Rhinoceros

'Don't often see the likes of you round here, my dear. I suggest you spend a few days down here. Plenty of empty bedrooms.'

'Thank you, but we have to get back to London tonight.'

'And this is Aubrey,' Barford said quickly, glaring at Lance. 'A little younger, a little politer.'

Aubrey had already risen out of his chair and was smiling. The smile was warm, welcoming. From his suit he looked like a businessman and he shook Paula's hand, not holding it too long.

'And this is our guest, Lisa,' Barford said with enthusiasm. 'She has brains as well as looks.'

Tweed agreed as he followed Paula in shaking hands with a slim, very good-looking redhead who was gazing at Tweed intently with a quirky smile, her blue eyes seeming to look inside him. She exuded intelligence and her movements were swift and graceful.

'I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr Tweed. Please come and join me on the couch.'

'That would be my pleasure…'

Other people were introduced. Several women were looking Paula up and down with an admiration verging on jealousy. Tweed sat down next to Lisa and they began talking as drinks were served. Paula tried to avoid Lance but he took her arm and led her to an empty couch.

'I hear,' Lisa began in her pleasant soft voice, 'that you have a difficult job. In a very special form of insurance. To do with covering rich people against kidnapping – and then negotiating their release on the rare occasions when they are kidnapped.'

'Something like that,' Tweed agreed, secretly thanking his host for using his cover. 'But what do you do? I detect just the faint trace of another accent.'

'You have a good ear. My father was German, my mother English.'

'So are you a linguist?'

'Up to a point.' Lisa hesitated, gazed at him. 'I do speak German, French, Spanish, Italian and Swedish. What do I do? I'm a confidante. Silly word,' she said apologetically. 'People come to me when they have a delicate problem.'

She lowered her voice. 'I've got one now. Better not discuss it here. If I could come to see you some time. Although I expect you're very busy.'

Tweed took a card from his wallet, handed it to her. She cleverly palmed it, looked round casually, slipped it inside her handbag. The card he had given her gave his name, followed by General amp; Cumbria Assurance, the cover name for the SIS, with its Park Crescent address and the phone number for outside callers.

She had been nervous, he sensed. She seemed to relax when she had taken his card. They chatted about various places in Europe they both knew. The blow fell very late in the evening. It was after dinner and Tweed had a shock when he checked the time as Barford approached him, whispered.

'There's an urgent phone call for you. From no less than Gavin Thunder, Minister of Armaments. Silly name. Found out where you were from Monica, your assistant at Park Crescent. You can take the call in the library…'

When he eventually returned, Tweed kept an amiable expression on his face. He beckoned to Paula, then turned to Lisa.

'Sorry, but I have to leave now.'

'That's all right.' Lisa smiled. 'I also must go back to my flat in London. My sister is guarding the dog. Or maybe it's the other way round!'

'Do come and see me…'

'Do you know how to get to Alfriston from here?' Tweed asked as they drove away.

'Yes. Head back to the A27. I once visited Alfriston for the day. It's very old, has a lot of character. I'll navigate.' Paula glanced at him. His expression was now grim. 'Is there a crisis?'

'Jeremy Mordaunt, under-secretary to the Minister of Armaments, has been found shot dead. Gavin Thunder spoke to me himself. Arrogant type. I'm not sure why I agreed to his request.'

'Surely it's a police matter?'

'That's what I said. But after Thunder had rung off I called my friend. Superintendent Roy Buchanan at the Yard. He said the Minister had contacted him, told him he wanted me to investigate. Roy had checked with the Commissioner and Thunder had already called him, demanded that I investigate the suicide.'

'I don't like the sound of this. Smells of political overtones,' Paula suggested.

'That's what I think. And how does the Minister know that it is suicide? The body was only discovered about an hour ago. The local police called the MoA.'

'I suppose Thunder thought of you because you were once the youngest homicide superintendent at Scotland Yard, as it was called in those days.'

'Still doesn't make sense…'

They had left the Barford estate behind and joined the fast-moving traffic on the A27. The headlight beams of their car pierced the dark and when Paula checked her watch it was close to midnight.

'Where has the time gone?' Paula wondered.

'Well, we had a leisurely dinner before we returned to the drawing room and chatted some more. The signpost says Alfriston coming up, off to the left.'

'I was just going to warn you about the turn-off. We'll soon be in Alfriston. It has occurred to me why you did accept this weird, if not illegal assignment. You've had two calls from Cord Dillon about the suicide of Jason Schulz in Washington. So-called suicide, according to Cord, who even called you from a public phone outside Langley. Which suggests he doesn't trust his own outfit.'

'This mysterious Mark Wendover he's sent over has probably arrived by now. Newman was going to meet his plane. We will know more after we meet Wendover.'

They had turned off the A27, were driving along an ill-lit road which was little more than a lane. Paula decided it was time to lighten the atmosphere.

'You really seemed to get on well with Lisa, chatting her up before and after dinner.'

'Very intelligent, strong-minded,' Tweed remarked, 'but there is something odd about her.'

While Tweed was still in East Sussex, Lisa had driven back to her flat in town. She covered long distances at speed in her sports coupe. The roof was closed, the heating turned full up. The moonlit night illuminated the beautiful countryside once she left the A27 behind, but outside the temperature had dropped below zero.

After slowing to descend the curving road on the north side of the Downs she pressed her foot down again. There was no other traffic at that hour and on either side spacious fields covered with a blanket of glistening frost spread out. It is still not quite the end of March, she thought. And I have contacted Tweed.

Lisa drove at a sedate pace on reaching London. The last thing she wanted was to be stopped by a police patrol car. Taking her usual precaution, she parked in a side street near her flat. The car was her getaway in an emergency.

As she walked quietly along the deserted street to her flat she turned suddenly to look back. No one was following her. Glancing up at her first-floor flat window, she saw the light was on behind the net curtains. Helga, her sister, had not bothered to close the heavier curtains, which bothered her. But she could hardly expect her sister to take the precautions she herself always took.

As Lisa paused, taking out her key, she looked up again and frowned. The glass in front of the lighted window was fractured. Vandals? A brick hurled up? Tiger, her Alsatian, would have torn the culprit to pieces had he been able to get at him.

Once inside the hall, she closed the door quietly, locked it, put on the chain. She was uneasy. Without putting on the hall light she crept up the stairs, avoiding the treads which creaked. What was the matter with her? My nerves are tingling. Must be fatigue.

Lisa had the key to her flat door in her hand. As usual, she inserted and turned it quietly. Ridiculous with Helga and Tiger inside. She called out once she had closed the door, not wishing to startle her sister. Then she realized there was an ominous silence – normally Tiger would have heard her, come rushing out barking with pleasure.

She pushed open the half-closed door to the living room, then froze. Helga was lying on her back under the window, legs twisted from when she had fallen, a red patch on her blouse over her heart. Beside her Tiger was equally motionless, a large hole where the right eye should have been.