The Melting Man

She smiled for the first time, holding out her hands to the heat of the stove.

'You will?'

'I'll go and get it now if you like.'

'No, the morning will do. I'm not having the meal spoiled.'

She moved towards the kitchen door, then half-turned, her face serious again.

'You really think it's hopeless to do anything about… well, about my mother?'

'O'Dowda's a millionaire. He knows how to be careful. He can buy and sell, not only people, but truth. My advice is to forget it all. If he did it, it's written in the book against him and one day the charge will come home to roost. But there's nothing you can do.'

She nodded and went into the kitchen.

It was a good meal. We had tranches de mouton done in brandy and served with a puree of spinach, and then spent a pleasant evening together.

When we went up to bed, she stopped at her door and she said, 'You really are going to get that parcel and destroy it, aren't you?'

'First thing in the morning.'

She moved close to me and put her arms around my neck. I had to do something with my arms so I put them around her.

She kissed me, and a little carillon of bells began to tinkle at the back of my skull. She drew back and looked into my eyes.

I said, 'What's that for?'

She smiled 'To say I'm sorry for having been mixed up about you. You're not a bit like you want people to think you are.'

She kissed me again and then I held her away from me.

I said, 'You've no idea what I'm like, given the right stimulus. And it's working now.' I reached round her, opened her door, kissed her, fought against the one thing I had in mind, won, and gently armed her into the room. I pulled the door shut and, from the outside, said, 'Lock it. Sometimes I walk in my sleep.'

I waited until I heard the key turn. Then I went into my own room, telling myself that just for once I would do things in their right order. I wanted that parcel out of the way, destroyed, first. I knew me too well. I could have gone into the room with her, and had second thoughts about the parcel in the morning. After all, it was worth a hell of a lot of money, and money is real, so many other things fade and wither.

Before I undressed, I got out my four thousand dollars and hid the notes spread flat under the linoleum. If I were going to do the proper thing and all was to be right between us I knew hat I would be back here soon. And if things didn't go right, well, it would still be here. After all, every winning fighter is entitled to his fairly won purse money.

* * *

I was down at the Hotel Mont Arbois by eight o'clock the next morning to get my parcel before it was collected by the mail. I was too late. The post had gone. Well, I should just have to collect it at Evian — where I had posted it to myself poste restante. I drove slowly in the Facel Vega, wondering why I was throwing away the chance to collect a few more easy thousands for myself. So far as I could see it wasn't going to do me any good. I couldn't even detect the slightest beginning of any spiritual change in myself. Why was I doing it? Clearly, just to get a good standing in Julia's eyes. Some day, I thought, I might find myself in circumstances where I could do something out of pure principle, and no strings attached. It would be interesting to see how I felt then.

I parked the car round the back and hurried into the kitchen, looking forward to coffee and eggs and bacon. There was a good smell of coffee from the pot on the stove, but no sign of breakfast or Julia. I went up to her bedroom. The bed was made, but all her clothes and her suitcase had gone. In my room the bed had been made up.

I went down to the big main room, puzzled. On the table where the drinks were an envelope was propped against one of the bottles. I tore it open.

It was from Panda Bubakar.

Honey-boy,

We've borrowed your Miss Julia for an indefinite period. Don't fuss, we'll take good care of her. Tell her pappa that he can have her back just as soon as you return you-know-what. Ritzy pyjamas you wear.

A hatful of kisses. Yum-yum!

Panda.

I went into the kitchen and poured myself some coffee and sat on the table, thinking.

I had an idea that all this had stemmed from Durnford trying to free himself from the Turk's Head he'd got tangled in. He was prepared now to do anything to muck O'Dowda up and wasn't giving a thought to any consequences. If he couldn't get the parcel from me he was prepared to help Najib to get it. Anything so long as O'Dowda didn't get it.

I called the Château de la Forclaz and got him.

I told him where I was and went on, 'Did you know Miss Julia was going to be here?'

'Yes. Before she left she asked me to forward any mail to her there.'

'And you told Najib where he could find her?'

'What I do is my own business.'

'Well, all I can say is don't go out in any speedboat with Tich Kermode. You've made a real old muck of things. Where's O'Dowda?'

'He's back here and he wants to see you.'

'I'll bet he does. Tell him I'll be along pretty soon. Has he read Julia's letter?'

'What letter?'

'The one in which she says she's finished with him.'

After a pause, he said, 'Yes.'

'Pity.'

I rang off.

O'Dowda, knowing now that Julia had cut adrift from him, wasn't likely to consider that Najib and company had any great bargaining pawn in her. O'Dowda wanted that parcel badly. He wouldn't care a damn what happened to Julia — and plenty could happen to her because Najib was playing for high stakes on the General's behalf.

I fried myself an egg and did some more thinking. It didn't get me anywhere. Then I went up and packed my things, including the ritzy pyjamas. I had a fair idea why Panda and Najib had not waited for me to come back from the hotel.

They weren't interested in talking to me. They would go straight to O'Dowda himself.

Only one thing was clear to me. I had the parcel, and I didn't intend that any harm should come to Julia. That meant that I would have to hand it over to Najib. O'Dowda wasn't going to like that, and neither was Aristide. Both of them would do all they could to stop me. For the time being I decided that it would be best to leave the parcel sitting waiting for me at the Evian post office until I had got things straightened out.

I locked up the chalet and drove off in the Facel Vega. It was a good thing that I hadn't got the parcel with me. Just this side of Cluses, I was flagged down by a couple of police types on motor cycles. They were very polite, checked my papers, and then went over the car inch by inch. Disappointed, they asked me where I was going. I wasn't quite sure, but to keep them happy I said the Château de la Forclaz. They waved me on with a couple of gallant Gallic flourishes and sat on my tail for the next ten miles. But they must have been busy on the radio because, as I came down to Thonon on the side of the lake, a couple of fresh motor-cycle types appeared, slowed me down, took up station one at bow and one at stern, and escorted me into the town and on to the Quai de Rives where they pulled up. Aristide was waiting in a shabby old blue saloon.

He got out, dismissed the police, and came back to me and invited me across the road for a drink. He ordered a Pernod for himself and a beer for me and gave me a warm smile. The cornflower in his buttonhole was faded and he had cut himself in a different place on his chin shaving.

'Nice job you did at the golf course,' he said.

'I thought it was neat.'

'You have girls all over France you can call on for help?'

'Quite a few — but I'm not giving away any addresses. I'm not in a giving-away mood.'