She turned her face away and Dillon tapped him on the shoulder. Hunt turned in surprise and Dillon ran a foot down his shin, stamping hard on Hunt's instep, then head-butted him sharply and savagely and with total economy. Hunt staggered back and slid down the wall.
"Drunk again," Dillon said. "I wonder what the voters will say," and he took Asta's hand and pulled her away.
A Mercedes limousine slid up to the curb and a uniformed chauffeur jumped out. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting, Miss Asta, the police were moving us on earlier, I had to go round."
"That's all right, Henry."
A uniformed police officer moved along the pavement toward Hunt, who was sitting against the wall, and Asta opened the rear door of the Mercedes and pulled Dillon by the hand.
"Come on, we'd better get out of here."
He followed her in, the chauffeur got behind the wheel and eased into the traffic. "Jesus, ma'am, the grand car you've got here and me just a poor Irish boy up from the country and hoping to make a pound or two."
She laughed out loud. "Poor Irish boy, Mr. Dillon, I've never heard such rot. If you are, it's the first one I've heard of who wears clothes by Armani."
"Ah, you noticed?"
"If there's one thing I'm an expert on it's fashion. That's my fruits of a misspent youth."
"Sure and it's the terrible old woman you are already, Asta Morgan."
"All right," she said. "Where can we take you?"
"Anywhere?"
"The least I can do."
He pressed the button that lowered the glass window separating them from the chauffeur. "Take us to the Embankment, driver," he said and raised the window again.
"The Embankment?" she said. "What for?"
He offered her a cigarette. "Didn't you ever see those old movies where the fella and his girl walked along the pavement by the Embankment overlooking the Thames?"
"Before my time, Mr. Dillon," she said and leaned forward for a light, "but I'm willing to try anything once."
When they reached the Embankment, it was raining. "Would you look at that now," Dillon said.
She put the partition window down. "We're going to walk, Henry. Pick us up at Lambeth Bridge. Have you an umbrella?"
"Certainly, Miss Asta."
He got out to open the doors and put up a large black umbrella, which Dillon took. Asta slipped a hand in his arm and they started to walk. "Is this romantic enough for you?" he demanded.
"I wouldn't have thought you the romantic type," she said. "But if you mean do I like it, yes. I love the rain, the city by night, the feeling that anything could be waiting just up around the next corner."
"Probably a mugger these days."
"Now I know you're not a romantic."
He paused to get out his cigarettes and gave her one. "No, I take your point. When I was young and foolish a thousand years ago life seemed to have an infinite possibility to things."
"And what happened?"
"Life." He laughed.
"You don't mess about, do you? I mean, back there with that creep Hamish Hunt, you went in hard."
"And what does that tell you?"
"That you can take care of yourself, and that's unusual in a man who wears an evening suit that cost at least fifteen hundred pounds. What do you do?"
"Well now, let's see. I went to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, but that was a long time ago. I played Lyngstrand in Ibsen's Lady from the Sea at the National Theatre. He was the one who coughed a lot."
"And afterwards? I mean you obviously gave up acting or I'd have heard of you."
"Not entirely. You might say I took a considerable interest in what might be termed the theater of the street back home in the old country."
"Strange," she said. "If I had to guess I'd say you'd been a soldier."
"And who's the clever girl then?"
"Damn you, Dillon," she said. "Mystery piles on mystery with you."
"You'll just have to unpeel me layer by layer like an onion, but that would take time."
"And that's exactly what I don't have," she said. "I'm going up to Scotland tomorrow."
"I know," Dillon said. "There was a mention in Nigel Dempster's gossip column in the Mail this morning. 'Carl Morgan takes the lease on a Highland Estate for the shooting,' that was the byline. It also said you were standing in for him tonight at the Brazilian Embassy Ball."
"You are well informed."
They had reached Lambeth Bridge by now and found the Mercedes waiting. Dillon handed her in. "I enjoyed that."
"I'll drop you off," she said.
"No need."
"Don't be silly, I'm curious to see where you live."
"Anything to oblige." He got in beside her. "Stable Mews, Henry, that's close to Cavendish Square. I'll show you where when we get there."
When they turned into the cobbled street, it was still raining. He got out and closed the door. Asta put the window down and looked out at the cottage.
"All in darkness. No lady friend, Dillon?"
"Alas no, but you can come in for a cup of tea if you like."
She laughed. "Oh, no, I've had enough excitement for one night."
"Another time perhaps."
"I don't think so. In fact, I doubt whether we'll ever see each other again."
"Ships that pass in the night?"
"Something like that. Home, Henry," and as she put up the window the Mercedes pulled away.
Dillon watched it go, and as he turned to open the door he was smiling.
SEVEN
It was peaceful in the small railway station by the lochside and Dillon peered out of the rear compartment keeping out of sight. Following her had been easy. The Lear had taken him to Glasgow Airport at breakfast time and he had waited until Asta had arrived on the morning shuttle from London, had followed her down to the central railway station. Keeping out of the way from Glasgow to Fort William had been easy, for the train was busy with many tourists here to see Loch Lomond and afterwards the spectacular mountain scenery of the Highlands.
The smaller, local train from Fort William to Arisaig had been more difficult, for there were only a handful of passengers and he'd kept out of sight, only leaping into the rear compartment at the last moment. The station they had stopped at now was named Shiel according to the board at one side of the ticket office. They seemed to be standing there for quite some time. It was very pleasant, a mountain above them rearing three thousand feet into the clear blue sky, sunlight glinting on a waterfall that spilled over granite into birch trees.
Asta Morgan suddenly stepped onto the platform. She wore a leather jacket and linen slacks and leather brogues. She made an attractive sight in the quiet setting. She moved across to the ticket collector who stood at the barrier. There was some conversation, a burst of laughter, and she went through the barrier.
The ticket collector moved to join the guard, who was standing by the open door beside Dillon. "You've lost a passenger, Tom."
"Do you tell me?"
"A bonny lass, a Miss Morgan, hair of corn and a face to thank God for. Her father is yon fella Morgan that's just leased Loch Dhu Castle. She's away over the mountain. You'll put her luggage down at Arisaig and leave a message."
Dillon grabbed his Burberry trenchcoat and brushed past the guard. "Do you mean there's a shortcut over the mountain?"
"Well that would depend where you want to be."
"Ardmurchan Lodge."
The guard nodded. "Over the top of Ben Breac and a twelve-mile walk to the other side. You'll be staying with Brigadier Ferguson, the new tenant?"
"My uncle, he'll be waiting at Arisaig. Perhaps you could tell him where I am and give him my luggage." Dillon slipped a five-pound note into his hand.
"Leave it to me, sir."
The guard blew his whistle and boarded the train. Dillon turned to the ticket collector. "Where do I go?"
"Through the village and over the bridge. There's a path through the birches, hard going, but you can't miss the cairns that mark the way. Once over the top the track is plain to the glen below."
"Will the weather hold?"
The man looked up at the mountain. "A touch of mist and rain in the evening. I'd keep going, don't waste time on top." He smiled. "I'd tell the young lady that, sir, no place for a lassie to be on her own."