She pulled in a slot outside the large new food shop and Marler jumped out to feed the meter before she could reach it. Then he grabbed a trolley, waved her forward. `In the Far East they call the servant who helps, boy.' `Well, boy, I'm a quick shopper so keep moving.' `And I'm ten years younger than you..
She hauled food off the shelves, out of the refrigerated compartments. Soon the large trolley was piled high. She went to the checkout and Marler stared. A man in a white uniform picked up the purchases as they were checked out, then packed them in a series of strong brown paper bags. He then asked which was their car and wheeled the large stock to the front of the Porsche where he placed them neatly in the luggage compartment. Marler reached in his pocket for a generous tip. The helper shook his head. `Thank you, sir, but we're not allowed to accept tips. We get well paid if we're quick. Excuse me, I see another customer at the checkout' `Last time I saw that was in California,' Marler commented as he settled in the passenger seat. `It's a new American food store with American methods.'
She was already driving away from the slot, her speed just below the limit. She slid through a gap in the traffic. A driver of another car shouted at her but she ignored him. `Going back to California?' she asked. `I don't think so. Full of blondes with incredibly long legs and not an atom in the brain department'
Arriving back, eventually, at Park Crescent, Paula parked the Porsche in the yard at the back of the building. It was now dusk and they were followed up the stairs by Pete Nield, holding a small black velvet bag tightly in his hand.
All the staff were inside the office. Harry was seated in his usual position, cross-legged on the floor. He was dismantling a Walther, placing the elements in a plastic tray. Tweed waved a hand at his clear desk. `Dealt with all the reports. Monica took the replies along to the Communications building further along the street. Ah, here's Mr Pete Nield. Took you a while, not that it matters if you've got the answers to my gold queries' `You'll be fascinated. I had to wait while my contact, who was amazed, took this stuff to another analyst.'
At the reference to the word 'gold' everyone gathered in front of Tweed's desk. Harry produced a large piece of black velvet, emptied the contents of the poche. With the office lights on, the specks and the larger piece glittered. `From the Rand in South Africa.' Harry paused. `Mined well over a hundred years ago. No doubt about it.' `I had just wondered,' said Tweed, speaking slowly.
Before Paula prepared dinner for two at Tweed's house in Bexford Street they had carried the huge stock from the Porsche up to the first floor. Tweed was astonished. `Why do we need all this?' `Because both your big American fridges are almost empty. It's essential to keep up supplies.' `We could run our own supermarket,' he chaffed her. `I'm cooking. Fancy mushroom soup, lamb chops, potatoes, plus mixed veg, followed by a lemon tart I baked at Fulham Road?' `My mouth's watering…'
When she was well advanced with the meal she came in to set the dining-room table, found everything laid. Two glasses of wine had been poured. She sipped one appreciatively. She peered over Tweed's shoulder at the book he was reading. The Official History of Gold Bullion.
They ate in silence, as was their custom. Only when they were perched on the comfortable sofa did Paula tersely tell Tweed about the bizarre Evelyn-Ashton encounter. He looked disturbed so she changed the subject. `What did you think of Hengistbury Manor and its inhabitants?' `Seemed like the most luxurious prison in the world. All those people living under one roof. I sensed hatred and maybe an atmosphere of evil. The lid held on by the remarkable Bella.' `What about Marshal Main?' `A charmer. Never liked them, probably because it's a quality I lack…' `I've seen women of all ages look at you speculatively. Anything else about Marshal?' `A ladies' man – and with no qualms when he gets fed up with one Behind the hail-fellow-well-met flamboyancy I detected a ruthlessness.' `And Crystal?' she asked, keeping her expression blank. `Led me into her bedroom, saying the view was best seen from there. Then she tried to seduce me. She's strong but I managed to push her off.' `And she was furious, even ferocious?' `Oddly enough, no. She was calm, perfectly controlled. She took me along the corridor to show me Pike's Peak. A very unusual mountain – well, a huge hill. Shaped like a cone at the summit. Sheer sides. Nothing grows on it. I most certainly wouldn't attempt to climb it, not for a thousand pounds.' `Lavinia?' `Well…' Tweed paused. 'Certainly with the exception of Bella, the cleverest, most controlled person there. I must admit I had trouble reading her. Staring into those enormous glowing blue eyes I couldn't see what was behind them. Strong-willed.' `And very attractive,' Paula suggested. 'Clever? She is a forensic accountant. The tops.' `So is Crystal, and she's younger,' he remarked. `What about the other director, Warner Chance, the father of Leo and Crystal? He's so quiet.' `Again, excluding Bella, possibly the strongest and the most enterprising character in the whole set-up. I do suspect that he secretly despises Marshal.' `Two incidents keep coming back into my mind,' Paula mused. 'I was struck by Bella's last comment – "to come and protect our treasure".' `I noticed that wording.' `But when you quoted Bella downstairs Snape was appalled. He almost shouted hysterically, "She said that to you!" Most odd, I thought.' `So did I.' `What does it all mean?' Paula wondered. `Haven't a clue. Place is like a time bomb ready to explode.' `Well, we won't be there if it happens. What about Snape?' `Something odd there. I phoned a friend at the MoD while you were out. He served in Bosnia, was accused of shooting two unarmed Muslims in the back. The only witness was discredited and Snape was exonerated. Soon afterwards he voluntarily transferred to the Engineers. May have felt he was under a cloud. One thing I'm sure of – he knows more about what is going on there than anybody.'
And that weird business about the gold,' she went on. `I'll know more about that when I've consulted Bob Newman. After all, he is a reporter, or was before he joined us.'
Tweed suppressed a yawn and Paula realized she'd been asking him questions for a long time. She got up to clear the table and Tweed insisted on helping her. When they had arrived at the house he had taken off his jacket and tie to feel more relaxed. `Time for bed,' she told him when they had completed the clearance. `I think so,' he agreed, suppressing another yawn. `When you can I'd like you to draw an Identikit picture of the head of Mr Evelyn-Ashton, who you met at the Duke's Head. You did spend time at art school in the evenings once.' `I'll do it first thing tomorrow while he's fresh in my mind.'
Forcing himself to undress, Tweed flopped on the bed. The moment his head hit the pillow he was fast asleep.
Paula was restless. The nerve-racking episode with Evelyn-Ashton kept intruding. She could see his face perfectly, the weird change in his attitude before he confessed why he was really there. She crept into the drawing room. From a drawer she took out an artist's pad of cartridge paper, some sticks of charcoal. She sat down in front of a desk and began. She worked confidently and the sketch was completed in half an hour. She stood up, studied it under the shaded desk light. `Got you, Mr Evelyn-Ashton,' she murmured to herself. 'First time.'
Which was when she heard a car crawling along the street below. She parted the closed curtains carefully. A brown Ford was stopped. She saw the driver jump out, then arch his right hand back like a cricketer about to lob a ball. Under the light of a street lamp she saw the face clearly. Mr Evelyn-Ashton. She heard the shattering of glass as the object crashed through into Tweed's bedroom.
She ran to the door. Tweed, who woke swiftly, was already out of bed. He had automatically switched on his bedside lamp. By its illumination she saw an object on the carpet shaped like a massive pine cone. A grenade. `Get back into the bloody living room!'