Cross of Fire (40 page)

'I'd better get back to the Brudenell.' Paula decided a little later. 'Thank you so much for such a relaxing evening.'

'I'd like it to go on all night long. If you're ever near
Bordeaux, phone this number. It's the
Villa Forban. I'll come
and collect you in the car.'

She handed the sheet she'd scribbled on to Paula,
escorted her to the front door. Opening it, Jean peered out.

'It's a foul night. You have transport? If not I'll drive
you...'

'I have transport.' Paula lied.

She wanted to walk back, to absorb impressions she'd
stored up of the Brigadier, of her conversation with Jean.
Muffled against the raw cold inside her suede coat, her head
protected with her scarf, she walked down the drive, waved
to Jean who stood in the doorway, turned to the right to
walk back down the hill.

She was treading her away across the damp grass verge
when she heard something. She was about to look back
when a thick brown paper bag was shoved over her head,
rammed down hard. A pair of large hands grasped her
round the neck, swung her through a hundred and eighty
degrees, so she faced her attacker. Strong thumbs pressed
against her windpipe. She couldn't breathe.

She might have panicked but her first reaction was that
this was the bastard who had strangled Karin. She resisted
the instinct to claw futilely at the lethal hands. She jerked
her hands up to the bag, to roughly the point where it
covered her mouth. Her hard nails tore furiously at the material. For a moment she thought it was too tough to
penetrate. Then, as the hands tightened their grip, her finger nails ripped open a large slit. She clenched her fist, hit with all her force, as low down the body of the invisible man as she
could, hoping for the kidneys. She heard a grunt. For a few seconds the hands loosened their grip. She opened her mouth, pressed to the hole, let out an ear-splitting scream.

'A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-r-r-g-h...!'

Chapter Twenty-Five

Paula was hurled backwards as she heard what sounded
like the firing of a high-powered handgun four times in rapid succession. Fortunately she was still on the grass verge, but she lay there winded. She heard a fresh sound.
A car's engine starting up. She made the effort, pulled
the bag off her head, forced herself up on her elbows - in
time to see the red tail-lights of a car retreating in the
opposite direction she'd travelled when driven there by
Berthier.

Jean Burgoyne came rushing out of the entrance to Admiralty House. She stopped, gazing up and down the
deserted road.

'Over here.' Paula called out feebly.

She was clambering to her feet, staggering, when Jean had reached her. She flicked at her coat with her hands to
brush off rubbish.

'My best coat - suede ...'

A sudden gust of wind funnelled down the road, nearly
blew her off her feet again. Jean grabbed her by the
arm, led her back slowly to the drive, along it, into the
house. Only then did Paula see she was carrying a large
revolver.

'My uncle's service revolver,' Jean said, seeing her looking at the weapon. 'What on earth happened out there? Are
you all right? Would you like a drink? More champagne,
coffee, tea? Something with brandy in it?'

'Nothing. Really. Thank you...'

She took off her coat, examined it, standing in the living room. She decided it had survived without serious damage.

'It will have to go to the cleaners.' She felt dazed. 'Did
you fire that revolver?'

'You bet I did. Into the air. I heard you screaming -
sounded like a banshee going full throttle. Feel like telling
me what happened?'

Paula did so, tersely, pausing to give her throat a rest, to drink some lime juice. She was careful to give an edited
version, pretending she'd been subjected to an attempted
sexual assault.

When she'd finished she agreed that Jean should drive
her back to the Brudenell, but first she insisted on a brief search outside with a flashlight Jean produced for the paper
bag which had been thrust over her head. It might be
important evidence.

They searched fruitlessly along the verge, in the road, for
five minutes, and then Jean insisted that they got into her car and drove straight back to the hotel. Paula was still
holding up well, worried she might say too much to Jean. She was also worried about Newman. When he had heard what happened he would give her hell.

They arrived outside and as she stepped out of the car
Paula checked the other vehicles. Berthier's Saab was parked
next to Newman's Mercedes. What the devil was the Merc doing here? Jean accompanied her inside and they ran into
Newman pacing up and down the lobby.

Jean introduced herself, not realizing it was unnecessary
- Newman recognized her immediately from the photo
Lasalle had sent by courier to Park Crescent. Paula thanked
Jean effusively, said she wouldn't forget her invitation if she
ever found herself in Bordeaux. Something made her call
out as Jean was leaving.

'And, please, be very careful to take care of yourself. It's
a dangerous world we're living in...'
'As you have good reason to know. Bye.'

