'Any description of them?' Hector inquired, too languidly to Perry's ear, when he had heard him out.
'Arab.'
'Well perhaps they were Arab. Perhaps they were French police too. Did they show her their cards?'
'Didn't say.'
'And you didn't ask?'
'No I didn't. I was a bit pissed.'
'Mind if I send Harry round to have a chat with her?'
Harry? Ah yes, Ollie. 'I think there's been enough drama already, thanks all the same,' Perry said stiffly.
He wasn't sure how to go on. Perhaps Hector wasn't either:
'No wobble otherwise?' Hector asked.
'Wobble?'
'Doubts. Second thoughts. D-day nerves. The heebies, for Christ's sake,' Hector said impatiently.
'On my part, no wobble at all. Just waiting for my fucking credit card to be cleared.' He wasn't. It was a lie and he couldn't fathom why on earth he'd told it, unless he was asking for the sympathy he wasn't getting.
'Doolittle in good heart?'
'She thinks so. I don't. She's pressing to come on to Berne. I'm absolutely sure she shouldn't. She's played her part – wonderfully, as you said yourself last night. I want her to call it a day, go back to London this evening as planned, and stay there till I come back.'
'Well, she won't, will she?'
'Why won't she?'
'Because she rang me ten minutes ago and said you'd be calling me, and that wild horses weren't going to change her mind. So I rather take that as final and I suggest you do. If you can't beat it, go with it. Are you still there?'
'Not entirely. What did you tell her in reply?'
'I was delighted for her. Told her she was absolutely essential equipment. Given it's her choice and nothing on God's earth is going to change her mind, I suggest you take the same line. D'you want to hear the latest news from the front?'
'Go on.'
'We're on schedule. The gang of seven emerged from their big signing with our boy, everybody looking like thunder, but that may be their hangovers. He's currently on his way back to Neuilly under armed guard. Lunch for twenty booked at the Club des Rois. Masseurs standing by. So no change of plan except that, having returned to London ce soir, tomorrow the both of you fly City-Zurich, e-tickets at the airport. Luke will pick you up. Not just you alone, as previously planned. Both of you. With me?'
'I suppose so.'
'You sound grumpy. Are you reeling from the excesses of last night?'
'No.'
'Well, don't. Our boy needs you on top form. So do we.'
Perry had debated telling Hector about Gail's text friendship with Natasha, but wiser counsels, if that's what they were, prevailed.
*
The Mercedes stank of stale tobacco smoke. A bottle of leftover mineral water was jammed into the back of the passenger seat. The chauffeur was a bullet-headed giant. He had no neck, just a few lateral red scars in the stubble like slashes of a razor. Gail was wearing her silk trouser-suit outfit that looked as if it was going to fall off her any minute. Perry had never seen her looking more beautiful. Her long white raincoat – an earlier extravagance from Bergdorf Goodman in New York – lay at her side. The rain was rattling like hailstones on the car's roof. The windscreen wipers groaned and sobbed as they tried to keep up.
The bullet-headed giant turned the Mercedes into a slip road, drew up before a fashionable block of flats, and gave a hoot of his horn. A second car pulled up behind them. A chase car? Don't even think about it. A rotund, jovial man in a quilted mackintosh and wide-brimmed waterproof hat came skipping out of the entrance hall, plonked himself in the passenger seat, swung round and placed his forearm on the seat back, and his double chin on his forearm.
'Well, who's for tennis, I will say,' he declared in a squeaky drawl. 'Monsieur le Professeur himself, for one. And you are his better half, my dear, of course you are. Even better than yesterday, if I may say so. I propose to hog you for the whole match.'
'Gail Perkins, my fiancee,' said Perry stiffly.
His fiancee? Was she really? They hadn't discussed it. Perhaps Milton and Doolittle had.
