The Doll’s House (24 page)

‘We mustn't lose this,' Harry Oakham said.

‘No,' she answered, and then she shivered. It wasn't the chill of dusk that made her cold. ‘Where are we going?'

‘To find a hotel, or a bed and breakfast,' he said quietly. ‘Somewhere we can be alone and spend the night. Where we can talk and make love and then talk some more if we feel like it.'

The desire had drained out of her, and the reality of what she'd done and why, was darker than the gathering clouds of dusk.

It was a pub with a sign that said ‘The Haywain', and he turned and grinned at her. ‘Good old Constable, what would the pubs round here do without him. Let's see what it's like.'

There was a double room and nobody seemed to mind about luggage. He looked at her in question and she nodded. ‘Let's have a drink first,' he suggested. He touched her arm, running his hand along the smooth skin. ‘Darling, you're freezing! Come on, let's have something to warm you up.'

The lounge was small and dark, with low black beams and horse brasses running up either side of the fireplace, which was filled with a very dusty arrangement of dried flowers.

‘Irish coffee,' Harry announced. ‘That's what you need. I'll order it.' Rosa sat in the musty little room and waited. A girl came in and switched on the lamps. The shades were red, with faded gold fringe; the beer mats said ‘Tolly Cobbold', and were dirty with old rings interlocking on them like some kind of puzzle.

I lost my head, she said to herself. I flipped out there. Oh, James, if you'd ever been able to do that … You're one cool lady, Rosa Bennet, aren't you? Like hell …

He came back and the glass was hot, with a thick froth of cream on the top. He made her take it and drink. He looked at her and the kindness in his eyes twisted her inside. ‘What's the matter, Rosa? You look miserable. Are you sorry it happened?'

Now she found it impossible to lie. ‘I don't know, Harry. Maybe it's just an anticlimax. I'm sorry, I'll drink this and I'll have a hot bath. I'll feel better then.'

He had a very gentle smile when he took hold of her hand and said, ‘Sweetheart, I don't think this kind of place runs to hot water at six o'clock. But we'll see. You do want to stay with me, don't you?' His hand was warm and the fingers held hers very firmly.

‘Yes,' Rosa said, ‘I want to stay with you. That's the trouble.'

‘Thank God for that,' he said. ‘Now finish that off and we'll go and investigate the bath. If there's no hot water, I'll see what I can do to warm you up.'

The water ran in a tepid and unwilling trickle that turned into a cold flood with the hot tap full on. The bedroom was small, with copies of Victorian prints well above eye level on the walls and a lumpy bed dressed in nylon sheets, with a mattress not an inch wider than four foot six. Harry sat down and drew her beside him.

‘Get under the blankets,' he said. He wrapped her up and lay beside her. He kissed her and it was calm and gentle. ‘Have a little sleep, darling. Close your eyes, go on.'

Rosa felt his warmth and the bed was like a womb; she was enveloped in the blankets, with his arms cradling her. She said, ‘I don't want to fall in love with you, Harry. I can't afford it.'

‘I know you can't,' he murmured. ‘Not till tomorrow, anyway.'

‘Harry?' He'd woken her from a dream in which he was handling her with slow subtle movements, and found that she wasn't dreaming. They took time, and she played her part in caressing and exploring him. There were no comparisons, no habits to be called upon, learned from other men. To Rosa it was the first time for everything she felt and did, and there was a terrifying sense of being one with this man, of dissolving into him as he lost himself in her.

‘Harry?' she said again.

‘Yes, darling? How's the anticlimax this time?'

‘There isn't one. And there won't be. I don't know why I felt like that. I wanted to tell you I was sorry about it. You were so good, you seemed to understand. I can think of a lot of men who'd have been furious.'

‘Like husband James?'

‘It never happened with him,' she said. ‘It was lovely and I thought it couldn't be better. But it was something else with you.'

‘You know the old Latin tag –
post coitum omne animal triste?
'

‘All creatures are sad after making love – yes, I remember now. I asked my Latin mistress what it meant. I was put up to it, to embarrass the poor thing.'

‘Were you a nasty little girl?'

‘Very nasty,' she admitted.

