Vorpal Blade (6 page)

She was wearing a close-fitting green dress with a gold
belt round her slim waist and a pair of medium-heeled
green shoes. Sophie wore a beige woollen jumper with a
high
neck, a pale grey pleated skirt and red high-heeled
shoes. The contrast between the two women was stri
dent, and there was no doubt who had first-rate dress
sense.

'I'm going to smoke,' Sophie said, making a state
ment.

Paula saw Arbogast open his mouth, caught Marienetta's
frown at her uncle. Arbogast closed his mouth without
saying anything.

'Go ahead,' Marienetta said, 'provided I have one too,
please. Thanks.'

'What,' Sophie demanded, 'were you talking about
when I came in and then shut up?'

Arbogast sat behind his desk, his eyes gazing at Sophie.
She dropped her glance as he spoke, took a quick puff.

'We were talking about murder,' Arbogast told her
bluntly.

'Nice topic.' Sophie snapped, took a deep puff. 'That means you've been gossiping about poor Adam.'

'We have been discussing the case with Mr Tweed.'

'Adam isn't just a case. He's a human being,' protested
his daughter. 'Or was.' She frowned. 'I wonder what he felt
like when someone cut off his neck.' She spoke as though
it was an interesting subject. 'Must feel strange when your
head is rolling away.'

'I doubt,' Marienetta said gently, 'if you feel anything.'

'Tweed,' Arbogast broke in, 'you came here to ask me
for my impression of Holgate - Adam, that is - and I
think I've told you all I can.' He opened a drawer as
his guests stood up to leave. 'It's Sophie's birthday this
evening so we're celebrating it at a nice restaurant, the
Tree Creeper.' He stood up holding three printed and
engraved cards, gave one to each of his guests. 'I would
be most honoured if you would join us. And I am sure Sophie would be pleased.'

'So long as Paula is coming.' She squeezed her hand.
'I'm going to make a speech.'

'You may find it interesting,' Arbogast went on, staring
at Tweed, his eye twitching. 'One of the guests will be
Sophie's friend Black Jack Diamond.'

They had left the spacious office when Marienetta slipped
her arm inside Tweed's. She gazed at him, smiling.

'That wasn't much fun. I insist you come and look at
my studio - cubbyhole would be a better word. That's
where I enjoy myself when I can get away from acting as
Administrator.'

'Administrator?' Tweed queried.

'That's my vague title here. Uncle wanted me to keep
an eye on things and I told him I didn't want a title which
restricted my powers over some of the senior personnel.
Administrator could mean anything. So I can roam wherever I want to check up. Including Security.' She laughed.
'You may not be surprised to know I'm not Broden's
favourite person.'

Paula glanced back as they entered the special lift.
Newman was walking with Sophie, talking, grinning, jok
ing. As far as Paula could make out Sophie had her head
down and was not saying a word.

Marienetta pressed the button for level 103, twirling the
computer card she'd used to open the doors. Paula turned
to her as she made the comment. 'Your uncle doesn't seem to have taken to new modern equipment like computers. In the room you go through to reach your uncle his staff were
using the old IBM Selectrics. No sign of the Internet.'

'You're right,' Marienetta agreed and chuckled as they
stepped out on to level 103. 'He knows how easy it
is for rival companies to employ top hackers to break
into a computer system. As for the Internet, forget it.
Actually I do agree with him. Here we are, my cubby
hole.'

'But you use computer cards instead of keys,' Paula
pointed out as Marienetta used a different card to open
a door.

'He agreed to those - so did I - providing the cards
are changed every evening. Which they are. Enter. Don't
expect too much.'

They walked into a spacious room with shag carpet,
a luminous blue which gave a feeling of warmth. It
was divided into two sections with a panelled partition
excluding one half. The walls were rounded and Paula
realized they were still at the summit of the Cone. More
comfortable armchairs and antique tables were scattered
about. Marienetta headed for the closed door in the panelled wall, taking out another computer card from
her gold handbag slung over the shoulder.

'Inside here,' she announced in a tone of mock gravity, 'is my Holy of Holies. Few visitors see it. I ban all bores.'

'I want a drink,' Sophie called out rudely.

She was pursing her lips, using one hand to stroke her hair. She stood stock-still.

'You can have a glass of water,' Marienetta said, picking
up a glass by a water cooler. 'No alcohol here.'

'Don't want water. I'm going to my office. Open the bloody door.'

'Do watch your mouth when we have visitors,' Marienetta
said gently, going back to open the outer door.

