This United state

'I was about to apologize for that. Something I couldn't ignore turned up. And I had to rush out.'

'You're forgiven. I'm calling you because I thought it might be nice if you and Bob Newman had dinner with me this evening. Here at the hotel, if that suits you.'

'Suits me down to the ground. What time?'

'Would eight o'clock be all right? Maybe afterwards we could all adjourn to the bar.'

'Sounds like a great programme. I could phone Bob Newman to save you the time.'

'Would you? I'm about to dash out to see my Swiss couple again. They're getting wearing, but I agreed to go. See you tonight…'

Instead of phoning Newman, Tweed called him to ask him to come to his room. He was staring out of the window when Newman arrived. Then he told him about the invitation.

'I hope you don't mind,' he said, 'but I accepted on your behalf.'

'I'm glad you did. I'm just wondering what she's up to.'

'She sounded a bit fed up. I got the impression she's in need of some company. I'm hoping to lever information out of her.'

'What could she possibly tell us?'

'Maybe something she's observed while at the Embassy in London. Now, I'm popping down to the reception desk. There's something I want to ask whichever girl is on duty.'

'I'll continue with my packing, then.'

'Hurry. As I told you, Beck phoned to say there's been a heavy fall of snow in the Black Forest, with more to come.'

'In that case we're going to need cars with snow tyres. I'll call in on Marler to give him the good news. He won't find a car hire place open now, but he can organize things in the morning. We'll just have to hope Ronstadt and Co. don't leave tonight. Oh, what time is the dinner?'

'I should have told you. Eight o'clock in the main restaurant downstairs. Don't forget to put on your best suit for Sharon…'

Tweed walked down the wide flight of stairs instead of taking the lift. The lobby was empty. No one was sitting at any of the tables overlooking the Rhine. He smiled at the receptionist, kept his voice quiet.

'I expect you've heard about the barge disaster near the harbour?'

'Yes, sir. Everyone is talking about it. Apparently it exploded but I heard no one was hurt.'

'That's right. No one was. And the trouble was one of- the boilers blew up.'

'Oh, that is what caused it.' Tweed guessed that at the earliest opportunity she would pass his fictitious explanation down the grapevine. Which would soften rumours. 'Anyone sitting by the windows over there must have seen it pass,' he suggested.

'Two guests did. One was Ms Mandeville. She was sitting by herself at the corner table when the barge passed us. Then there was Mr Osborne, sitting in a chair near the restaurant. Both of them had binoculars. We all heard the sound of the explosion – of the boiler blowing up. It's never happened before. Someone's coming,' she ended in a whisper.

'Hi, there, Tweed!' Osborne's very American voice boomed behind him. 'Been lookin' for you, feller.' A strong hand grasped his arm. 'Time we had a drink together. Mebbe more than one. Nobody over by those windows.'

'I haven't a lot of time,' Tweed warned.

'Always time for a drink – or two.'

Osborne guided Tweed to the corner table he had sat at before. He boomed across to the receptionist.

'Send a waiter, would you? Toot sweet, as the French say.'

'They do speak excellent English,' Tweed remarked as they sat at a table next to a window.

'Guess I like to try out my foreign languages. When in Rome…'

'I'll have a glass of French white wine, medium dry,' Tweed ordered as a waiter appeared swiftly.

'You ain't got Bourbon. Don't know why,' Osborne complained. 'I guess I'll settle for a double Scotch on the rocks.'

'You know about the barge which blew up?' Tweed enquired.

'Sure. No body bags needed, so I heard.'

'Ed, why are you here in Basel?'

'Ed. That's better, much better. Why am I in this weird town? Embassy sent me to check on a Swiss PR firm. See if they know their stuff. I guess they're OK. We might pick up their key people. Take them to New York. Boy, here are the drinks. Your good health, Tweed.'

'Yours too.'

'Now the job's done, guess I may soon move on. To Freiburg – near the Black Forest. They tell me there's a nice place there. Hotel Schwarzwalder Hof. Some street called Konvikstrasse. I like that. Convict Street.' Osborne gave a belly laugh. 'Just the place for me.'

'When are you thinking of going there?'

'Haven't decided:' He paused. 'Could be in the next few days.'

Osborne shifted his large bulk. His chair creaked under the weight imposed on it. He was wearing a cream jacket with orange stripes, pale yellow slacks and a white shirt with a flashy tie. His outfit struck Tweed as loud, the kind he'd seen in California.

'What made you choose this hotel?' Tweed asked.

'There's an interesting story behind that.' Osborne had lowered his voice. 'Back at the Embassy in London I hear Sharon is also comin' to Basel. So I ask her where she's stayin' and – without much enthusiasm – she tells me about this place. Thought I'd have a bit of company. I can be a naive guy. Hardly seen sight or heard sound of her since I got here. That's the way it goes.'

'Do you mind if I ask what exactly is your job?'

They were both talking quietly now. Osborne took out a cigar case, offered it to Tweed, who refused. The American took his time clipping off the end, lighting it with a match, moving it round the exposed tip.

'I'm forming a propaganda outfit,' he said. 'A team of spin doctors and all that crap you have in Britain at the moment. I guess the purpose is to fool the voters, brainwash 'em, repeat the same line over and over again. Sounds like Dr Goebbels, doesn't it? Smells like him.'

'This outfit is for Washington?'

'Sure.' Osborne turned to Tweed, smiled drily. 'Where else?'

'Wasn't it Abraham Lincoln who said you can't fool all the people all the time? Something like that.'

'It was.'

'You like doing this?'

'Sure.' Again he smiled drily. 'It's a job. Until something else comes along.'

'Thank you for the drink,' Tweed said, getting up. 'Excuse me, I have work to do.'

'Let's have another drink tonight,' Osborne called after him.

Angled in his chair so he could see the whole lobby, Tweed had seen Denise Chatel emerge from the lift. She had walked into the writing room. At the same moment Paula was descending the flight of stairs behind him. Tweed walked to the writing room door, opened it and Denise swung round in her chair in front of a desk as he shut it. Her expression was startled, uncertain. Tweed wondered whether the psychiatrist who had said she was highly strung was right.

'If I'm disturbing you I'll leave,' he said.

'Of course you're not. Please sit down, she said stiffly.

She was tense, almost had a hunted look on her attractive face. He sat in a chair close to hers, smiled.

'How are you getting on? That file in front of you isn't more work, I hope.'

'Yes, it is – a whole load of work I have to finish before I have dinner.' She was rattling out the words. 'Sometimes I've got the impression Sharon invents work to keep me busy. Don't tell her I said that, will you?'

'Of course not. Tell her you're tired, that you need a break.'

'She doesn't believe in breaks. She never stops working herself. Even going out to see someone she takes a file with her so she can work on it while she's in the car. She always has a driver to take her round. She's a fanatic for work. The ultimate career woman.' She was rattling on again. 'At times I admire her incredible drive. She gets by on hardly any sleep.'

'Have you talked to anyone this afternoon? To give yourself a bit of variety?'

'I've chatted to quite a few of the staff, including the duty manager. They're very sociable here. I think they've noticed I'm on my own a lot.'