A Darker God (21 page)

“What did Maud say?”

“Nothing. She just stared at me. She touched her cheek where the blood was trickling … looked at her fingers … and then …” Thetis shuddered at the memory. “… and then she smiled. Horrid smile, Letty! Like a cat licking cream from its whiskers. You’d swear she was pleased she’d riled me to such a pitch. It’s more than likely that she’d achieved her aim-getting rid of me without appearing to be vindictive or inhospitable herself.”

“Of course. And now, in the eyes of the world,
you
are the thankless, treacherous cousin. The woman who deserted her in her hour of need.”

“Exactly!” Thetis agreed, and then, with unaccustomed hesitation: “And it’s worse than you realise! It’s worse than even Maud realised. The eyes of the world, I’m afraid, are going to slam shut in horror when it all comes out … I’ve got something dreadful to confess … Oh, Letty! How strong are your shoulders? This could turn out to be a very long night …” She lapsed into silence, lost in her thoughts.

“But, anyway, you managed to get out of her clutches?” Mystified, Letty tried to put her back on track again.

“Oh, yes … I went straight downstairs to the front door. I left it on the latch and went into the square to hunt for a taxi. Always make sure your line of retreat is clear—not a bad maxim to live your life by if you get into trouble as often as I do! I was in luck—there was one loitering nearby while the driver stopped for a smoke. I told him to get his cab and come along to the house to pick me up at the door in ten minutes. I
raced back up and stuffed some things into a bag. I ran a flannel over my face and got into a respectable suit.”

“Maud didn’t try to stop you?”

“No—not a squeak from Maud! Didn’t
really
expect it. She wouldn’t have wanted to detain me! The drawing room door stayed shut. She’d achieved her aim, I think, in casting me loose … All the same …” Thetis mumbled with unaccustomed hesitation. “She may not have wanted me around but perhaps it was my duty to stay? I do wonder if it was a bit heartless of me to sneak off like that, leaving her by herself for the night.”

“I shouldn’t worry too much about Maud. She always lands buttered side up,” said Letty comfortably.

“But she was in such a nervous state …”

“Nervous state? Maud? She’s about as nervous as a doorstop! Look—mentally and emotionally the old girl’s made of steel. She’s very tenacious of life. I’ve learned to take all her creaks, groans, and palpitations with a pinch of salt. No, Thetis, don’t worry! Whoever else suffers around her, Maud always comes out on top.”

“No, it’s not that … This was different, I think. I tried to make light of it, but I did wonder … She had some mad idea that the house is being watched. She thinks some misdemeanour of Andrew’s from his past has come back to haunt him. I thought she was genuinely frightened—spooked by some character lurking under her window this evening. She kept saying a name in that tone she uses for her portentous prophecies of doom… ‘Salonika!’ That was it.” Thetis repeated the word with a perfect rendering of Maud’s booming contralto.

“Andrew was up there in Macedonia in the war years,” murmured Letty. “But how extraordinary! You’d better tell the inspector tomorrow, just in case, but it does sound to me like one of her attention-gathering stories. In which—I remind you—she always features as the heroine! If there really were
anyone so unwise as to lurk under Maud’s balcony, my advice to
him
would be—put your tin hat on, mate!”

“Well, there certainly was no one around but me and the poor little boot boy who was hovering about, scared out of his wits by the screeching. Oh … and the taxi driver I whistled up when I left,” said Thetis, remembering. “I didn’t know myself where I was heading until the driver asked me for an address. You had just been in my mind, Letty, and I remembered you’d told me where you were staying when we mumbled at each other at the theatre this evening. Awful imposition! I’m sorry. Nowhere else to go. No home here or in England now. And no bolt-holes in an emergency—this very definitely isn’t Brighton! Always hard up, I’m afraid—I can’t afford the Grande Bretagne prices! I know a few other smaller hotels, all rather sporting when it comes to welcoming clandestine couples but they’re not the kind to take in unaccompanied women, especially after dark.”

“Well, I’m glad you thought of me,” said Letty. “We’ll dream up something to tell Mrs. Rose in the morning after breakfast. You’ll enjoy breakfast … a touch of home. And—don’t worry, Thetis, you’ll be quite safe here.”

Thetis smiled and sighed and helped herself to a second mug of cocoa.

Chapter 17

T
he man in the shadows pulled his hat further down onto his forehead and tipped the brim to hide as much as he could of the impressive hooked nose below it. He paused under a lamp to light a cigarette, his eyes squinting into the flame but taking in the arrival of the police car. It screeched and swayed to a halt in front of the house and a man got out. He identified the lithe figure of the Englishman at once. Yes, there was no mistaking those devilish dark features.

The Greek sergeant driving the car manoeuvred for a moment to direct the headlights onto the front of the house, then got out and stationed himself, back to the building, hands on hips, facing the street. Well trained. The officer moved forward to talk to the housekeeper and the young boot boy who were keeping watch over a hunched shape lying on the paved area that divided the house from the street.

The housekeeper’s piercing babble reached him in bursts: “Demetrios found her … He was just about to lock up … Right here under the drawing room window … She’s not dead. I rang for her doctor before I called you but you’ve got here first … We’ve covered her up but we’ve not dared to move her.

I think her back’s broken … She’s said nothing … just groans with pain.”

Montacute knelt by the side of the still form and checked for signs of life. He raised his head and called urgently to the sergeant. “Philippos! Go inside and ring for an ambulance. Better be one of ours, I think.”