‘I don't believe a word of it,' Oakham squeezed her. He closed his eyes. Her hair was soft and it smelt sweet. She was warm to hold, and supple. ‘You know something,' he said to her, ‘I feel as if I've been living in a deep freeze and you've thawed me out. I don't think I've really felt anything for years till I met you. And I don't just mean this.' He ran one hand over her possessively. ‘I mean this – lying together, talking. Being happy. I'd forgotten what it felt like.'

‘With Judith?' she asked gently.

‘With Judith,' he agreed. ‘And now you. I mean it, you know. We mustn't lose this. I'm not going to let you check out of the hotel and walk out of my life.'

She lay in the crook of his arm and didn't answer. If he was innocent, if Parker's infallible instinct was wrong for once, then maybe there was a future for them. But she hadn't proved anything.

At last she said, ‘I don't know what's going to happen when my leave is up. I don't even know where I'll be posted. Probably abroad. And anyway, I don't know anything about you. What your life was like, why you decided to change everything.'

‘It was decided for me,' Harry Oakham answered. ‘I was retired. After twenty-eight years, I was redundant.'

‘Why?' Rosa made herself ask.

‘Because my line of work wasn't respectable any more. People like me belonged to the bad old days. It was time to sweep us under the carpet and pretend we'd never happened.'

‘What was your job, Harry?' He moved his arm and pulled himself up on the pillow.

‘I used to go after double agents. You know what a double agent is?'

‘Of course I know. A traitor, working for both sides.'

‘They don't just sell secrets,' he spoke softly. He reached out and switched on the bedside light. It was yellow parchment with roses painted up one side. ‘They sell people. Philby did a lot of that. We lost some good people because of him. I wish they'd put me on to him. He wouldn't have ended up in a cosy flat in Moscow.' He stretched out a hand for his cigarettes, lit one and then said, ‘You want one, Rosa?'

‘No. No thanks. What would you have done about him, Harry?'

‘I'd have killed the bastard. So now you know.'

She felt the tension in him. She swallowed. Her throat felt tight. ‘Like the people who shot those terrorists in Gibraltar?'

‘Yes, only we were all civilians. There were only a few of us; we'd all had experience in the field. I used to go on missions when I was married to Judith, making contacts, picking up information, or helping someone to get back if they were in trouble. It was exciting stuff. I loved it. And I had languages' – he stubbed out the cigarette half smoked – ‘I speak German with a Westphalian accent. I was very good at languages. I could manage Polish, and that's difficult, but not Russian. That's a bitch of a language … Judith didn't know what I was doing. I could have told her because she was the right sort of girl. She'd never have told anyone else. But I'd signed the Act and I was one of those silly sods that believed in keeping promises in defence of Queen and country, that sort of rubbish.'

‘I don't think it's rubbish,' Rosa said. ‘I don't believe you think so either.'

He looked down at her, and there was a slight smile on his mouth. ‘We won't argue about it. After I lost Judith I joined the special section. So now you know all about me. Has it changed things?'

‘No,' Rosa answered. ‘It hasn't changed anything. I'm glad you told me.'

‘I'm glad too,' he answered. ‘Are you hungry, darling?'

‘Are you?' She felt flooded with relief.

‘Yes; it won't be
nouvelle cuisine
, but I could settle for a steak.'

‘So could I,' Rosa said. ‘Actually, I'm starving!'

‘Then we'd better go before they run out of chips.' He got up, half in shadow except for the sickly light of the one lamp. ‘I love you, Rosa,' he said. ‘That's why I told you. I love you for understanding and accepting me for what I am.'

‘I'm begging to know what you are,' she said slowly. ‘And that helps.'

Jan spent most of his time walking. He walked through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park. He covered miles in the fine, late-summer weather, snatching a snack meal when he felt hungry, returning footsore to his room in the little hotel.

It was scheduled for the next evening, if the plan wasn't upset by a change in the Prince's itinerary. Jan stretched out on his bed; he ached from the exercise. But exercise had been prescribed for him when he got back from Poland and was fit enough to stand it. Exercise was better than tranquillizers for reducing tension.

He was so tense it hurt him to sit still. His hands were bunched into fists, his legs crossed at the knee and ankle, gripping like a vice.

