Midnight Never Comes

There was a faint swelling above the ankle bone beneath a jagged scar. He probed it gently and nodded. 'I don't think it's much. How did you get the scar?'

'Skiing. There was a time when I thought I might make the Olympics.'

'Too bad.' He stood up and took a spare handkerchief from the breast pocket of his tweed jacket. 'I don't think it's much, but a cold-water bandage won't do any harm. I'll take the lamp if I may.'

He left her there in the firelight, went into the kitchen and soaked the handkerchief under the cold tap. When he returned, she was lying back in the chair, eyes closed. The moment he touched her foot, she opened them again.

'Tired?' Chavasse said as he bandaged the foot expertly.

She nodded. 'As the ticket collector said, it was a fair step.'

She mimicked him superbly and Chavasse chuckled. 'It was that and more. Have you had anything to eat?' She shook her head and he produced the remaining half pound of chocolate from his pocket and dropped it into her lap. 'Greater love hath no man. Start on that and I'll see what there is in the kitchen.'

He was back within a couple of minutes. 'Nothing doing, I'm afraid. All the cupboards are locked and the calor gas cylinders are empty, so we couldn't cook anything even if we wanted to.'

'Never mind, the chocolate is fine.' Already half was gone and she held the bar out, a guilty look on her face. 'Have some.'

'That's all right,' he said. 'I had a whole bar to myself back there on the mountain. I'll make do with a cigarette.'

'I must say you seem extraordinarily self-sufficient,' she said. 'What do you do for a living?'

'I'm Lecturer in French Literature at the University of Essex-or at least I will be when the new term starts in October. Something of a return to the fold really.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Oh, I was a university lecturer way back when I first started out, but it all seemed too restricting, so I joined the overseas Civil Service.'

'What went wrong?'

'Nothing really, except that the Empire diminished year by year and they kept moving me on. Kenya, Cyprus, Northern Rhodesia. The future seemed uncertain to say the least, so I decided to get out while the going was good.'

'Back to a calmer more ordered world.'

'Something like that. After all, one doesn't need a great deal. You learn that as you get older. Take this lodge for example. A man could live here quite comfortably.'

'But not alone, surely?'

'All right then, we'll admit Eve into his paradise.'

'But what would they live on in these barren hills?'

'There's fish in the stream, deer in the forest.' He laughed. 'Aren't you familiar with that old Italian proverb? One may live well on bread and kisses?'

'Or chocolate?' she said solemnly, holding up what was left of the bar and they both laughed.

He opened the door and looked out. It was a night to thank God for, the whole earth fresh after the heat of the day and when a bank of cloud rolled away from the moon the loch and the mountains beyond were bathed in a hard white light. The sky was incredibly beautiful with stars strung away to the horizon where the mountains lifted to meet them.

He had not heard her move and yet she spoke at his shoulder. 'We could be the only two people left on earth.'

He turned, aware of her warmth, her closeness, of the eyes shining through the half-darkness and shook his head gently.

'Not for long, Asta Svensson. Not for long. Listen.'

She moved out of the porch and stood there looking down the glen to where the sounds echoed faintly between the hills. 'What is it?'

'A motor vehicle of some description-perhaps two. They'll be here soon.'

She turned and when she moved back inside, her face was quite calm. 'Then let us be ready for them.'

She limped to the fireplace and settled herself into the chair and Chavasse stayed in the porch. A cloud covered the face of the moon for perhaps a full minute and as it moved on, moonlight flooding the glen again, two Land Rovers turned off the track and braked to a halt.

The man who slid from behind the wheel of the first one holding a shotgun was of medium height, thick-set and muscular, his mouth cruel in a pale face. Chavasse recognised him at once from his briefing file. Jack Murdoch, Donner's factor. Fergus Munro came round from the other side of the cab to join him.

Donner was at the wheel of the second vehicle and a woman sat beside him, her face in darkness, a scarf around her head. Probably Ruth Murray, Donner's secretary, Chavasse decided and then Donner got out of the Land Rover and moved to join the others, an enormously powerful looking figure in a sheepskin coat.

Murdoch said something, there was the click of the hammers going back on the shotgun and Donner whistled softly. There was a sudden scramble inside his Land Rover and a black shadow materialised from the darkness to stand beside him in the moonlight.

Chavasse's mouth went dry and fear moved inside him for this was a Doberman Pinscher, the most deadly fighting dog in the world and perfectly capable of killing a man.

'Flush him out, boy! Flush him out!' Donner said softly.

As the dog came forward with a rush, Chavasse stepped out of the darkness to meet it. It froze with incredible control, eyes glowing like hot coals and the growl started somewhere at the back of its throat, carrying with it all the menace in the world.

'That's him, Mr. Donner!' Fergus Munro cried. 'That's the bastard that beat me up and his fancy woman still inside, no doubt.'

Murdoch moved to join Donner, covering Chavasse with the shotgun and Donner looked him over calmly. When he spoke, his Australian origin was plain to the ear.

'This is private property, sport. You should have stayed out.'

There was all the menace in the world in those flat tones and then a tearful, strained voice cut in from the porch. 'Max? Max, is that you? Thank God you're here.'

Donner looked beyond Chavasse, astonishment on his face as Asta Svensson stumbled from the doorway. She started to sway and he ran, moving with incredible speed for such a big man, catching her as she fell.

He looked down at her in amazement and then called quickly: 'Ruth, it's Asta! For God's sake get in here quick,' and hurried inside.

The woman who got out of the Land Rover and crossed to the porch, wore slacks and a sheepskin jacket and was even more attractive in the flesh than Chavasse had expected from her photographs. She looked him over calmly without stopping and went inside.

Fergus Munro turned to Murdoch, a frown on his face. 'And who in the hell is Asta?'

'Something tells me you're in for rather an unpleasant shock, Fergy boy,' Chavasse said pleasantly, and he turned before Fergus could reply and followed Ruth Murray into the lodge, the Doberman at his heels.

Asta was doing very well indeed. She was back in her chair, drinking the glass of water Ruth Murray held for her while Donner leaned over anxiously.

She looked up at him wanly and reached for his hand. 'No, I'll be all right, Max. Really I will. I had a shock, that's all. There was a man here, a horrible man, and then Mr. Chavasse came and threw him out.'

'A man?' Donner said, frowning.

'He threatened me.' Her hand went to her torn blouse. 'In fact he was thoroughly unpleasant.'

Donner straightened slowly, his face very white and there was murder in his eyes as he turned to face Murdoch who stood in the doorway.

'Where's Fergus?'

The roar of an engine breaking into life outside answered him and as he ran out into the porch, one of the Land Rovers drove rapidly away.

'Shall I get after him?' Murdoch demanded.

Donner shook his head, his great hands unclenching slowly. 'No, we'll catch up with him later.' He turned to face Chavasse and held out his hand. 'I'm Max Donner. It would seem I'm considerably in your debt.'