The Doll’s House (29 page)

She went further, following the path, guided by another silly skull with a winking eye and an arrow. All good fun for adults with a kid's mentality. Another ditch with a narrow plank across it. Not much adventure on this trail. Just to amuse herself, she tackled the next obstacle, a rope scrambler, with a low wall the other side. Easy. Ridiculous to think anyone would pay money to engage in this sort of juvenile nonsense.

She thought of some of James' friends and thought, Yes, they'd think it was great macho stuff, jumping around competing with each other and boasting in the bar afterwards … She could almost hear the backchat and the laughter.

She decided to turn back, and leant against a tree to pull up her shoe; it had slipped down when she came off the little wall. A branch crackled above her and she looked up. A grey squirrel scuttled upwards, alarmed by her presence at the foot of the tree. It flashed through the branches like a puff of smoke. Grey squirrels were vermin. They'd killed off most of the red squirrels.

Then something happened; she heard noises. Straining to see through the thick leaves, Rosa saw the little creature suspended, struggling furiously. It was trapped in something. She reached up for a branch, heaved herself up a few feet. Above, the squirrel clawed and writhed, making a terrified chattering as it fought to get free.

‘Oh, you poor thing,' she said out loud. There was a branch higher up. She stretched, reached, bracing herself and caught hold. Slowly she managed to pull herself higher still. High enough to see what had entrapped the animal. Not nearly high enough to try and free it.

Camouflage netting. Thick, rope wire netting threaded through with browns and greens and mottle shading. There was nothing she could do. No way she could save the squirrel. It would die in that netting.

She lowered herself; a branch scored her arm. Twigs were showering down on her from the tree as she released the lowest branch and dropped the last few feet.

There had been an assault course at Branksome. A very arduous and sophisticated course for people on special training. None of Rosa's colleagues were enrolled in that course. One, a rather butch young woman tried to prove herself one morning by slipping into the ground unaccompanied, and ended up with a broken ankle. They'd been given a walk round one morning with an instructor. If they thought this was difficult, he'd said, grinning at their expressions, then the real thing was up above them. They'd looked up and seen the camouflage netting floor, way over their heads. ‘There's a confidence course up there,' the ex-Para explained. ‘You tackle your obstacles and you don't know about the netting. That's for the real tough guys' course. When I was in the Army we didn't have netting. Can't have special people like you lot breaking your necks can we.'

The group had smiled and said no, of course not.

Rosa was out of breath. Unfit, she said to herself. Not used to climbing trees. There was dust floating down, caught in a filtered shaft of sunlight, millions and millions of tiny particles from the old dead wood in the tree overhead. Why would anyone build a commando-style Confidence Course above the children's playground obstacles below …? What sort of people would ever climb up there and train on it …? She pulled at her shoe again; the shoe had raised a blister on her heel. She began to walk slowly back along the path.

Her own words to Parker hummed in her head.
I think we should get into that Adventure Trail and have a look. I know that pick
-
up was deliberate, I wasn't supposed to go there
.

She had come to the padlocked gate; she climbed over it, more awkwardly this time. Her limbs felt clumsy, and when she dropped down she landed on her hands and knees.

‘Have you hurt yourself?' He came forward and bent down to help her up. ‘What were you doing in there?'

‘I was just walking around.' She was on her feet, avoiding his offered hand. Vassily Zarubin looked at the gate. ‘It's locked,' he said. ‘So you always go where you're not supposed to?' He was smiling at the oddity of her behaviour. ‘In Russia nobody would do that.'

‘They wouldn't do a lot of things,' Rosa retorted. She started to move off and he fell in beside her.

‘What was it like?' he asked. ‘What is this Adventure Trail? It is some kind of game?'

‘I've no idea,' she said. ‘It was very dark and overgrown, I didn't bother to go more than a few yards. I was getting scratched to pieces.'

‘Have you had a pleasant walk?'

‘Very pleasant.' She longed to get rid of him. She couldn't find the words for small talk.

‘Do you mind if I accompany you? Are you going back to the hotel now? Perhaps you would have some tea with me?'