He turned back to the recumbent figure. “Lady Merriman, it’s Inspector Montacute. Can you hear me?”

Only her head was visible; the rest of her body was shrouded in a woollen blanket. On the ground beside her, someone had hopefully placed a glass of water, a bottle of brandy, and a towel. The slightest nod of the head and a gurgling sound encouraged him to continue. “Medical aid is on the way. Try to keep calm. I’m going to switch on my torch so that you can see my face and I can see
your
face more clearly.”

Percy did this, sheltering the injured woman’s eyes from the first sudden light with one hand. He made an attempt to smile reassuringly, holding the beam high, aware of the effect his strong features often had on those of a nervous disposition. Underlit, he knew he looked like Beelzebub himself and he had no wish to frighten the poor lady to death. But all was well—Lady Merriman’s eyes, he noted, were still bright and were focussing on him with recognition and understanding. The mouth, on the other hand, was set rigidly, a trickle of blood from one corner betraying internal injuries, the lips glued together.

“While you are still conscious, tell me—was this an accident?”

The eyes told him—
No
.

“Did someone push you from the window … deliberately?”

A nod of the head confirmed.

“Did you see the person who pushed you out?”

Another nod. Weaker this time. Montacute, sensing that
he was losing her, hurried to ask: “A name? Can you give me a name?”

The eyes closed. The narrow lips twitched, then struggled to part. With swift fingers, Montacute took out his handkerchief and dipped it in the glass of water. Gently, he sponged the trembling mouth, sensing this was what the woman herself wanted. She was clearly fighting to stay alive, straining every sinew to communicate some awful truth to him, and he would fight with her against the encroaching paralysis to receive it. He leaned closer, murmuring encouragement.

A cold touch pricked his cheek like the tip of an icicle as something slid up from under the enveloping wrap. He recoiled in horror as he understood that the dying woman was using the last threads of her strength to push towards him an object she was clutching in her hand. Her eyes pleaded with him to notice it. He nodded and gently pulled a fold of the wrap aside to reveal the jewelled hilt and then the blade of a short sword that he recognised.

The blood-caked lips came unstuck at last and Lady Merriman whispered in his ear.

    The watcher strolled by on his way to the taxi rank at the corner of the square, catching the exact moment when her head lolled back. Unconscious? Certainly. Dead? Most likely. It looked as though the Englishman was going to have his hands full for the next day or two. Time to give Soulios the news he’d been waiting for. Husband and wife dead within hours of each other. With unbelievable luck.

There only remained the daughter.

Chapter 18

F
reddy Wentworth chose to bite the bullet and do his duty before breakfast. A swift telephone call established that the General was already at his desk and expecting that someone would call. Freddy sighed, straightened his tie, and set off for Konstantinou’s headquarters.

The Chief of Security held court in a smart modern office on Queen Sophia Avenue. Handy for the consulates, the banks, the Royal Palace, and the government offices, and not the least military looking. Lulled by the atmosphere of a busy office about them, the clack of typewriters, the ringing of telephones, and the coming and going of serious-faced young men, the General’s interviewees could almost put themselves at ease. Almost. No one could ever count himself at ease standing before the General, Freddy thought. And the General was notorious for preferring to conduct his interviews standing.

The elderly, aristocratic figure, in impeccable uniform, rose from his chair to greet Freddy when he entered and sat down again, gesturing to him to take a seat on the other side of the desk. Bad sign? Freddy made out the sketch of a charming smile under the luxuriant grey moustache, even a flash of teeth. Freddy looked aside. He really didn’t want to see the
General’s teeth. He always tried to avoid meeting his gaze also, though he was ashamed of his lapse into what must appear unpatriotic shiftiness. The piercing grey eyes were the only clear feature in a face which always looked to Freddy like a relief map of highland terrain. Crags, valleys, scars, and sinkholes provided cover for the surprisingly youthful and un-rheumy eyes which glared out, chilly and somewhat hypnotic. It was not surprising to Freddy—the frequency with which people changed their views in the General’s presence, came to an accommodation, and crept out backwards wondering what on earth they’d promised. The man was now retired from active army duty. Officially. But the stories of his wartime exploits continued to do the rounds of the embassies and the clubs. Freddy hoped they were exaggerated but feared they were no more than faithful illustrations of the pitiless nature of this formidable old warrior.

“Oh, it’s you, Wentworth. I wondered who they’d send,” said the General. He had no small talk. “I was rather expecting that new Scotsman of yours … Grant, is it? Haven’t yet had the pleasure. Perhaps someone will bring him round to show me. Now, before you start accounting at length for the murder of one British citizen by another on Greek soil, I will say—leave it to the police. We have no interest in domestic squabbles. Our C.I.D. have this in hand. Clear?”

Freddy opened his mouth to confirm, but the General didn’t wait to hear his agreement.

“Two points, Wentworth: First—I express my dismay that this should have happened in such a public place and in this particular public place. For obvious reasons. And I hold your Embassy responsible.” This time he waited for Wentworth’s acknowledgement of guilt. Apparently satisfied with the nod and grunt he received, he pressed on: “Secondly: I have reaffirmed my original advice on the planned appearance of the Prime Minister at the opening night of these English revels.

And I remind you that this advice is clear and consistent: Mr. Venizelos should not attend. He does so without our blessing and with all our forebodings. This, however, in no way affects our professional attentions. The Prime Minister will be as effectively protected by my men as he has been on the occasion of all other assassination attempts.”