It was an hour before he awakened and because he was clinging to her she felt the momentary tightening of his body, until the awareness of where he was registered.
‘Hello again,’ he said, relaxing.
‘Hello.’
‘Forgiven me?’
‘I told you not to be silly.’
He pulled himself close to the warmth of her body.
‘It’s good to be with you,’ he said.
‘Don’t ever go away again?’
‘Never,’ he said.
‘Can we leave, straight away?’
He shook his head.
‘Get dressed and while we have a celebration meal I’ll tell you what else has to be done.’
‘Shall we eat here?’
‘Too early,’ he decided. ‘Let’s drive somewhere and then take pot luck.’
‘All right,’ she agreed immediately. He was like a schoolboy on the first day of a summer vacation with a five-pound note in his pocket, she thought, rising from the bed and spreading the blanket more fully over him. She knew he was watching her through the bathroom door and turned, smiling.
‘You’re beautiful, Edith,’ he said.
She grew serious, coming to the linking door.
‘It is going to be all right, from now on, isn’t it, Charlie? No more mistakes … no more running?’
‘No more mistakes,’ he guaranteed.
‘I don’t think I could go through it again,’ she said gravely.
‘I promise.’
As if suddenly reminded, Edith stopped, towel in hand, by a travelling bag. It was a large, soft leather case with a shoulder strap and sufficient space to carry anything a person might need on a long journey.
‘You’d better have these,’ she said, passing over the passports she had drawn from the Zürich bank.
She looked at him expectantly, but Charlie just leaned across the bed, putting them into his jacket pocket. Any conversation about new identities would only rekindle her fear, he decided.
‘Hurry,’ he urged her. ‘It’s going to be a great evening.’
Because the car was pointing in that direction, Charlie drove westwards.
‘You know,’ said Edith, ‘for the first time in weeks I feel safe.’
She reached across the tiny car, squeezing his hand.
‘So do I,’said Charlie.
It was an hour after they had left that Braley and the American team despatched by Onslow Smith arrived at the hotel, seeking Ruttgers. The man was still registered, agreed the receptionist. But he’d left the hotel. About an hour before. Why didn’t they wait?
Superintendent Law and the sergeant had risen to go, pausing in the hallway of Willoughby’s apartment.
‘It was good of you to see us at home, sir,’ said the superintendent.
‘You said it was urgent,’ Willoughby reminded them.
‘And you’ve no idea why there should be this strange business about the passport?’
Willoughby spread his hands at the question that had been asked already. He was beginning to perspire, he knew.
‘Absolutely none,’ he said. ‘We don’t actually check on a person’s birth certificate when they become associated with us.’
‘Perhaps you should, sir,’ said Law. ‘You couldn’t suggest where we might locate him?’
Again the underwriter made the gesture of helplessness. Another repeated question.
‘There was an address abroad … Switzerland …’
‘The Zürich police have already checked, on our behalf,’ said Hardiman. ‘There hasn’t been anyone at the apartment for several days.’
‘Then sorry, no,’ said Willoughby. So far, he knew he’d kept the concern from his voice. But it was becoming increasingly difficult.
‘You will tell us, the moment there is any contact, won’t you?’ said Law.
‘Of course,’ Willoughby agreed. ‘And I’d appreciate any news that you might get. I don’t like the thought of my being involved in something that could be questionable.’
‘We will,’ said Law, finally opening the door. He paused, looking back at the underwriter.
‘The moment there is any contact,’ he reiterated.
‘I understand,’ said Willoughby.
‘Well?’ demanded the superintendent, as they settled into the back of the car that had brought them from Brighton.
‘I don’t know,’ said Hardiman, reflectively. ‘According to the checks we asked the Fraud Squad to make, the firm is so straight you could draw lines by it.’
Law nodded.
‘Exactly the sort of screen you’ try to hide behind if you were a villain,’ said Law.
‘Exactly,’ agreed Hardiman. ‘But without the principals being aware of it.’
‘So we’re not much farther forward,’ said the superintendent.
‘What are we going to do?’
Law considered the question.
‘Request a meeting with the Chief Constable and if he’s agreeable, tomorrow call as big a press conference as possible and name our mystery man as someone to help in our inquiries. It will be the only way to bring him out.’
‘The only way,’ concurred Hardiman, dutifully.
John Packer was always ready to move at short notice; regarded it as part of being a professional. He’d been late learning of the Fabergé recovery, getting the first hint from a newspaper poster about a jewel haul and then confirming it from the car radio.
He’d approached the house cautiously, alert for any signs that the police were waiting for him. Satisfied, he hadn’t bothered to turn off the ignition while he collected his share of the Brighton and Mayfair bank robbery money from the concealed floor-mounted safe in the basement and packed a case.
He’d go north, he decided. He wasn’t known in Manchester and it was a big enough place in which to get lost. He was surprised that none of the reports had referred to arrests; he’d have to watch the newspapers closely for the next few days, to establish if he were safe, before attempting a quick flight to the Continent Amsterdam, he decided. Nice people in Amsterdam.
What had happened to the man with the star-shaped scar? he wondered. He must have been nicked, Pity. He’d been bloody good. Odd. But still good.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The meal had been unexciting, but neither Charlie nor Edith had noticed. There had been long periods without conversation, when they’d just stared at each other and twice, aware of the waiter’s amused attention, Edith had looked away embarrassed, telling Charlie to stop.
There was still wine left in the half-bottle that he had ordered as the meal began and when the waiter enquired about brandy with the coffee, Charlie refused.
Edith smiled, gratefully.
‘Seems like everything has turned out all right,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ agreed Charlie, holding the glass in front of him. ‘That’s over too.’
‘You are sure, aren’t you, Charlie?’ she asked, expanding the question with sudden urgency. ‘Nothing can go wrong now, can it?’
Charlie reached across, squeezing her hand. She was still frightened, he decided, remembering the doubt with which she had given him the passports at the hotel.
‘Willoughby’s firm was one of the major Lloyd’s insurers,’ he said. ‘So he was able to be present when the collection was returned to the Russians … to ask questions without the interest appearing strange. He’s never known such official embarrassment.’
‘But …?’ she started.
‘And I personally saw the surveillance lifted from you.’
She gazed at him, coffee suspended before her.
‘What?’ she said. Her voice was hollowed out with nervousness.
‘There was a team of men assigned to you,’ he said gently. ‘American. I followed them back to the airport … they’ll be gone by now.’
‘I never knew.’