"Do you honestly think the Zaarb lot will swallow that?"
"Swallow what?" asked Loomis. "They got no witnesses. Your leather boys were out of the way hefore the fight started, we blocked off the whole street, and AZ isn't an embassy. They can't claim diplomatic immunity. They'll have to swallow it or admit they kidnapped Mrs. Naxos. You sent her back to her husband, I hear?"
Craig nodded.
"She tell you much?"
"Nothing relevant," said Craig.
"And Schiebel's dead. We'll get some nice Chinese stuff from the Russians now." Loomis reached out for the brandy bottle on the strength of it, and poured two more.
"Help yourself," Craig said. "How's Grierson?"
"Not good," Loomis said. "I've put him on indefinite leave. He's in a nursing home too, as a matter of fact. Not like this one."
He looked out of the window at the close-shaven lawn, the expensive trees in whose branches the more melodious kind of bird was allowed, within reason, to sing. "His place is top security, d'you see. He's unbalanced—and he knows a hell of a lot."
"That bad?" Craig asked.
"I've got two psychiatrists on him. That Chinn feller's one. Working like a beaver. Doesn't think it'll do any good for a long, long time. Grierson did a lot of jobs you know. Some of them were messy. He got on with it. He's a professional, son. I suppose it had to catch up with him some time. And what he had to do in that house—it was just too much for him. And anyway, he was scared before he went in. That's why he chose the roof."
"Would it do any good if I went to see him?" asked Craig.
"No good at all," said Loomis. "You gave him the riot gun."
Craig sat silent. There was nothing left for him to say.
Loomis cleared his throat and heaved in his chair like a dolphin coming up to blow. Craig recognized the signs. Loomis was about to be tactful. "I don't think you'd better see that Philippa Naxos person again," he said. "We can't afford to upset her husband."
Craig said: "That's what she said."
"Thinks a lot of you—that young woman."
"Is she cured yet?"
"Matt Chirm thinks so. Reckons you helped her a lot while you were with her. God knows how. And don't tell me," Loomis said. "Well you've done your whack of good works. I reckon you're entitled to a spot of leave. Two months if you like."
I'm back on the strength then?" Craig asked.
"As of the first of last month. Official Secrets Act. All that. You may even get some pay, eventually. You got another visitor now." He heaved himself out of his chair, waddled to the door, and flung it open. Selina, in a cool green linen sheath by Dior, erupted into the room, poured presents into Craig's lap, and kissed him. Craig found that he owned a gold cigarette case, more brandy, more roses, and a stone of grapes.
The cigarette case is from my father," she said. "I talked to him today by radio. He is very happy. The Haram will stay as it is and the mountain also."
"You'd better be getting back there yourself," said Loomis.
Selina said: "Not by myself. I still have many enemies in Zaarb."
"Well fly you," Loomis said.
"My father wouldn't permit it," said Selina. "No. You must provide me with an escort. Him!" she pointed at Craig.
"No," said Loomis. "He's due for a rest."
Selina giggled, and Loomis looked at once furious and embarrassed.
Craig felt better every minute.
I'll tell my father you cheat us. You want our friendship and deny us your best men," said Selina.
Loomis's color dimmed back to normal, and only the embarrassment remained.
"All right, blast you, you can have him," he said.
Selina looked at Craig. "I wish to start at once," she said.
Craig spoke sharply to her in Arabic, harsh and searing words that brought her head up proudly, fiercely, like a falcon's, but as the words went on her eyes lowered, her hands came submissively together across her breast, then she bowed to him and left.
"You got me sweating again," said Loomis. "What was all that about?"
"I told her we'd go when I'm ready." Craig looked at him seriously. "She's an Arab, Loomis. A desert Arab— a hundred generations of warriors. They have very fixed ideas. I don't want her to think I'm getting soft."
Loomis's face darkened to magenta, to purple, to violet; he wheezed horribly, and found relief at last in a moaning bellow of laughter. At last he said: "I quite agree. That wouldn't do at all. You want to rest here a bit more?"
"No," said Craig. I'm all right. I just want to see somebody for a while."
"You know, Selina may be right," said Loomis.
Craig didn't answer. He was looking for his clothes.
The Jaguar purred to a halt like a sleepy kitten, and Craig went into his flat. He remembered another return when he'd sat alone and waited for a girl to come back to him, a girl who was dead. But this time the girl was very much alive, sprawled flat on her stomach on a leather sofa, frowning at a yellow-covered typescript. She heard his footsteps and looked up, still muttering a half-learned line. Then she saw him, and the fine was forgotten altogether.
"Oh," she said.
"Buona sera," said Craig.
"I meant to get out of here, honestly," said Pia. "But I've been so busy, and I didn't know where to find you to leave the key—" She rolled from the sofa, a movement at once erotic and touching, and completely female, and stood facing him.
I'll go and pack now," said Pia. But she made no move to go. "Are you still working?"
Craig touched the plaster on his face.
"No," he said. "It's finished. Except—Loomis tried to palm a girl off on to me. I prefer to find my own."
She looked at him again and he was smiling at her, a grin of anticipatory happiness.
"I don't have to go just yet, do I?" she asked, and she was smiling too.
'Tour agent said I'd be bad for you," said Craig.
And Pia told him, fluently and precisely, exactly what her agent could do.