He had long strides and she was having to keep up. She stopped suddenly and said, ‘Mr Zarubin, would you please excuse me? I'd like to finish my walk alone. I don't mean to be rude but I did come out to think about a problem and I can't do it if I'm talking to someone. You don't mind, do you?'

He stopped and inclined his head. ‘As a writer,' he said solemnly, ‘I understand the need to be alone. I apologize. Again!' He smiled very kindly down at her, and she blushed at her bad manners.

‘I'm the one who should do that,' she said. ‘Won't you join me for a drink this evening? Six thirty in the bar?'

‘I will look forward to it. Now, I leave you to finish your walk.' He turned and loped off on his long legs.

‘Mrs Bennet?' She had tried to hurry past the desk but Jane called out to her. ‘Mr Oakham's been trying to find you.'

‘I was out walking,' Rosa said. ‘Thank you.'

‘Mr Pollock is back,' Jane went on. ‘His father's much better. I expect you'll meet him tomorrow.'

‘I expect so.' She hurried up the stairs and into her room.

Harry Oakham said, ‘I looked everywhere for you. I used my master key; you don't mind, do you? Where have you been? You're all dirty and you've scratched your arm …'

‘I've been in the wood.'

‘Rosa, darling,' he said gently. ‘You shouldn't have gone into the wood. It's not safe, that's why we keep the gate locked.'

He'd come up to her and taken hold of her; she said, ‘I was just curious. I must change my clothes and wash my hair.'

He didn't let go. ‘Why won't you look at me? What's the matter?'

‘There was a squirrel,' Rosa said. ‘It was caught in some netting, high up in the tree. I tried to climb up and rescue it but it was too high … I scraped my arm … I'll have a quick shower, I won't be a minute.'

‘Poor little devil,' he said. ‘No wonder you're upset. Nothing we can do about it; we had to put netting up, some of the trees are dangerous.' Rosa looked at him.

‘Is that why? Is that what the netting is for?'

‘Stop anyone getting injured by a falling branch,' he explained. ‘One of the chaps building that obstacle course had a narrow escape, so I closed the place up till we could get someone from the Forestry Commission to come and see what needs to be done. And the netting was a sensible precaution in the mean time. Army surplus. Do you want me to go and find the squirrel?'

‘It'll starve to death,' Rosa said. She could have cried with relief. He stroked her hair. ‘You tell me where you got to and I'll go and have a look.'

‘What can you do?'

‘I'll have to shoot it, sweetheart. Better than leaving it there.' He lifted her face to him and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Where was the tree – what was the nearest obstacle?'

‘A wall, with a rope ladder thing in front of it.'

‘I'll go now,' he said. ‘You have your shower. I won't be long. Don't worry about it – promise?'

‘Promise,' she agreed.

It was so simple, and it made such sense. Army surplus camouflage netting; she'd been showered with dead wood under the tree. A big branch coming down could cause serious injury. Oh you idiot, she chided herself, the warm water running over her, soaping the dust and debris out of her hair. You idiot to let your imagination run away with you like that.

When he came back she was in a dressing gown, her hair hanging down still damp from the shower.

‘Did you find it?'

‘I found the tree. There was a lot of stuff come down where you'd been climbing. But no squirrel. It must have got free.'

‘Oh I'm glad,' Rosa said. ‘What happened to you today? What was the crisis?'

He smiled and slipped his hand inside the silk robe, squeezing her breast. ‘If you wanted to talk, darling, you should have got dressed.'

Rosa woke because he kicked out and mumbled loudly in his sleep. The sun was below the window ledge of her room. Oakham lay with the sheet thrown half off; his chest was glistening with sweat. He rolled sideways, exclaiming something unintelligible. Rosa shook him gently.

‘Harry – Harry, wake up.'

He didn't come awake gradually. He jerked, opened his eyes and sat up immediately.

‘What – what's the matter?'

‘You were dreaming,' she told him. ‘Very noisily. Do you talk in your sleep?'

He couldn't resist it. He laughed. ‘God, darling, I hope not! It's hot, isn't it … What's the time?' He'd slipped his watch off when they undressed. Rosa picked it up from the bedside table.