And he shook inside. He kept thinking of Harry because it calmed him. Harry was his fail safe. He knew how to get him out of moods, out of the black depressions or the hunted fears that were the legacy of those ten terrible years. He loved Harry, and he was doing what Harry wanted.

Only another twenty-four hours, he told himself doggedly, and then it would be over and he'd be back at the Doll's House Hotel, walking through on the evening tour with his friend beside him. Safe and at peace. Until the next time he was needed. He refused to think about that.

It was the violence that racked his nerves. The struggle, the abduction. It was the way he'd been arrested, dragged off the street into a car, punched unconscious and waking to find himself handcuffed on the floor of a cell. It had been the beginning of the long martyrdom of question and answer. Followed by years of solitary confinement.

Sometimes his eyes filled up with tears for no reason. He didn't contact the others now. They kept apart after that initial meeting at the pizzeria. Stevenson had his car, and the one they'd driven up in from Suffolk had been fitted with false number plates. His own car waited in the long-term car park. He'd pick it up, take it to the area around the Regis, and be waiting for Monika when she came out. He was dozing when the phone rang and he sprang up immediately. He wasn't expecting any call. For a moment he stared at the stubby machine, shrilling by his bed. Then he picked it up.

‘This is Hakim's friend.' It was the traitor in the Saudi entourage, Hakim's contact.

‘Yes.' Jan whispered.

‘He's going home tomorrow,' the voice was a harsh whisper. ‘He's sending for the girl same time. You've got to do it tonight.'

Jan's damaged lungs contracted; he wheezed and choked for a moment. The voice on the telephone hissed in his ear. ‘You hear me? Tonight!'

‘All right.' Jan managed to croak the few words. ‘All right. Tonight.'

Then the line cleared. He coughed convulsively, fumbling in his pocket for the Ventolin inhaler he carried. Two sharp inhalations and the spasm stopped. He must tell Harry first. Then alert the others. Tonight.

He dialled the private number at the hotel. It rang. It went on ringing. Jan was sweating. Harry wasn't in his office. What a fool, of course, look at the time – he'd be in the hotel. Walking round the public rooms. It was their routine; didn't he remember? He dialled again, the main number at reception. He recognized the voice.

‘Good-evening. Doll's House Manor. Can I help you?'

‘Mr Oakham please. It's Mr Pollock calling.'

‘Oh, good-evening, Mr Pollock. How is your father?' the girl said.

‘Better,' Jan mumbled. ‘Much better thank you. Get Mr Oakham for me will you?'

‘I'm sorry, Mr Pollock, but he's gone out. He phoned through about an hour ago to say he won't be back till tomorrow morning. Can I leave a message?'

Jan forced himself to be calm. Harry wasn't there. Harry had gone out, was away for the night. But he didn't expect the strike till the next evening. He tried to think clearly.

‘Mr Pollock? Are you there?'

‘Yes. I'll be back tomorrow morning myself. A day early. I'll be there by the time he gets back.'

‘We'll all be glad to see you,' she said. ‘So glad to hear about your father. Good night, Mr Pollock.'

There was no time to hesitate. It was their only chance. Tomorrow the target would be gone. He had to make the decision and follow it through. Otherwise he would have failed Harry. He picked up the phone, got an outside line again, and dialled the number of Daniel's boarding house.

‘You've got to go,' he said, ‘he's leaving for home tomorrow. Eleven o'clock tonight.'

‘Shit!' Daniel spat the word. But it was typical. They acted on impulse. Any whim was reason enough to change their plans at the last minute. Knowing this, he'd insisted on everyone staying in their rooms as the deadline approached. Lucky he had. ‘OK,' he snapped back. ‘OK. We do it. What did Harry say?'

Jan said, ‘I couldn't find him. He's away for the night.'

‘Shit—' Daniel exploded again but Jan interrupted him. He wasn't going to let him criticize Harry.

‘It doesn't matter; I'll take the responsibility.'

‘Don't give me that crap,' Daniel snorted. ‘You won't even be here. Your job finishes, you go home—'

‘I'm not going,' Jan answered. ‘I'll see it through with you. I said, I'll take the responsibility. I'll answer to Harry. I always have.'