind very much?'

‘I did at the time. Then I just kidded myself it was hurt pride. After a while that's all it was.'

‘You were lucky!' Rosa held out her wine glass to be filled. ‘Anything's better than a marriage breaking up. You feel such a failure. And there's hurt pride in it too. But I asked for it. He said I put my career first and nobody likes being second best. So … he found himself another lady.'

‘And you haven't found another guy?'

‘That's the last thing I'm looking for, believe me.'

He changed the subject. ‘So what are you doing while you're on leave?'

‘Staying in a hotel in Suffolk.'

She told the story to everyone. Parker had emphasized the importance of establishing that.

‘Somewhere I can be quiet, take long walks, read, relax and bore myself to death.' She laughed. ‘That's what everyone says I need. Then come back to the office and see what the future holds. But it doesn't hold another relationship, I can promise you that. From now on, Dick, it's going to be work. I never was much good at holidays. I was always fretting about what was going on in the office. It used to make James furious. Last holiday we went skiing and I was called back. After a week.'

‘Well, we live in stirring times,' he admitted. ‘Global peace all of a sudden and then the Gulf War. I've loved my time in London. I've put in for a sea posting, but I don't think I'll get it. I have a hunch I'm going to be behind a damned desk back home. Why don't you try for the States? Seriously, I mean it!'

‘Washington isn't exactly a Naval base,' she said gently.

He was nice, very easy to talk to. Just what she needed that night.

They got into his car and he drove her home. No relationships, no ties. She was firm about that.

At the door she said, ‘Come in and have a drink.'

The house had seemed so empty these last weeks. Neat and tidy with one meticulous woman living there. No dents in the cushions, no meals to cook or dirty dishes to clear away. No footfall, except her own. She opened some good brandy and gave them both a glass.