“There he is!” Mannheim’s voice came from close behind. “Let’s have a drink before dinner.”
Garrod turned with the intention of refusing the invitation, then he saw that Mannheim was accompanied by Jane Wason. She was wearing a black evening dress so fine and sheer that her breasts seemed to have no more covering than a film of glossy paint and there was a soft triangular bulge of hair below the plummy curve of her belly. Prismatic highlights flowed on her body like oil.
“A drink?” Garrod spoke absently, realizing Jane was smiling at him with an oddly uncertain look. “Why not? I hadn’t made any plans for dinner.”
“You don’t make plans for dinner—you just relax and enjoy it. You’ve got to eat with us. Isn’t that right, Jane?”
“We can’t force Mr. Garrod to have dinner with us if he doesn’t want to.”
“But I do!” Garrod gave himself a mental shake and began grabbing the custom-built opportunity. “In fact, I was about to contact you two and ask you to eat with me.”
“The two of us?” Mannheim slid his arm around his secretary’s waist and drew her to him. “I wasn’t even sure you liked me, Al.”
“I’m crazy about you, John.” Garrod smiled at the older man, but as he saw the easy familiarity with which Jane leaned against him he discovered he wished desperately for Mannheim to have a heart attack and collapse on the spot. “How about that drink?”
They went into the dim cave of one of the hotel bars and at Mannheim’s insistence ordered outsize Zombie Christophes. Garrod sipped his drink, not appreciating its burnt candy flavour, and wondered about the relationship between Mannheim and Jane. She was at least twenty years the younger, but she might find his zesty unpretentiousness attractive, and he had had all the time and opportunity in the world to make his mark. And yet, Garrod noticed—or was it his imagination?—that Jane was sitting a little closer to him than Mannheim. The faint light in the bar allowed Garrod’s faulty eye to function practically as well as the other and he was able to see her with what was, for him, a preternatural three-dimensional clarity. She looked impossibly beautiful, like a gilded Hindu goddess. Each time she smiled Garrod’s newfound hatred for Mannheim caused a cold tightness in his stomach. They stayed in the hotel for dinner, during which Garrod tried to steer a course between the overly direct approach he had tried the first time they had spoken and the danger of not challenging Mannheim’s apparent claim. The meal ended too quickly for him.
“I enjoyed that,” Mannheim said, prodding ruefully at his thickening waist. “The least you can do now is take care of the bill.”
Garrod, who had intended paying for the dinner anyway, felt his resentment flare up almost uncontrollably, then he noticed that Mannheim had got to his feet with every appearance of a man about to leave in a hurry. Jane, on the other hand, gave no sign of wanting to move.
“You aren’t leaving?” Garrod fought to mask his joy.
“I’m afraid I am. There’s a stack of paperwork to take care of up in my room.”
“That’s too bad.”
Mannheim shrugged. “The thing worrying me is that I’m starting to like sitting inside my security cloak. A womb with no view. That just has to be a bad sign.”
“You’re giving away your age,” Jane said with a smile. “Freud is completely passé, you know.”
“That puts him level with me.” Mannheim bade her goodnight, gave Garrod a comradely sidewise flick of the head, and made his way out of the restaurant.
Garrod gazed after him with affection. “Too bad he had to leave.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
“Overdoing it, huh?”
“A little. You’re making me feel like one of the boys.”
“All right,” Garrod said. “I was sitting here wondering how I could arrange for John to receive a fake call to go to Washington. I would have tried it, too, only I wasn’t sure just how things were…”
“With John and me?” Jane gave a low laugh.
“Well—he had his arm around you, and…”
“How beautifully Victorian!” Her face became serious. “You’ve absolutely no technique with girls, have you, Al?”
“I’ve never needed one.”
“Because you’re rich and good looking they just fall into your lap.”
“I didn’t mean that,” he said a little desperately. “It’s just…”
“I know what you mean, and I’m flattered.” Jane put her hand on his, the contact sending a thrill along his arm. “You are married, aren’t you?”
“I…am.” Garrod broke through a mental barrier. “For the time being, that is.”
She looked directly into his eyes for a long moment, then her jaw dropped. “One of your pupils is shaped like a…”
“A keyhole,” he said. “I do know about it. I had an operation on that eye when I was a kid.”
“But you don’t need to wear dark glass just for that. It looks a bit unusual, but you would hardly notice it.”
Garrod smiled as he realized the goddess had her own set of human frailties. “I don’t wear tinted glasses for cosmetic reasons. The eye admits twice as much light as it should, and when I’m outside in bright daylight it hurts.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing. What would you like to do now?”
“Could we go for a drive? I hate being cooped up in cities too long.”
Garrod nodded. He signed the bill and, while Jane was away fetching her wrap, arranged for a rental car to be brought to the hotel entrance. Ten minutes later they were heading towards the southern outskirts of the city, and in a further thirty were in the country.
“You seem to know where you’re going,” Jane said.
“I don’t. All I know is this is the opposite direction to the way I went this morning.”
“I see.” He was aware of Jane looking at him. “You aren’t happy with this so-called investigation, are you?”
“No.”
“I thought not—you’re too honest.”
“Honest? What do you mean, Jane?”
There was a protracted silence. “Nothing.”
“I think you meant something. Pobjoy’s been acting strangely and earlier today John said something about a charade. What is it, Jane?”
“I told you—nothing.”
Garrod swung off the highway on to a sideroad, braked sharply and cut the engine. “I want to know, Jane,” he said. “You’ve either said too much or too little.”
She looked away from him. “You’ll probably be able to go back home tomorrow.”
“Why?’
“The only reason Miller Pobjoy asked you to come here was so that he could use your name.”
“Sorry—I don’t get it.”
“The police know who killed Senator Wescott. They’ve known it from the start.”
“If that’s true they would have picked the killer up.”
“It is true.” Jane turned to him, her face an undine-mask in the green light of the instrument panel. “I don’t know how they know, but they do.”
“It still doesn’t make sense! Why did they send for me if…?”