The Doll’s House (19 page)

She dressed in her favourite dark blue, a simply cut silk dress and a long string of cultured pearls, twisted into a knot. She went down to the cocktail bar and chose a corner seat with a good view of the door. If the Irish woman and her companions passed, she'd get a second look at them, in case her plan for the morning failed.

‘Good-evening, Mrs Bennet.'

Rosa started. She hadn't heard him come up beside her.

‘Oh, good-evening.'

Harry Oakham smiled down at her.

He'd been abrupt with her that morning, anxious to get the Belfast scumbags out of everyone's sight. Now they were safely stowed away in their suite eating what the man Sean called ‘tea', and drinking whisky.

Seeing Rosa sitting alone, he made a point of coming to speak to her. She was a very attractive woman, he thought; unusual colouring.

‘I hope you're comfortable,' he said.

‘Yes, very comfortable, thank you.'

‘You haven't got a drink, let me get something for you.'

‘A glass of white wine.' Her throat felt constricted. Fear, a surge of adrenalin. She looked into his eyes and saw nothing in them but friendliness. And a hint of admiration.

‘Why not champagne?' Harry suggested. ‘As it's your first evening. With my compliments.' He raised his hand and the barman hurried across. ‘Champagne for Mrs Bennet,' he said.

‘That's very kind of you,' Rosa was in control by now. She smiled at him and said, ‘But only if you'll join me.'

‘I'd be delighted. Make that two, George.'

The tiger in the cat basket. Jim Parker's description came back to her as he took the chair opposite. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?' he asked.

‘Not if you give me one,' she answered. He laughed. ‘I haven't broken the habit I'm afraid. But so many people get paranoid about it now. Passive smoking and all that rubbish.'

‘I stopped for a long time.' Rosa bent to his lighter. ‘But then something happened and I started again.'

‘Nothing too bad I hope,' he said. Their drinks arrived.

‘My husband left me.'

Harry looked at her over the glass. After a pause he said, ‘I'm sorry to hear that. And if I may say so, he must be an incredible idiot. Here's to a happy stay with us.'

He was full of a curious energy even when still. He had a way of looking directly at her when he spoke, claiming complete attention. He certainly had charm, Rosa admitted, and male magnetism. Like a dangerous animal laying its head in your lap.

He said casually, ‘Actually I've got a divorce coming up myself. All very amicable, and no children, thank God. I do mind about children when people split up. Oh dear, I hope I haven't said something tactless—'

He didn't look apologetic; he just wanted to know and she said quickly, ‘No children. And mine was amicable too. Well, I suppose it was. We didn't fight over details. How long were you married, Mr Oakham?'

‘Ten years. My wife didn't fancy coming to live down here. So—' He shrugged slightly, dismissing the subject.

‘It's a lovely old house,' Rosa said. He wasn't hurrying over his drink and he showed no sign of wanting to go.

‘I was born round here,' Harry signalled the barman again. ‘Two more, George – if you don't mind chatting for a bit, Mrs Bennet?'

‘I don't mind at all. I was feeling rather lonely when you came in.'

He shook his head, and smiled his lazy smile. ‘We can't have that. Yes, it is a nice place. I used to come here to parties when I was a child. The family were running out of money even then. It's lucky to be a hotel. At least it's used and lived in, and enjoyed by people instead of falling into the hands of some developer who'd pull it down.'

‘Have you always been in the hotel business?'

‘No. I was a Civil Servant till I was given the push. I don't think I'd been civil to the right people.' He laughed. ‘So I applied for this job and I got it. Being local helped, I suppose. I love it, it's a whole new world to me. Best of all, I enjoy meeting people. And I believe personal contact is a top priority if you're going to manage a hotel of this quality.'

‘Didn't you have to train?' she asked him. ‘It's a big responsibility running something like this.'

‘I'd been concerned with personnel all my life,' Oakham said easily. ‘And that's what this job is really all about. Keeping the clients happy and the staff contented and on their toes. If there's one thing more important than the manager, it's the chef. And we've got one of the best.' He looked at his watch and finished his drink.

