"Why?"
"Completely blocking the road."
"It's about where the air came out of the tire. I guess we stopped here because the pump house is the only bit of civilization in sight."
"Hm-m. Ah, yes. You're American?"
"Yes."
"May I see your papers? We don't usually do this but these are unusual times. It will simplify things if I don't have to question you."
"What if I'm not carrying any papers? We weren't told this country is like Europe or some Iron Curtain places where you have to have a dog tag around your neck."
"Then please tell me who you are and where you have been." The officer casually checked all the Singer's tires, even kicking one with his foot.
Nick handed him his passport. He was rewarded with a look that said, You might have just done this in the first place.
The officer read carefully, made notes on a small pad. As if to himself he said, "You might have mounted your spare tire."
"It was flat," Nick lied. "I used the valve stem from it You know these for-hire cars."
"I know." He handed Nick his passport and Edman Tour identification card. "I'm Leftenant Sandeman, Mr. Grant Have you met anyone in Salisbury?"
"Ian Masters is our tour contractor."
"I've never heard of Edman Educational Tours. Are they like American Express?"
"Yes. There are dozens of smaller tour companies who specialize. Everybody doesn't want a Chevrolet, you might say. Our group is made up of young ladies of wealthy families. An expensive jaunt."
"What a lovely job you have." Sandeman turned and called to the jeep. "Corporal — please bring over a tire pump."
Sandeman chatted with Booty and glanced at her papers while a short, rugged-looking soldier pumped up the flat tire. Then the officer turned back to Nick. "What were you doing in here?"
"Visiting Mr. van Prez," Booty broke in smoothly. "He's a pen pal of mine."
"How nice for him," Sandeman answered pleasantly. "Did you come in together?"
"You know we didn't," Nick said. "You saw my BMW parked near the highway. Miss DeLong left early and I followed later. She forgot that I didn't have a key to the gate and I didn't want to damage it. So I walked in. I didn't realize how far it was. This part of your country is like our West."
Sandeman's tense, young-old face was expressionless. "Your tire is inflated. Please pull over there and let us by."
He gave them a salute and swung into the jeep as it rolled by. The little column vanished in its own dust.
Booty drove the Singer toward the main road. After Nick had unlocked the barrier with the key she gave him and closed it behind them, she said, "Before you get your own car I want to tell you, Andy — that was nice of you. I don't know why you did it, but I know that every minute of delay helped van Prez."
"And some others. I like him. And the rest of those people are nice folks, I think, when they're home and standing at ease."
She halted the car beside die BMW and thought for a moment. "I don't understand. Did you like — Johnson and Tembo too?"
"Of course. And Wallo. Even if I hardly saw him, I like a man who sticks at his job."
Booty sighed and shook her head. Nick thought she was positively beautiful in the fading light Her bright blonde hair was awry, her features betrayed weariness, but her pert chin was up and the graceful line of her jaw was firm. He felt a strong interest in her — why would such a beautiful girl, who could probably have anything in the world she wanted, get involved in international politics? It was more than just discovering a relief from boredom or a way to feel important. When this girl gave herself it was a commitment with a reason.
"You look tired, Booty," he said gently. "Shall we stop somewhere for a pick-me-up as they say around here?"
She tilted her head back, pushed forward her legs, and sighed. "I am. I guess all those surprises wore me down. Yes, let's stop someplace."
"We'll do better than that." He got out and walked around the car. "Move over."
"What about your car?" she asked as she obeyed.
"I'll have it picked up and brought in. I guess my expense account can stand it as personal service to special client."
He rolled the car toward Salisbury at an easy pace. Booty peeked at him, then laid her head against the backrest and studied this man who was becoming more and more of a puzzle, and more and more of an attraction for her. She decided he was handsome, an advance over her first opinion when she had considered him good-looking and empty, like so many she had met. His features had the flexibility of an actor's. She had seen them look hard as granite, yet she decided there had always been a certain kindness in the eyes which never varied.
There was no doubting his strength and firmness of purpose, but it was tempered with — mercy? That wasn't quite right but it would have to do. He probably was a government agent of some kind, although he could be a private detective hired by — Edman Tours — her father? She recalled how van Prez had failed to press him for his exact alliance. She sighed and let her head sag onto his shoulder and put one hand on his leg, not a sensuous touch, just because it was the natural position in which it fell. He patted her hand and she felt a warmth in her chest and stomach. The gentle gesture aroused her more than an erotic caress. A lot of man. He probably was positively thrilling in bed, although that did not necessarily follow. She was fairly sure he had slept with Ruth, and Ruth looked satisfied and dreamy-eyed the next morning, so maybe...
She slept.
Nick found her weight pleasant, she smelled nice and felt nice. He put his arm around her. She purred and relaxed even more against him. He drove automatically and built a few fantasies that involved Booty in various interesting attitudes. When he pulled up at the Meikles Hotel he murmured, "Booty..."
"Hmpf...?" He enjoyed watching her awaken. "Thanks for letting me sleep." She became fully alert, not half-conscious as so many women did, as if they hated to face the world again.
At the door of her room he paused until she said, "Oh, c'mon in for a drink. I don't know where the others are now, do you?"
"No."'
"Do you want to dress and go down for dinner?"
"No."
"I hate to eat alone..."
"So do I." Normally, he didn't, but he" was surprised to realize that tonight it was true. He did not want to leave her and face the loneliness of his room or a single table in the dining room. "Ill order from room service."
"Please get ice and a couple of bottles of soda first."
He called for setups and menus, and then phoned Selfridge's to pick up the Singer and Masters' to bring in the BMW. The girl on the phone at Masters' said, "This is a bit unusual, Mr. Grant. There will be an extra charge."
"Check it out with Ian Masters," he said. 'I'm a tour escort."
"Oh — then there may be no extra charge."
"Thank you." He hung up. They learned quickly in the travel business. He wondered if Gus Boyd received a cash payment from Masters. It wasn't his business and he really didn't care, you just liked to know exactly where everyone stood and how tall.
They enjoyed two drinks, an excellent dinner with a good bottle of rosé, and pulled the couch around so they could look out over the city lights with coffees and brandies. Booty turned out the lights except for a bedlamp over which she hung a towel. "It's soothing this way," she explained.
"Intimate," Nick replied.
"Dangerous."
"Sensual."
She laughed. "A few years ago a virtuous girl wouldn't consider getting into a situation like tills. Alone in her bedroom. Door closed."
"I locked it," Nick said cheerfully. "That's when virtue was its own reward — boredom. Or are you reminding me that you're virtuous?"