'I told that man–the Frenchman–that we couldn't bring it in the first time, and Johnnie was like a cat with two tails.'
'When was it that he told you it was put away safely?'
'It was next day–at the afternoon briefing, just before I went to see the Frenchman. At the Bull I saw him.'
'And you finally checked the hut–how long after?'
'Three weeks–more–I don't remember. I broke my sodding ankle baling out. There was a thunderstorm and we'd lost a lot of height–
we were too low.' Tierney was no longer looking at Audley; he was dummy4
looking through him and far away, back into the thunderstorm.
'Far too low. I thought we were going to come down in the sea. But Johnnie nursed her along–he said the old bitch knew what he wanted, she just hadn't understood her orders properly and he wasn't going to let her spoil everything.'
There was a squeal of laughter from the next table. One of the youths who had joined the mini-skirts had spilt beer down his shirt.
Tierney's eyes focused on Audley again.
'But the old bitch got him, didn't she! She bloody well got him! I never thought I'd see her picture again!'
'And how much of this did you tell Bloch and his colleagues?'
'Colleagues? I never saw any colleagues. Only Bloch. He got into the hospital a couple of days after I was taken there. I didn't even know Johnnie was missing — they didn't tell me. So I told him what we'd agreed on: that Johnnie wouldn't dare crashland with the stuff on board and we'd lost the lot.'
'Did Johnnie have a car?'
'A car–no. He didn't even have a licence. I remember he said it was silly, being able to fly a plane and not being trusted with a car.'
That was another bonus, and a wholly unexpected one.
The possibility of handy transport, even in those austerity days, had been the one insuperable danger. It had never remotely occurred to him that Steerforth could not drive. Rather, he'd taken it for granted that he could.
'It's still there, isn't it!' Tierney was looking at him with a look of total incredulity. 'Of course it's still there. It has to be still there, dummy4
and it was staring me in the face.'
Tierney had really been remarkably slow to follow the drift of the questions. Or slow at least to recover after being shocked into co-operating. Either way he would give nothing more which could be relied on. Audley took out his wallet and extracted five £10 notes from it.
'Fifty?' Tierney's assessment of his value was inflating rapidly with the birth of understanding. 'What I've given you's worth more than fifty!'
Audley was tempted to put the money back in his pocket. But it was more a gift to the blind goddess than to Tierney.
'What you've given me is worth nothing,' he said brutally. 'Nothing to you, anyway. You had your chance long ago, but because you were stupid–and because you didn't trust John Steerforth enough in the end–you missed it.'
'I could still queer your pitch–I could go to the authorities. I could report you! Both of you—'
The threat was empty and Audley was weary of the charade anyway. He reached into his pocket for his identification folder.
'We are the authorities, Tierney. You've been had, I'm afraid.'
Tierney squinted at the folder, then at Audley and finally at Faith.
And longest at Faith.
'I could have sworn—' he began.
'Johnnie's daughter?' It was the first time she had spoken since showing him the photograph. 'You weren't had there, Mr Tierney.
dummy4
I'm Johnnie's daughter. But you'd have done better not to have trusted me.' She spoke sadly.
'And Morrison–and the other man?' Now Tierney was really empty, with not even fear left.
'You weren't altogether had there either,' said Audley. The least he could do was to warn the man off–and make Richardson's job simpler. 'You're just lucky that we reached you first. There are other people around who wouldn't bluff you. You'd best take yourself and your fifty pounds on holiday–a week would do.'
Tierney reached forward and scooped the five notes off the table, where they lay in a little puddle of spilt whisky.
Audley got up.
'A short holiday, Tierney–and we'll be keeping an eye on you, for your sake more than ours. And don't try to be clever. Don't go poking around Newton Chester trying to make up for lost time. I might see you there, and then I'd have you out of the way before your feet touched the ground again. Is that clear?'
He bent down, close to Tierney's ear.
'And go today, Tierney–go this afternoon.'
X
Richardson was just across the street outside the pub, peering morosely into the window of an antique shop. 'Tierney's going for a trip somewhere,' Audley told him. 'Just see him on his way. If he dummy4
isn't off by four, go and remind him. Are you still mobile?'
The long face split in a grin.
'Hugh Roskill didn't fancy my old heap–he whistled up that souped-up racing car of his.'
'Phone Newton Chester and book us a couple of rooms at the Bull.
We'll meet you there with the others tomorrow morning.'
'Make that a double room,' said Faith casually.
'Yes, ma'am.' Richardson's eyes flicked between them. He was no longer grinning; it occurred to Audley that he was not only not grinning, but had apparently been struck by some facial paralysis which had stranded his features in between emotions. Certainly no one could accuse him of grinning.
Audley wasn't sure that he approved the way she was setting the pace of their relationship, even if it was one of the logical outcomes of emancipation. But he knew equally well that with a pace maker one either keeps up or drops out of the race altogether.
'With a double bed,' he added in what he hoped sounded an equally casual tone. If Richardson too was required to report back on his progress, then he might as well have something to enliven his report.
It wasn't until they were settled into the Rover that Faith spoke again.
'I suppose I was out of line there?' she said, with a suggestion of truculence rather than apology in the question. 'Not in front of the help? You didn't like it much?'
dummy4
Audley could think of no suitable reply, short of admitting that he was old-fashioned, but she didn't wait for one anyway.
'Well, I didn't like what happened in that bar very much either,' she continued. 'I didn't like you very much. I didn't even like myself.'
He tried to concentrate on his driving; the Rover's transmission was automatic and his unoccupied left foot seemed unnaturally large.
'Actually I thought you were hamming it a bit at first. I expected him to laugh in your face any minute. Or sock you, even though you were twice as big. But then you started to gloat–and it wasn't funny then. It was nasty!'
Audley's left foot shrank back to its normal size as he saw the truth of it, and the chasm. He was not suited to this kind of work; not because he was too soft-hearted, as he had cretinously believed, but because with a little practice he could grow to like it too much.
He'd been lucky with Morrison and Tierney–forgetting Jones and the police inspector. But when he'd learnt more he wouldn't need such luck . . .
'I just don't know what sort of man you are! I've seen a gentle side–
Mrs Clark's side. And a diffident side. And Daddy said you were very clever. And that nice man Roskill thinks the world of you–and so does Richardson, and he'd never even met you! But I think there could be a dark side I wouldn't like.'
Damn her, thought Audley. She was fogging the issue when there were things, other things, he ought to be worrying about. Except that in the long run they might be less important things.
dummy4
'You still asked for a double room,' he said cruelly.
She shook her head.
'That wasn't just for you, David. It was for the Bull.'