‘It's been a pleasure, Mrs Bennet.' He got up and held out his hand. She didn't imagine it; he held on for a fraction longer than was necessary. ‘Perhaps,' he said lightly, ‘I might join you for dinner one evening? It's against our policy to have a charming lady feeling lonely.'

‘It's against my policy too,' she retorted. ‘I'd be delighted. And thank you for the champagne.'

They brought the menu; she couldn't concentrate on it. It all sounded so genuine. The casual reference to his past career. Personnel. The wife Jim Parker had described so vividly, dismissed with that little shrug of the shoulders. The man who enthused about meeting people had killed without a qualm of conscience. The sexual invitation in his eyes and his self mockery.

It's against our policy to have a charming lady feeling lonely
. Get to know him, Parker had instructed, but don't rush it.

But it wasn't her initiative any more. Oakham had made the move first. She was going into the restaurant when she was told that there was a telephone call for her. It was Dick Lucas.

‘Hi there – how are you?'

‘Fine thanks, Dick.' The cheerful voice was reassuring.

‘How's the hotel?'

‘Wonderful. I'm having a lovely rest.'

‘I had a great time with you, Rosa. I called next morning but I guess you'd gone.'

She said, ‘I had a great time too. You were very sweet.'

‘I've got nothing to do this weekend,' he said. ‘Why don't I drive down? Could you book me a room?'

It was so tempting. Let him come, let him stay. Keep Harry Oakham away. A boyfriend would put him off. And wreck her cover story of being a lonely divorcee. She found her nerve again and said, ‘No, Dick, not just yet. I did say it was a one-night stand. Maybe after I've been here for a few more days I could call you?'

He sounded disappointed. ‘OK, if that's the way you want it. But I don't have to stay. We could go for lunch somewhere, just spend a few hours together.' Yes, she thought, yes, it might be useful. Just a visit. Whatever they were doing in the Adventure Trail, they wouldn't be able to fob off Dick Lucas with stories about dangerous ground and broken ankles. She made up her mind quickly.

‘Dick, that would be nice. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so crabby. Look, I'm late for dinner, can I call you tomorrow morning?'

‘Sure. Around nine thirty. Talk to you then.'

She hung up.

Jan took the tube to Earl's Court. He had the names and addresses of four dealers in the area, specializing in part-exchange and the sale of second-hand cars. Things were tight in the trade, and anyone with cash in their pocket could afford to pick and choose.

He knew what was needed, and at the second garage showroom he bought it. A two-year-old Subaru four-door saloon, painted an unobtrusive dark blue. He test drove it; it was fast, easy to manoeuvre, and gear operated. Bill Stevenson had insisted upon that. He was a highly skilled driver, and he refused to use an automatic for a job like this.

Jan liked the size of the boot. It was big enough and deep enough to take a man if he was bundled up tight enough. He paid hard cash and drove it away. He didn't park near the Kensington Gore Hotel.

The hotel was a quiet, respectable, middle-range place with a changing clientele of tourists and elderly couples spending a few days in London.

Jan melted into the background, spoke to no-one and drew little attention to himself. He never used the restaurant. He didn't want to be remembered.

For the next three days he test drove the route to the expensive West End club that fronted for a discreet and expensive call-girl agency. He drove there during the afternoon, timing himself, noting the traffic and the points of congestion on the way. He drove back towards the Regis Hotel where the Prince was booked in, and went over the same route in the evenings. He checked on delays and peak traffic times, and made adjustments to a series of schedules.

Parked near the entrance to the club, he noticed the side door. A number of minicabs drew up during the day, and women came out of the entrance and were driven off. The evenings were busier. The girls were going out on their calls. The Arab Prince's favourite, Denise, would leave in the same way, except that the car came from the Prince's own fleet at the hotel and was driven by one of his entourage. No problem, Jan decided.

He reported back to Harry on a public pay phone. It was going well. It was up to Daniel to work out the details of where to make the snatch when he came up. Yes, he assured Harry, he was fine and in good spirits. No, no worries about anything. Like old times, he agreed, and he'd sit it out till he got word from Oakham's contact that the quarry had arrived.