Newman said something about how he hoped they'd
meet later. Sophie brushed past him without a glance in
his direction.

'She's in a mood,' Marienetta said amiably after relocking
the door. 'But she's a genius with security and inventing new weapons.'

'Weapons?' asked Tweed.

'She can tell you how Marlborough fought the battle of
Ramillies and the function of
the hydrogen bomb. Science
is her real flair. Now, let me show you.'

The room beyond the panelling was a surprise. A white
tiled floor, work tables with half-finished sculptures, mod
ern, large bowls of plaster, a variety of tools. Beyond was an
easel with an unframed portrait of Roman Arbogast. Very
lifelike. A palette with squelches of paint, a large ceramic
pot crammed with long-handled paint brushes.

'Is this your work?' asked Paula as Marienetta donned
a long white coat smeared with paint.

'It's where I'm really at home.'

She picked up a hammer and tapped hard at the shoulder
of a sculpture in stone of a sprawling man half-sitting up.
The whole arm broke off, Marienetta shrugged, slammed
down the hammer on the metal table top.

'That's ruined it,' she said. 'Have to start again.'

Tweed had walked over to a mantelpiece, where a small maquette - or miniature sculpture - rested. He picked it up carefully, admired it, turned round to address Marienetta.

'This is your creation?'

'You have an artistic eye, Mr Tweed. Unfortunately
it is not mine. Roman lent it to me for inspiration. It
is a genuine Henry Moore maquette, cost a fortune at
auction.'

Tweed was carefully returning the precious maquette to
its place on the mantelpiece while Paula wandered over
to the easel with the unframed portrait of Arbogast. 'You
paint too,' she said to Marienetta who had followed her.

'I daub, but it clears my head of other problems,'

'It really is a marvellous likeness. You've got him per
fectly.'

'Turn it over. There's another painting on the other
side.'

Paula gingerly took hold of the top of the picture. It was
painted on board, not canvas. She swivelled the picture
round and perched it back on the easel with the second
painting showing. She stepped back a pace, shocked.

It was another painting of Roman, a horrific version of
Marienetta's uncle. The face was distorted, the mouth
open, exposing small sharp teeth, the lips twisted far to
one side. The expression was of incredibly murderous rage,
the jowls large and twisted the opposite way to the lips. The flesh was bloated, the head unbalanced, one vicious
eye lower than the other. She had the impression the head
might leap out at her, the teeth tearing her face. She felt her heart beating faster. The picture was terrifying.

'He was in a bad mood when I painted that,' Marienetta
said calmly as she reversed the board back to show the
lifelike version.

'Must have been something he'd eaten,' Newman said
standing at Paula's shoulder.

Marienetta chuckled, then began laughing and couldn't stop. Taking out a silk handkerchief she placed it over her mouth, turned to Newman.

'Bob, I love your sense of humour. That was really
funny.'

Paula glanced beyond Newman. Tweed was standing
perfectly still. He had the grimmest expression Paula had
ever seen.

3

Marienetta accompanied them down in the special lift.
As they walked out she paused to have a word with a
uniformed guard. Tweed was walking with Paula to the
exit while Newman collected his revolver and bullets from
the desk when Broden appeared. Earlier he had worn a grey
business suit but now he was clad in a rough-haired sports
jacket and corduroy trousers tucked inside knee-length
leather boots. The gamekeeper, Paula thought.

'Hope you enjoyed your session with Cat's Eye,' he
barked.

'Cat's Eye?' Paula queried.

'That's what the staff call Marienetta behind her back.
Jasper has gone to fetch your car, Newman.'

'I don't think you realize how your voice carries,' said
Marienetta as she joined them, giving Broden a radiant
smile. 'Now could you please go outside and make sure the coast is clear for Mr Tweed and his party to leave?'

Broden tightened his lips, strode off. A minute later
he beckoned. They went through the same business of
passing through the revolving door one by one. Broden
was on the pavement when, on the top step, Paula gripped
Tweed's arm.

'That strange lady is still waiting across the street.'

'Strange lady?' His thoughts were miles away.

'The one who is so small and still. Wearing a pale green
coat and a dark green fur hat.'

'As I said before, you get all kinds of visitors coming to
London.'

'Which woman is that?' demanded Broden who had run
back up the steps. 'Oh, I see her. She was here when you
arrived?'

'I'm not sure,' Paula said quickly. 'Let her be.'

'Jasper,' Broden called out to the doorman, 'check out
Fur Hat standing across the street, why she's hanging
round here for for so long.'