'Did you open the door to our sanctum?'
She straightened up, swivelled round, her brown eyes blazing. She had dark hair, well coiffeured, an attractive face with full lips. She was not smiling.
'Are you accusing me of eavesdropping, you absent swine?'
'No, of course not.'
'When are you taking me out again, while we're on the subject?'
Saying which, she flung her arms round his neck, pulled him close. They began kissing passionately until she pushed him away.
'Well, answer the friggin' question. My patience is running out.'
'Soon…'
'Soon? It had better be…'
'Miss Partridge,' a voice called from the open door to the room beyond. She called back that she was coming when she'd finished with the computer.
Changing her mind, she closed down the machine. She strode off into the next room without giving Nelson another look. It was then he noticed a small girl seated in a corner looking over some files. Coral Flenton, also in the Civil Service and Partridge's assistant, a red-haired girl with hazel eyes and a nice smile. He decided he'd better have a word and walked over.
'You didn't notice anything happening a moment ago, did you?'
'Mr Macomber…' She swung round on her swivel seat. 'Nothing has happened here for hours. Except Freaky-Deaky has been throwing her weight around as usual.'
Freaky-Deaky. Nelson knew that was one of the universal nicknames for Zena Partridge even in the sanctum. She was a control-freak, hence her nickname, and also known as the Parrot. He flapped his hands and smiled back.
'She does come down a bit heavy at times. She does have a ton of responsibility. Especially to us. Keep your chin up…'
Returning to his HQ, he closed the door carefully, sat down and stared round the table. Neither of his brothers said a word. They couldn't possibly have heard any of his conversation with Partridge. The slightly open door still bothered him.
'We've heard a lot of confidential data while that door wasn't completely closed. Refresh my memory.'
'Very confidential,' Noel agreed, his voice high-pitched. 'The water-cannon delivery at Harber's Yard near Tolhaven. The tough training by the team at Harber's Yard. We went into it in some detail. All the details, in fact. You came through that door last. You'll have to be a damn sight more careful in future, brother.'
'Don't call me brother,' Nelson warned with menacing quietness.
'Time to change the subject,' Benton said gently.
'I have decided positively on my next move,' Nelson said firmly. 'In fact, within the hour.'
'Which is?' asked Noel, his V-shaped features compressing into a frown.
'To go over on to the attack,' Nelson said off-handedly, knowing his brother was desperate to keep his fingers on every development. 'You're not the only one who can plan, dear boy.'
'Don't ever call me that again.' In his fury Noel leapt to his feet. 'Did you hear me?' he shouted as Nelson left the room by the outer door as though he hadn't heard.
'No point in getting in a rage,' Benton said quietly. He spent half his time keeping the peace and he was getting tired of his role as peacemaker.
'I'm checking next door,' Noel snapped.
He opened the door which led into the civil servants' area. No sign of the Parrot. In her corner, diminutive Coral Flenton was bent over her word-processor. She could see who was coming in the mirror artfully placed on her desk. She made a point of pretending not to notice as Noel hurried over to her.
'Flenton, how long have you been seated at your desk?'
'Ever since I came in. Sir,' she added after a pause.
'Are you sure about that statement?' he asked with a sneer. 'Not been to the loo or any of the other things women take it into their tiny heads to do?'
'I have just answered your question. Sir.'
'All right, then. Get up for a change and bring us some coffee and cakes. Two of us. Get cracking, girl.'
He swung round and headed back for the sanctum. Since he hadn't eyes in the back of his head he missed the look of pure hatred on Coral's face as she left her desk.
I'll go home and change first, Nelson said to himself. And I'll go to see Tweed afterwards in the Merc. Important to display a show of power to Tweed in his hideaway in Park Crescent.
'Home first,' he ordered his chauffeur, Jeff, seated with the guard in the alcove close to the front door. When they arrived at his apartment in Mayfair he leapt out of the car almost before it had pulled up, a habit which always worried Jeff. Couldn't say a word to Nelson Macomber, who went his own way and ignored servants.
Entering the apartment on the first floor after skipping up the stairs like a ten-year-old, Nelson was annoyed to find his wife, Loelia, daughter of an earl, dressed in her velvet suit on the verge of leaving.
Loelia, forty years old and a glamorous brunette, was not pleased to see him. He could tell from the downward slant of her full lips. She spoke rapidly.
'Don't close the door. You're home in the middle of your working day. You might have phoned me first.'
'Why?' He was heading for the bedroom. 'On your way to see your close friend, Frederick?'
'Everyone else calls him Freddie…'
'To me the conceited playboy is Frederick.'
'He's not conceited,' she snapped, the downward slant of her mouth becoming more pronounced. 'He's got far better manners than you. Who is the cheap floozie you're visiting today? Jeanette would be my guess.'
'As usual you've guessed wrong. This is business. Where is my Armani suit?'
'You're staring at it. Don't forget to fold it neatly before you hop into bed.'
'Get the hell out of here,' he shouted.
'F- you,' she screamed, slamming the bedroom door behind her.
Nelson dressed quickly. He did everything quickly unless he was playing a political game. Then he spoke slowly and not often. He must remember to adopt that pose when he confronted Tweed.
4
In the early hours of the morning, Newman made fast progress down the motorway towards the south-west. Normally smiling, his face was set in a grim expression. Who had attempted to frame Tweed? And why? He had examined the contents of the briefcase during a brief stop, wearing latex gloves. I don't like the look of this one little bit, he thought, echoing Paula's earlier reaction.
Blazing lights came towards him in the murky dawn, the lights of heavy trucks. Newman had already decided which safe house he would use to hide the briefcase. During his stop he had also taken from his pocket the piece of folded paper handed to him by his informant before arriving at Tweed's house where the crisis had started.
Harber's Yard, on the coast south of Tolhaven.
He turned off the motorway to Tolhaven. Once, on a previous case with Tweed, he had visited Buckler's Hard near Beaulieu. Was this new location the same sort of secretive place? He would find out. His informant seldom made any mistakes.
Reaching the hidden entrance to the safe house, close to the motorway, he parked the Range Rover in a field behind some trees. He was not confident that he had lost the sinister men in black uniforms.
The sky was still heavily overcast as he made his way up the footpath, overgrown with weeds, to the safe house, an isolated single-storey thatched cottage. He approached cautiously, circling the cottage, pausing for long minutes to listen. No sign of anyone.
He was now up above the motorway, and looking down he saw the chain of trucks' lights following each other to London. It was cold as he took out the key to open the shabby front door. It creaked resentfully as he pushed it open, went straight in, Smith amp; Wesson in his right hand. He had heard a faint sound of movement. There was no security in the cottage – it would have made the place look suspicious – and the sound he'd heard worried him.
He waited just inside the door, half hidden behind it, took out a powerful torch, listened again. There was the furtive sound again. Revolver in one hand, torch in the other, he switched it on. Startled eyes stared back at him. The fox took off, leapt through a broken window, was gone. He let out the breath he'd been holding.