Yes, he promised Harry, he'd lighten up and go off to a cinema or even a show if there was anything he felt like seeing. He was touched by his old friend's concern for him. When he rang off there were tears in his eyes. Harry had always looked out for him. He was his only friend, the one who came and saw him in the nut hospital when he was released, laughed him out of his fears and depressions, gave him the courage to start again when nobody believed in him any more. His hand shook with emotion as he wiped his eyes. He'd do the best job of his life on this one. He owed Harry Oakham everything.

Vassily Zarubin woke very early. He'd left his windows open and the curtains drawn back. He woke to the sweet shrilling of the dawn chorus, and he couldn't get back to sleep. Everything was unfamiliar to him and he didn't like the sense of alienation. He didn't like the food, he chafed at the time he had to spend pretending to be working, and he hadn't started on any computer program. Above all, he disliked his colleagues. He thought of Rilke as a deadly little insect rather than a man; the Dutchwoman repelled him with her oozing sexuality. He sensed that in spite of it, she hated men. He dismissed Daniel as a trader in human treachery and greed, incapable of loyalty to anything but his own survival. Most of all he disliked the Englishman, Harry Oakham.

Zarubin had a powerful intellect and a strong personality. He was used to lesser men around him, and used to giving orders and seeing them obeyed without question. But Oakham gave the orders, and he affronted the Russian by seeming to mock his own authority as much as he mocked all of them.

He wasn't a type Zarubin understood. He was arrogant, ruthless, and made his own rules. No servant of the State, but at all times his own man and his own master. He hadn't met his kind before. He protected the nerve-ridden Pole with his twitching hands and damaged psyche like a father with a son. But he could plan abduction and murder as coolly as Zarubin worked out a chess problem. It was another fine late summer's day, and he got up to take an early shower. He went to the open window and leaned out. The air was clean and sweet. And it was early. Early for anyone to be outside sitting on a seat in the garden. But there she was. He recognized her from the night before. She'd been sitting alone in the dining room. He'd been there too, waited upon by the restaurant manager himself, with a minion at his elbow. He was the famous author, and the restaurant manager had said in a respectful whisper that he'd been to London to see the production of the Vaclav Havel plays two months ago. Zarubin had noticed the woman eating alone because she was very pretty, and he liked pretty women. And there she was at eight o'clock in the morning, perched on a seat in front of the hotel reading a book. He didn't move away. He watched. She hadn't turned a page. Once she glanced up towards the entrance as if she was expecting someone.

Now he was motionless, drawn a little back from the window. A car was coming up the drive. He recognized the driver as Bill Stevenson, the ex-Marine. The car stopped at the hotel entrance.

Below, Stevenson had opened the rear doors of the car. A woman and two men were walking the few paces down the steps from the front door.

Zarubin knew who they were. Belfast scum, Oakham had called them. He swung back to the woman on the seat and saw the book lower for an instant.

The sun glinted on something, he couldn't see what it was. Then she bent over her book again and didn't look up.

The car drove away down the drive, and she got up, tucked the book under her arm and strolled back to the hotel.

Zarubin sat very quietly, considering what he had seen. He was sure she'd been watching, pretending to read. What had the sun caught? Or had he imagined the split-second reflection? He ordered coffee and an English breakfast, which was the only food he liked. He decided to find out about the lady for himself before he mentioned anything to Harry Oakham.

Jane was on duty at reception and she smiled when she saw him.

‘Good morning, Mr Oakham. Lovely day again.' He paused for a moment.

‘Morning, Jane. Any dramas? No? Good. Oh, has Mrs Bennet come down yet?' He sounded very casual.

‘Yes, she's been down early for breakfast and gone out. Do you want me to tell her anything?'

‘No, no. I just thought she looked a bit lost and stray last night, so I gave her a drink to cheer her up.'

She nodded. ‘Funny, but I don't like going into pubs on my own,' she admitted. ‘You feel a bit conspicuous. I'd hate to stay in a big place like this by myself.'

‘I thought you were one of those liberated young ladies,' he teased, and she giggled.