‘Six o'clock. Oh, I forgot – I said I'd meet our tame author for a drink at half past—'

‘Why?' Oakham was frowning. ‘Why do you want to have a drink with him? He's a bloody bore, I can tell you that.'

‘I gathered that for myself,' she answered. ‘But he tried to walk with me this afternoon and I told him to go away. It was very rude of me, but I was upset and I didn't want him tagging along.'

‘About the squirrel. You are a softie, aren't you?'

‘Yes,' Rosa stroked his shoulder. ‘About the squirrel. So I suggested a drink to make up for it. He keeps criticizing things here and it irritates me. Shall I put him off?'

Oakham hesitated. What was Zarubin doing, trying to pick her up? He'd been warned off once and he was still trying. But six o'clock was seven German time. He had to call Werner in Berlin.

‘All right, have the drink with him,' he said. ‘I'll shower and go into the office and see if anything's been happening – I'll come and rescue you. And remember, I don't like competition!'

‘Your fault for disappearing like that,' Rosa retorted. ‘And you owe me an explanation. I had a boring morning and no lunch.'

‘Well, I hope you haven't had a boring afternoon.' He ran his hand down her belly and she gasped. ‘Now go and have a nice drink with your writer boyfriend,' he teased, and leapt up and into the bathroom before she could retaliate.

Georg Werner spoke in a low voice; his wife was in the kitchen and out of earshot but he was still nervous.

‘I talked to London,' he said. ‘There's a top security alert. They've identified the woman through Interpol. They know it's Monika. They're treating it as a terrorist attack by the Fundamentalists. Whoever set it up for you,' his tone was bitter, ‘they gave you very poor information.' Oakham thought of Hakim.

‘Why do you say that?' he asked.

‘Because Rashid was homosexual. The prostitute you kidnapped was a transvestite!'

‘Jesus,' Oakham breathed. ‘So that's what went wrong – Monika never had a chance—'

‘You were lucky she killed him, and the bodyguards panicked,' Werner went on. ‘If they'd taken her alive—'

‘They didn't,' Oakham cut in. He was losing patience with Werner. No guts there, he thought. A sleeper best left to sleep … ‘What's the latest. Still no arrests, no suspects?' He kept his voice calm.

‘No, not so far as London knew.'

‘Well, keep in close touch,' Oakham snapped. ‘And I mean close. You hear anything you call through to me at once.'

‘Not from my office,' Werner protested.

‘Then use a fucking outside telephone,' Oakham snarled at him, losing his temper. ‘Earn your money for a change.'

Werner heard the door to the kitchen open. ‘And you check your contact's information next time,' he retorted bravely.

‘There won't be a next time,' Harry Oakham said and cut off. He steadied himself and lit a cigarette. No arrests, no suspects. They'd got away with it. And everything had been stacked against success because Hakim's contact thought ‘Denise' was a woman. Monika never had a chance of getting out alive once she revealed herself. He put out the cigarette half smoked. It tasted bitter.

She'd been in love with death; her end was fitting. There were no regrets, no pity for the pitiless.

They'd got away with it, but only just. He looked at his watch. Rosa would be having her drink with Zarubin. He knew he couldn't trust the Russian; he had never trusted Hermann Rilke.

But first he had to check on Jan. His face softened as he thought of him. He had courage; not like that wimp Werner. The courage to sit there waiting to see Monika and Daniel come out of it safely, fighting his shattered nervous system for Harry's sake.

He went up to Jan's quarters and let himself in. He opened the bedroom door. The light was on. That was a bad sign. Jan couldn't bear being in the dark for the first year after he was released.

‘You asleep?' Harry asked softly.

‘I have been – what's the time?' Jan was sitting up; he looked rumpled and bleary eyed; he tried to smile at Harry.

‘How're you feeling?' Oakham came and sat on the bed.

‘Better. Sorry to be such a bloody nuisance. Any news?' He blinked anxiously.

‘Good news,' Harry said firmly. ‘I talked to Werner, he's in touch with the Embassy in London. They haven't arrested anyone and they don't know anything except they've identified Monika. All I'm waiting for is a call from Daniel. So there's nothing to worry about.'