'Tweed is here,' Newman told her as they rode up alone in
the elevator. 'We'll go to his room, if that's all right. You look
all shook up. White as a sheet. Has something happened?'
'Better tell you while Tweed can listen too...'
Settled in an armchair in Tweed's room, sipping fre
quently at a cup of the sweetened tea she'd asked for, she
told
them about her experience. Tweed sat in another arm
chair, close to her, leaning forward, hands clasped.

He was in two minds whether to let her go on as she had
insisted on doing. Her request for sweetened tea, when
normally she never touched sugar, suggested to him she
was in a state of shock. He'd voiced the suspicion but she
had denied it. Tweed was still wondering whether he ought to pack her off to bed. On the other hand, if she
was
up to
describing what had happened now she was more likely to
recall small details, any of which might be important.

Paula had the thirst of the devil. She paused again to sip
the tea. The truth was she was in shock, but concealing it by
asserting her strong willpower. As she went on speaking
she kept herself under control by moving two fingers slowly
up and down the shoulder strap of her bag. She had come to the point when Jean said she would drive her back and
they got into her car. Newman spoke for the first time. 'Didn't anyone think of calling the police?'
'Oh, yes. Jean was very determined to do just that but I dissuaded her.' She looked at Tweed. 'You've had enough
trouble with Buchanan and I suspected it would get back to
him. He might have asked awkward questions you don't
want raised at this moment.'

'You could be right.' Tweed agreed. 'Good thinking.'

'I don't agree!' Newman burst out. 'If they'd put out an
all-points bulletin they might have stopped the car.'

'What car?' Paula asked him. 'All I saw were two red tail-lights disappearing. No idea of
the make - even of the size of the car.'

'They might have set up roadblocks.' Newman persisted.

'Probably no point.' Tweed objected. 'Supposing the man
who attacked Paula is staying in Aldeburgh? Which I sus
pect is likely. His car will be parked in a garage.'

'And that occurred to me.' Paula agreed. 'I studied a map of the town - the road where Jean Burgoyne's uncle lives is
a kind of horseshoe. He could have driven back into the
High Street from the opposite direction to the way Berthier
brought me. He might have his car parked outside this
hotel. I did notice Berthier's Saab was parked back in the same slot we took it from.'

'Did you feel the radiator to see if the engine was still
warm?' Newman asked.

'Oddly enough.' she flared up, 'I didn't think of it. After you've just escaped being strangled it's easy to forget
something.

'In any case.' Tweed pointed out, 'on a night like this an
engine would cool quickly.' He looked at Paula. 'You have
slight bruising on your neck ...'

'Which I noticed in the mirror when I slipped into my
own room for a wash before Bob brought me along here.'
She felt her throat. 'It's very slight - probably my scarf
saved me a worse bruising.'

'I was going to say.' Tweed continued, 'maybe we ought
to get a doctor to examine it.'

'No doctor.' Paula said as she stood up, stifling a yawn.
'If you don't mind I think I'd like to get some sleep. I was
going to have a bath...'

'Don't.' Newman warned. 'You could fall asleep in it.'
He grinned. 'Unless you'd like me to come and help you
into the bath.'

She smiled gratefully, realizing he was introducing an element of humour to soothe her nerves, shook her head. When she reached the door she paused, her mind racing as
she turned to speak to them before leaving.

'I told you every word that was said at Admiralty House. There's something odd about Brigadier Burgoyne. He was
spry as a five-year old when I arrived - physically and
mentally. When I started talking about Third Corps in
France he dried up.'

Tweed leaned forward, a gleam in his eye. 'How do you mean?' he asked quickly.

'Prior to that he had all his marbles. He suddenly went
vague on me. I had the distinct feeling he was acting out his old man routine. He even shuffled out of the room.
When he entered you'd have thought he wasn't a day over
sixty.'

'Interesting,' said Tweed, gazing into the distance.

'And there's something strange about Jean Burgoyne,'
Paula went on.

'Strange?' Tweed probed. 'In what way?'

'I don't know. Yet. She invited me to the Villa Forban if I
was ever in the Bordeaux area. I think I'd like to go there if
ever the opportunity crops up.'

'No point in thinking about that now. Get to bed as soon as you can,' Tweed urged her.

Paula seemed reluctant to go. 'Do you think that the murderer could be a woman?' she asked suddenly.

'Why do you think that?' Tweed, surprised, queried.

'I don't know that either, yet. Sleep well, both of you...'

*

'Kalmar is somewhere here in Aldeburgh.' Tweed said as
soon as they were alone. 'I'm convinced of it. I was careful
not to say that while Paula was here. She's gone through
enough for one day. Kalmar's identity is the key to this
whole European riddle - to what is happening in France. In Germany.'