The couch they sat on faced the elevated desk. Paula was staring at Victor Warner's expression, hardly able to credit a man's face could undergo such a change. The long bony face was a picture of violent rage, mouth open, exposing teeth like those of a small shark.
'I gather,' Tweed said slowly, calmly, 'that you don't want Newman reporting the possible arrival of a drug cartel operating out of Colombia. Like me, I'm sure he hasn't heard a whiff of such an event. So he's hardly likely to write about it.'
'I was talking about this al-Qa'eda nonsense. For God's sake don't you realize the panic such an idiotic rumour would cause in London? After the World Trade Center atrocity in New York. Panic, panic, PANIC!'
'So there's not an atom of truth in those rumours?'
Warner threw both arms in the air. He looked up at the ceiling as though seeking salvation.
'Haven't you yet grasped it's all rubbish? Do I have to say all over again what I have already explained to you so absolutely clearly? Don't you think we would know if there was even the merest hint of truth in such a crazy idea? You really are sorely trying my patience.'
'And,' Tweed said, standing up, 'you are absolutely sure you have received no word from anyone since your wife vanished into thin air? Even a few words from the lady herself?'
'Nothing, as I have already told you once. Tweed, you really are an extraordinary fellow – you need everything repeated to you twice. I'm even beginning to doubt that you should hold the position you do.'
'But that decision…' Tweed smiled '… doesn't come within your province, does it? I hope you soon receive better news about Linda.'
'Linda?'
'I met her at one or two parties. If I have any news I'll let you know.'
Tweed had reached the door with Paula by his side. When he spoke they both looked back. The Minister was standing now behind his desk, leaning forward, penetrating eyes observing them over his pince-nez. He was a striking-looking man, Paula thought.
'We will keep in touch,' Warner called out, smiling.
Tweed opened the door and Palfry was standing just out of sight by the wall. Above his head was a ventilator. He had obviously been listening. So much for security at the Ministry. Tweed closed the door and Palfry joined them as they walked towards the staircase, whispering.
'Miss Grey, if you ever find yourself in Carpford do come and have a cup of tea with me. Mine is the Round House.'
'Thank you, Mr Palfry. I'll be glad to do that if ever the opportunity arises.'
'The Minister gets like that sometimes,' Palfry continued. 'You should hear him in the House when he's lashing the Opposition.'
'I don't think I'd want to,' Tweed replied.
She was tall and slim, even seated in the armchair facing Newman, who leant forward in his own chair, their knees almost touching. Clad in a black trouser suit, her jacket was tight enough to reveal her good figure. Her mane of jet-black hair draped over her shoulders. Newman looked up, interrupting his animated conversation with the visitor. He was standing up and the striking girl joined him, inches taller than Paula.
'George told me a lady had brushed past him and come up after leaving a box of Fortnum amp; Mason chocolates on his desk,' Tweed said gruffly.
'This is Eva Brand,' Newman said hastily. 'The niece of Drew Franklin, the columnist.'
'Mr Tweed,' Eva Brand explained, her voice soft but with an underlying stronger timbre, 'you were pointed out to me by Drew at a party. He said you were the only man who could save Britain one day in a time of great peril.'
'Did he?' Like Paula, Tweed was stripping off his coat. 'Anything he says – or writes – usually has a snide touch. I expect he was mocking me.'
'No, he was very serious.' Paula was watching her warily. Eva's large dark eyes seemed to look through her as she assessed her. Eva extended her hand and Paula shook it, noting the strength in her shapely fingers. Tweed also accepted her handshake, but briefly, then went to sit behind his desk, gesturing for her to sit down. The stranger crossed
6
She was tall and slim, even seated in the armchair facing Newman, who leant forward in his own chair, their knees almost touching. Clad in a black trouser suit, her jacket was tight enough to reveal her good figure. Her mane of jet-black hair draped over her shoulders. Newman looked up, interrupting his animated conversation with the visitor. He was standing up and the striking girl joined him, inches taller than Paula.
'George told me a lady had brushed past him and come up after leaving a box of Fortnum amp; Mason chocolates on his desk,' Tweed said gruffly.
'This is Eva Brand,' Newman said hastily. 'The niece of Drew Franklin, the columnist.'
'Mr Tweed,' Eva Brand explained, her voice soft but with an underlying stronger timbre, 'you were pointed out to me by Drew at a party. He said you were the only man who could save Britain one day in a time of great peril.'
'Did he?' Like Paula, Tweed was stripping off his coat. 'Anything he says – or writes – usually has a snide touch. I expect he was mocking me.'
'No, he was very serious.' Paula was watching her warily. Eva's large dark eyes seemed to look through her as she assessed her. Eva extended her hand and Paula shook it, noting the strength in her shapely fingers. Tweed also accepted her handshake, but briefly, then went to sit behind his desk, gesturing for her to sit down. The stranger crossed her long legs, clasped her hands in her lap as Paula went to her corner desk.
'Mr Tweed, I'm sorry to gatecrash my way in but I've found that's the only way I can get quickly to a top person.'
'So you don't hesitate to push your way in anywhere you want to go,' Tweed remarked gently.
'No! Never! If it's important. And the reason I am here to see you is important.'
You're pushy, Paula was thinking. I'll bet you went to one of the best-known boarding schools – Eva had a cultured voice. Probably ended up as Head Girl. Paula also realized that with her personality and looks, whenever Eva entered a roomful of people conversation would briefly stop. The men would ogle her, the women would spit inwardly.
'Important to you or to me?' Tweed enquired, playing with his Carrier pen, another present from his staff.
'Important to you…'
'Does your uncle, Drew, know you've come here?' Tweed interjected.
'Heavens, no!' Eva lifted her hands in horror at the idea. 'He'd have a fit. So I shan't tell him.'
'Before you tell me what you think is so important I'd like to know a little more about you. Background, career, if any.'
She sat up very straight. Newman couldn't take his eyes off her. From behind her word processor on her desk Monica glanced across at Paula, raised her eyes to heaven.
'I was educated at Roedean, then Oxford. I know something about code-breaking – had a boyfriend who was in that area. I spent some time at Medfords Security Agency. That was a tough job – they asked me to get to know certain men, take them to bars and get them drunk so they'd talk. The trick was to get them chattering, providing secret information, then escape before the invitation to their flat.
I once used my knee to get away from a persistent character. Do you get the gist?'
'I think I do.' Tweed was smiling. 'A tough job, as you said.' He was careful not to look at Paula, who was gazing in astonishment. 'So why have you barged in here?'
'Barged in!' Eva laughed. 'I like that.' She assumed her serious expression. 'Every now and again I drive up to Carpford, an odd village way up in the North Downs. I clear up the mess Drew likes living in. Dusting and so on. I make occasional visits when I know my uncle is in London. Would you believe it – Drew never notices. Well, a week ago I was in his place alone at night and I heard a motor-cycle coming. It stopped outside. I had my pistol, loaded, in my hand in no time. A Browning…'