hadn't turned up, I can tell you.' His jaw tightened. 'Because then I had to decide whether I was going to shoot-to-kill, or not . . . And this contraption — ' He lifted the rifle ' — this was just supposed to be insurance. They said it wasn't really necessary, because they'd be here once he showed up. And then they offered me a hand-gun . . . But I didn't want to let him get that close. Because he's an expert, and I'm not—'
'No — ?' She remembered what Reg Buller had said. And what, from her own observation of only a few minutes ago (so little time?) . . . she also remembered.
'No — damn it — no!' He showed his teeth. 'You don't know what you're talking about, Miss Fielding. Whatever you think you know . . . you-don't-know — ' He let go of her arm, and straightened up. 'But I'm not about to tell you.'
What she knew was that she mustn't let him confuse her with either sincerity or very good acting: for some reason he had given her too much, up to now, but she didn't know why. And that was no reason to trust him now.
He looked away from her, dismissing her.
The unrecognizable wreck of the Citroen continued to blaze fiercely, with its black smoke rising up in a mini-mushroom-cloud in the still air. And the uniformed men were converging on it ... But the civilians were getting into their car — even as she watched the doors closed one by one, and then the car turned on to the track and moved slowly towards them.
dummy2
Then she realized that she was alone: Paul Mitchell was retracing his steps, back to the monument, walking across the autumn crocuses as though they didn't exist — as though she didn't exist —
'Dr Mitchell!'
He stopped, and turned. 'Whatever you want to know — you ask Dr Audley now, Miss Fielding. And I wish you joy of it.'
There was a knot in her stomach. Just as Audley had so strangely reminded her of Philly, now Paul Mitchell recalled Ian — the new Ian, for whom she also didn't really exist as she had formerly done.
He looked past her for an instant, then at her, very coldly. 'I must go and make our peace with the Spaniards. Not that it'll be too difficult, I suspect.' His mouth twisted. 'Don't worry —
they won't ask you any questions. Just so long as you go straight home now, and forget what you've seen.'
Her mouth opened.
'Oh yes — forget, Miss Fielding.' The twist became a travesty of a smile. 'A wanted man — a known foreign terrorist who has worked for ETA in the past? And I wouldn't like to guess what's happened to his little fat chum, either. So two known terrorists, believed to be working for ETA, have been shot by security forces, while resisting arrest. And that has nothing to do with any British tourists who may have been passing through, on their holidays: that wouldn't be good for the tourist industry, would it?' He flicked a glance past her for an dummy2
instant. The Spaniards have waited a long time to close the MacManus file, and balance their books. So this way there are no complications — no messy trial, or anything like that.
But next time ETA may not find it so easy to hire outside talent.'
Jenny watched him bend down, to disassemble the rifle and replace each bit of it in its place in the case — right down to retrieving a final round from his back pocket, and putting it too in its box, with the two empty cases of the bullets he'd fired. Then he looked up again. 'Of course, you may not want to forget — not after you've witnessed such a saleable event, eh? Pity you didn't have a camera!' He snapped the case shut and stood up. 'And the Spanish won't touch you, either.
Because, apart from being your father's daughter, you haven't done anything — have you?' He stared at her. 'Which is funny really, when you think about it. Because that's all your own work — ' He pointed into the valley ' — that, and what happened to John Tully.'
'John — ?'
'But you'll be in the clear there, too. He "surprised an intruder" . . . going through the files in his office. Only I'll bet there aren't any files on all this, because you'd only just started, hadn't you? And our chaps will not want to make a fuss about us, I shouldn't think . . . And I expect he was into a lot of other things, in any case. So, although they'll maybe want to talk to you, I doubt whether they'll ask any difficult questions. In fact, I guarantee they won't.' He gave her a dummy2
dreadful reassuring smile.
All my own work! She looked down at the old-and-new battlefield for a moment, suddenly aghast. 'But why — ?'
'But what?' He was waiting for her as she turned back to him.
'You don't need to feel too guilty, Miss Fielding. You have to earn your living, and this time you were trying to settle an old score — weren't you? And who can resist business and pleasure?' He pointed again. ' He bloody-well couldn't, anyway — not even when he knew the risk ... In fact, we're all in your debt for him — even though he wasn't the one you wanted.' He looked away suddenly. 'But I can't stay here philosophizing about guilt — David!'
'No — ' She couldn't let him go ' — why — why — did he come after us? You must tell me, Dr Mitchell — you must!'
'No I mustn't — David!' He didn't even look at her. That answer's more than my job's worth. If you want to know, then you ask old David — he's the one you came to ask, isn't he? David— '
Audley loomed large. But where was Ian?
'My dear Paul!' Audley looked at her vaguely for an instant.
'You were right . . . but only just, by heaven! So . . . don't you ever do that to me again.' He focused on Jenny. 'I sent Mr Robinson to reassure my wife, Miss Fielding. And to make his peace with my daughter. He seemed . . . rather cut up about deceiving her — I don't quite know why, but he did.'
That sounded more like the old Ian, she thought. But dummy2
then . . . what had they talked about, these last out-of-time minutes — ?
'I'm sorry, David.' Mitchell shrugged insincerely. 'Being right never seems to do me any good . . . But I must go and make our peace with Aguirre now. And then I'll come back and put you fully in the picture — okay?'
'Yes — you do that.' Audley still stared at Jenny. Tell him that I'm booked into the Parador near Victoria tomorrow night.
Because I want Cathy to see the battlefield there. And then we'll be gone the day after that — Hotel des Basses Pyrenees in Bayonne, which is safely out of his jurisdiction. I want her to see the Vauban fortifications there.'
Mitchell's mouth twisted. 'I'll tell him that. But . . . you tell Miss Fielding — whom Mr Buller always calls "The Lady" ...
or sometimes "That Lady" ... or sometimes just "Lady" . . .
whatever you want to tell her, David. She's full of questions.'
'Yes?' Audley didn't even watch Mitchell tread through the crocuses, as she did: he still seemed fascinated by her. But, although when she faced him she couldn't read his expression or his thoughts, she had the disconcerting feeling that he had been reading hers. 'He gave you a bad time, did he?'
'Not really.' More than ever he reminded her of Philly: Philly, not really in face or size, or even voice, but nonetheless indefinably Philly. So now she must really beware him. 'His rifle didn't shoot straight, Dr Audley. That may have put him in a bad mood.'