Tweed showed no reaction at all except pleasure. Again he introduced Paula and Fanshawe obviously took an immediate liking to her.
`Come in out of the fog.' He guided her inside with an arm round her shoulders. 'Beastly night,' he went on, 'but you'll find it nice and warm inside. The Swedish central heating system works a treat…'
He was helping her off with her trench coat, hung it on a hook above a slim radiator. Beyond the front door they had walked into a large L-shaped living room with Scandinavian-style furnishings.
`Swedish?' she asked as he guided her to a long couch. `Yes, I was extremely lucky. To get this place.' He escorted her to a comfortable couch and she sat in a corner. Fanshawe turned to Tweed who had hung his own coat alongside Paula's. 'You take that armchair facing us and then we can be cosy. A glass of sherry will go down rather well, don't you think?'
`I had too much to drink recently,' Paula said quickly.
She had observed the bottle Fanshawe was holding under his arm as he collected glasses from a shelf under the round coffee table separating them from Tweed. Cyprus sherry. Glancing round the room she saw no signs of the monied opulence of Leopard's Leap.
`For you then, Tweed?'
`No thanks, Willie. I'm driving. You've been here for how long? Incidentally, it was your neighbour, Brigadier Maurice Burgoyne, who suggested we drop in on you.'
`Stout fellow, Maurice. Won his MC during the Korean War as a young officer…'
As he chattered on, addressing Tweed, Paula studied her host. His large rounded face had a cherubic look. He had blue eyes under bushy eyebrows and radiated an air of good humour. Yes, like a favourite uncle, she thought again as he eased his bulk beside her and turned to face her.
`Sorry, I'm neglecting you. Got absorbed in what I was saying. Swedish, you enquired earlier. It was built for a Swede after they'd knocked down an old farmhouse going to seed. I said I was lucky. While I was in the East my father played the stock market, lost our old ancestral estate in Berkshire where I was brought up. This place suits my limited bill perfectly. No maintenance expenses, you see. Window frames are made of a special wood. Never needs painting. You just oil the woodwork occasionally. Do it myself.' He switched his attention to Tweed. 'Never answered your question. I expect you know Sir Gerald Andover, the brain-box, lives two doors away?'
`Yes, actually we visited him first.'
`Good chap. He was out in Hong Kong on one of his visits. We were having a drink with the Brig. and I told Gerald my time in the East was drawing to a close. He immediately offered to look for a house for me. Never dreamt he'd come up with a place on his own doorstep. Price was reasonable – some folk thought it an odd house in this part of the world and the Swede wanted to settle in the States. I've been here just over two years. The Brig. arrived about three years ago.'
`I was surprised to find three old China hands on top of each other,' Tweed commented amiably.
`So now you know why-'
He broke off as a door opened. Paula had a glimpse of a modern kitchen and then the door closed automatically.
A woman entered the room. Tall, slim, and a striking brunette, Paula estimated she'd be in her late twenties. Over her well-moulded breasts she wore a tight-fitting sunflower-patterned blouse with a mandarin collar. Swan-necked, she held herself elegantly as she moved slowly towards them. Her cream pleated skirt stopped above the knees, revealing an excellent pair of legs.
Fanshawe jumped to his feet. Like some large men, Paula noted, he was agile, swift in his reactions.
`Do come and meet our guests, Helen,' he greeted her enthusiastically. 'Helen Claybourne, my secretary and general factotum. Keeps the place in order, including myself…'
After introductions, he pulled up a carver chair for her next to Paula. She was holding a glass of pale liquid and her cool gaze rested on Paula as everyone sat down again. Her cultured voice was as cool as her personality.
`Mineral water,' she remarked. 'I get so thirsty in this weather. Willie, shouldn't I be serving drinks to Mr Tweed and Miss Grey?'
'Oh, I pressed them, urged them. But their resistance was implacable.'
`Perhaps they'll yield to your powers of persuasion later,' Helen suggested, then sipped her own drink.
Her penetrating grey eyes were still watching Paula, who was reminded of Burgoyne's hypnotic gaze. She found herself mentally contrasting Helen Claybourne with Lee Holmes. Lee would walk into a roomful of men and instantly be the centre of attraction. Helen would pause by the doorway, looking round. And soon all eyes would focus on her. Two most unusual women.
`Andover struck me as being under strain,' Tweed remarked. 'I gather his daughter Irene is away.'
`Andover's a good sort.' Willie beamed his cheerful smile, his tone upper crust. 'But he guards his privacy. And now I come to think of it, you're right. Irene is away. Went off on a long holiday somewhere on the Med with her current boy friend. Restless. It's the age – hers and the present day, I mean.'
`How long has she been gone?' Tweed asked in the same casual tone, his eyes half-closed.
`Must be three months or more, wouldn't you say, Helen?'
`Something like that.'
`About the same time as Andover gave up the chairmanship of INCOMSIN – the International Committee of Strategic Insight? And all his other directorships?'
Willie pouched his lips. 'Come to think of it, I suppose you're right. Had never occurred to me.'
`And from what you said a moment ago he'd become a recluse? A hermit?'
`I'm afraid he has. Helen, entertain our guests for a moment while I make a phone call…'
He disappeared through another doorway close to the kitchen. Helen Claybourne concentrated her attention on Tweed.
`I gather from things Willie's mentioned you're involved in a particularly dangerous form of insurance?'
`Not really. There are rare occasions when negotiations over some tricky situations become a bit tense. Nothing you could call dangerous,' he assured her.
She looked back to Paula. 'And you're working in the same outfit?'
`Yes. It's mostly poring over the fine print of policies. Really like any other executive job. What about yourself?'
`Oh, a pretty quiet life. Keeping this place going. I do get a few trips abroad with Willie. The cherry on the cake…'
She chatted on until Willie returned. He waved both his large hands as he settled down beside Paula again.
`Your remark about Andover becoming a recluse triggered me off. I phoned him, was going to ask him to join us. No reply.'
`I could have saved you the trouble,' Tweed said, standing up. 'He was going out when we left him.'
`At this time of night? Oh, well, he always was a law unto himself. Must you go so soon?'
`I'm afraid we must. We're staying at Passford House and I'm expecting a phone call. I see someone is having some building work done. Those bricks on the grass verge further along.'
'Burgoyne's.' Willie jumped up to fetch their coats. `The Brig. is always having something altered. One of his main interests in life, I suspect. Very pleasant to see you again.' He was helping Paula on with her coat. 'Must keep in closer touch. I come up to town now and then. I'll give you a call before I start out next time. Lunch at Brown's would be nice…'
Paula said goodnight to Helen who accompanied Willie to the door and opened it for them. Tweed noticed he had two deadlocks. Better security then Andover's.
They were in the car, with Tweed driving out of the drive and turning right, back for Lymington, when Paula asked the question.