'Well, I'm Dr Popham, Bunny to the world, walking legal loophole to the revoltingly rich,' he went on, as his little pink eyes slipped greedily from one to other of them, as if deciding which to have. 'You may recall that the bearish Dima had the effrontery to insult me before a cast of thousands, but I flicked him off with my lace handkerchief.'
Perry seemed disinclined to reply so Gail jumped in:
'So what's your connection with him, Bunny?' Gail asked merrily, as their car rejoined the traffic.
'Oh, my heart, we're barely connected at all, thank the good Lord. Call me an old chum of Emilio, rallying round in support. He will do it to himself, poor lamb. Last time it was a batch of retarded Arab princes on a shopping spree. This time it's a squad of dreary Russian bankers, Armani kids, I ask you! And their dear ladies' – dropping his voice for the confidence – 'and dearer ladies I've never seen.' His greedy little eyes settled dotingly on Perry. 'But pity your poor dear Professor here, most of all' – pink eyes tragically on Perry – 'What an act of charity! You'll be rewarded in Heaven, I shall see to it. But how could you resist the poor bear when he's so cut up by the dreadful killings?' Back to Gail. 'Do you stay long in Paris, Miss Gail Perkins?'
'Oh, I wish we could. It's back to the grindstone, I'm afraid, come wind or weather' – a wry look at the rain pouring down the windscreen. 'How about you, Bunny?'
'Oh, I flit. I'm a flitter. A little nest here, a little nest there. I alight, but never for long.'
A sign to the CENTRE HIPPIQUE DU TOURING, another to the PAVILLON DES OISEAUX. The rain letting up a bit. The chase car still behind them. A pair of ornate gates appeared on their right-hand side. Opposite the gates was a lay-by, where the chauffeur parked the Mercedes. The ominous car parked alongside. Blackened windows. Perry waited for one of its doors to open. Slowly, one did. An elderly matron got out, followed by her Alsatian dog.
'Cent metres,' the chauffeur growled, pointing a filthy finger at the gates.
'We know, silly,' said Bunny.
Abreast, they walked the cent metres, with Gail sheltering under Bunny Popham's umbrella, and Perry nursing his new tennis bag to his chest, and the rain streaming down his face. They arrived at a low white building.
On the top step under an awning stood Emilio dell Oro in a knee-length raincoat with a fur collar. In a separate group stood three of yesterday's sour young executives. A couple of girls sucked disconsolately at the cigarettes they weren't allowed to smoke inside the clubhouse. At dell Oro's side, dressed in grey flannels and blazer, stood a tall, grey-haired, aggressively British man of the entitled classes, holding out a liver-spotted hand.
'Giles,' he explained. 'Met yesterday across a crowded room. Don't expect you to remember me. Just passing through Paris when Emilio nabbed me. Proof one should never call up one's chums on spec. Still, we had quite a shindig last night, I will say. Pity you two chaps couldn't make it' – to Perry now – 'Speak Russian? Fortunately I do a bit. I fear our honoured guests don't have much else to offer in the way of languages.'
They trooped inside, dell Oro leading. A wet Monday lunchtime: not a big day for members. To the left of Perry's frame, a bespectacled Luke crouched at a corner table. He had a Bluetooth device in his ear, and was poring over a sleek, silver laptop, to all the world a man of affairs attending to a spot of business.
If you happen to see somebody vaguely resembling one of us, it'll be a mirage, Hector had warned them last night.
Panic. Lurch of the chest. Where in Heaven's name is Gail? With the nausea rising, Perry cast around for her, only to spot her at the centre of the room, chatting with Giles, Bunny Popham and dell Oro. Just stay cool and stay visible, he told her in his mind. Stay down, don't overheat, stay calm. Dell Oro was asking Bunny Popham whether it was too early for champagne and Bunny was saying it depended on the vintage. Everyone exploded with laughter, but Gail's was loudest. About to go to her aid, Perry heard the now-familiar bellow of 'Professor, I swear to God!' and turned to see three umbrellas coming up the steps.