Cell (26 page)

'I could phone Tweed at Santini's, get his opinion,'
Monica persisted.

'Don't you dare!'

The icy cold hit her face when she left and climbed inside
her car. The heater soon warmed up the interior as she drove
towards Baker Street. She didn't expect everyone to be at
home in the village but some of them never seemed to leave
it. Then a barrier stopped her with a diversion sign.

She could see most of a juggernaut protruding from
a building in the course of construction. A
policeman
she happened to know leaned down as she lowered the
window.

'That doesn't look nice,' she said. 'Any casualties?'

'The driver inside the cab. I don't think we're going to
find much of him left.' He coughed, feeling he'd said too
much. 'Don't quote me, Miss Grey.'

'I've already forgotten what you said, John.'

She gave him a smile as she swung down the diversion.
Soon she was racing down the A3, just inside the speed
limit. No other traffic. A ghostly moon shone on the frosted fields. She was pleased to be on her own for once. Now she
could handle things
her
way.

She had crossed the first Down, swept along the steep hill
beyond, when she paused by the inn on the main road, the
inn where Buller's car had been found abandoned. What
the devil was going on? she wondered as she turned off up the steep, twisting road up into the remote Downs. She felt
justified in what she was doing. Tweed had emphasized he thought little time was left before London was subjected to
a catastrophic attack.

High up, headlights on full beam, she turned off at
the triangle leading to Black Wood. She began to doubt
whether she had been wise when trails of mist drifted
through the trees as she drove carefully down the 'rabbit warren'. Now she was hemmed in on both sides by high
banks. She caught sight of movement.

Something inside the mist close to the road. She stopped,
kept the engine running, took hold of her Browning, lowered
her window. Now she could
hear
something approaching
her car. A crunching of feet on the dead bracken. God! Had
she been impetuous? The stealthy approach came closer,
the something disturbing the bracken. She checked - yes,
she had locked all her doors before starting out.

Her nerves were vibrating. Who on earth could be stalk
ing through Black Wood? Her sense of menace grew strong
er. Maybe she had made a fatal mistake in stopping? She thought of driving on. But a bullet fired accurately from
above would finish her off. It was too late now to change
her mind.

Then the something slithered down the bank in front of
her. For a moment it stood in the glare of the headlights.
A large fox. With a swift reaction it climbed the opposite bank and was gone. She took off her gloves, wiped both
hands clean of the sweat, put them on again, drove on
down the gulch road and soon she was climbing the road
up to Carpford.

She eased her way round the sharp corner where Mrs
Warner's car had been found abandoned. So many remind
ers of people who had vanished into thin air. Unnerving disappearances. She had little doubt Beaurain was con
vinced they had all been murdered. But if he was right
how had they disposed of the bodies? Carp Lake had been
dragged and nothing found there.

Cresting the rise to the plateau on which Carpford was
perched, she was not happy to see that the mist was thicker
up here, almost a fog. Paula had decided the first place she
wanted to check was Mrs Gobble's shop. Was the telescope
still there? She drove slowly past Garda, Victor Warner's weird Italianate residence. Lights in all the windows. He must have come up here himself.

Driving slowly on, she passed the futuristic blocks of
concrete cubes which were Drew Franklin's hideaway.
More lights in the porthole windows. Maybe she had come
up on the right night.

No lights in Mrs Gobble's shop. Their absence gave the
place a funereal look. Driving a few feet beyond it, she
saw a large shed half-hidden behind it. Hadn't noticed that
before. She stopped, left the engine running for a quick
getaway, got out.

Like stepping into the Arctic, a mist-bound Arctic. The
two doors to the shed had a padlock which was
not closed.
She eased the doors open, Browning in her hand. Extracting
her flashlight from another pocket, she switched it on. The
place was empty. No sign it had been used for a long time.
Then it struck
her this was the ideal place to park her car
out of sight. Within minutes she was closing the doors with
her car inside. Now she needn't advertise her approach.

The door to the shop was open. She entered cautiously,
her flashlight swivelling round. It had been searched, by
the police she felt sure. An attempt had been made to put things back where they belonged. Male searchers. They
could never put things back in the right place. She noticed the four-panelled screen was still standing. No sign of the
telescope. It had gone. Taken by who?

She decided to approach Palfry's huge tub of a home first.
Following the path she had walked with Tweed, it was only
when she was close to it that, because of the fog, she saw
there were lights. But where was the entrance? She crept
round the side and found steps leading up to an arched
door. She swivelled her flashlight up its side and realized
for the first time how massive the place was. Mounting
the steps, she pressed the illuminated bell, heard chimes
pealing inside. The door was opened after sounds of locks
being released. In bright light stood Peregrine Palfry.

'Ah, Miss Grey, what a pleasant surprise. Do come
in...'

His smooth face was smiling, as always. He had greeted her
as though this was nothing unusual. Diplomatic training,
she thought. He closed the door on the fog as soon as she
was inside. Wearing a smart check sports jacket and beige
slacks with a sharp crease, his shirt open at the collar.

'Just got a hot pot of coffee ready,' He said. 'You won't
refuse. Not after walking through that fog. Do sit down after I've taken your jacket.'

He was the perfect host, acting as though he had expected
her. The chair he led her to had an Oriental look, large
and with comfortable arms. As she sat he was placing soft
cushions behind her.

'Now, I'll get the coffee . . .'

She had kept her shoulder-bag, and while alone looked
at her strange surroundings. The diameter of the room
was enormous. High up the ceiling was masked by a cloth
canopy with a peculiar design. The furniture had an Eastern
look. Her eyes followed the endless circle of the walls. If you'd had a few drinks you'd soon feel dizzy. By the side of
the wall furthest from her climbed a wide massive oak stair
case with a banister, disappearing above the canopy. Palfry
returned, served the coffee, sat on a throne-like chair.

'What do you think of it?' he asked, waving his hand.

'It's very Oriental. A unique house I'd say. Large enough
to house a small army.'

'Excuse me?' His normally gentle eyes sharpened.

'I just said it was large enough to house a small army.'

'Oh, sorry. I didn't quite catch what you said. I suppose
it is.' He chuckled. 'Don't let the MoD know!'

'And very tastefully Oriental.'

'So glad you approve. My girlfriend doesn't. Came here
once and said from now on she'd meet me in London.'

'You've been to the Middle East?' she pressed on.

'Pardon?' The eyes sharpened again.

'I asked if you'd been to the Middle East.'

'Oh, yes. For a short time. Posted to the Cairo Embassy.
I didn't like Cairo. Got out one weekend on a huge barge going down the Nile. It was motorized but a team of
Egyptians rowed us up. Strong chaps. Pulled giant oars.
Chap who came back recently said they now use a steamer
if you leave from Cairo.
More luxurious, I gathered.'

'Turning to another subject, Mr Palfry . . .'

'Perry, please.'

'Is there any news about Mrs Warner? Have you any
theory as to what happened to her?'

'No, to both questions, I fear.'

'Someone said there was a rumour she'd run off with another man.'

'I'm sure she hasn't. She was a real lady, the perfect
consort for the Minister. The kind you don't often see
any more.' His smile glowed. 'Present company excluded,
of course.'

Paula had drunk her coffee and refused a refill. 'Thank
you, all the same. Before I came over here I visited Mrs
Gobble's shop. The door was open. The place had been searched.'

'By the police. I rushed over when I realized what was
going on. Told them she had asked me to keep an eye on the shop if she was ever out. A fib. They don't know how
to put anything back properly. I was annoyed.'

'Did they take anything with them? A high-powered telescope, for example?'

'No they didn't. They made a mess taking fingerprints.
Left that all brown dust they use. I spent hours clean
ing it up. A telescope? Didn't know she had one. Why
would she?'

'A woman on her own needs something to occupy her.
She did mention to me she was fed up with motor-cyclists
arriving at all hours.'

'Can't say I've ever heard them, but this place is insulated
against outside noises.'

'Well, Perry, I really came to see if you had heard any
news about Mrs Warner. I must go now. Oh yes, I have
a car parked nearby. You have been most hospitable. Thank you.'

'The pleasure has been all mine.'

He disappeared to fetch her windcheater. She was standing up by the chair she'd occupied when she heard the sound of a motor-cycle engine clearly. It had gone when her host returned.

'Do come again,' he urged, helping her on with the windcheater. 'You have livened up what would have been
a boring evening for me . . .'

He was smiling as he opened the door. A wave of icy fog
drifted in. Palfry closed the door quickly. Frowning, Paula turned to her right, walking slowly towards the next house
occupied by Margesson. She was recalling her conversation
with Palfry. Something wasn't right.

Her visit to Margesson's Georgian mansion, which was
a blaze of lights, was very different. It was also much
shorter.

The bearded giant, who, more than ever, reminded her
of an Old Testament prophet, made his point without any attempt to soften his words, to be polite. She was holding
up her SIS folder, open so he could see it.