Part 33 (1/2)

'I'd love to come. Thank you so much.'

'Eight o'clock. he the main restaurant - not the Bra.s.serie next door to it.'

'I'll be there.'

Paula watched her walk away. Sharon almost glided, her figure erect, the waves of blonde hair just touching the top of her shoulders. Then she was gone. Paula frowned, then remembered a friend who had told her she'd develop creases in her forehead. Turning round, she went to Tweed's door, tapped on it, he called out, 'Come in.'

'It's just me. I was pa.s.sing so thought I'd see how you were.'

'I'm fine. You know I like to get ready for a meal in good time. A little while ago Sharon phoned me, invited Bob and me to have dinner with her tonight. Here in the hotel, bless her - considering what it's like outside.'

He'd put on his best suit, a blue bird's-eye. Now, seated on a couch, he was bent over, buffing his shoes. He seemed very relaxed.

'I've just b.u.mped into Sharon in the corridor,' she said, perching on the arm of the couch. 'She's invited me to join the dinner party. I accepted.'

'I'm glad. That makes us a foursome. You know something? Apart from Sharon's call a while ago that phone hasn't rung once. Peace and quiet. It seems a novelty.'

'I think I'd better go to my room and get changed. Competing with Sharon takes some doing.'

'Oh, I don't know. You always look so perfectly turned out.'

'Thank you, sir.'

She bent down, kissed him lightly on the cheek, then left as she checked her watch.

She'd had a bath earlier but decided she'd have a quick shower.

They kept it very warm in the hotel. She was on her way to the bathroom when she paused before a large wall mirror. She looked at her dark, glossy hair, her large blue-grey eyes, her thick brows, her well-shaped features, her good complexion.

'I'm a brunette, Sharon is a blonde,' she said aloud. 'What is it about that lady which makes her so striking? I'll study her over dinner. No! Admit it - you're an envious witch.'

There was a knock on the door. When she unlocked it Newman was standing outside. She invited him in with a smile. He had on his best suit and a brand-new tie she hadn't seen before, a Valentino. How was Sharon able to mesmerize such different men?

'I just called in to let you know Sharon has asked Tweed and me to dinner at the restaurant downstairs.' 'She's just asked me to join the party. I said I would.' 'That's great, really great. I was getting bothered you'd feel left out when you saw us.'

'That was nice of you, Bob. Now you can stop getting bothered.'

'I rather think you'll be changing, so I'm holding you up.'

'That's all right. But I was about to dive into the shower.'

'Then I'll leave you to it.'

'Bob, just before you go. Have you noticed Tweed often seems to know what's going on in the enemy's mind? Calls it his sixth sense.'

'Yes, I have.'

'Well, I think he has an agent inside the American camp.'

Newman headed for the ground floor after he'd left Paula. Unusually for him, he stopped for a moment to check his appearance in a mirror on the corridor wall. It was seeing Windermere's Valentino tie, when they had a drink in the bar, which had caused Newman to dig out his own new tie. He walked downstairs, looked in the lobby, wished he'd stayed in his room. Seated by himself at a table overlooking the river was Rupert Strangeways.

'I say, Newman, do trot over and join me for a drink. A chap gets lonely, don't you know.'

'And what brings you to Basel?' Newman asked as he sat down.

He had been told by Tweed what Sir Guy had said, but he wanted to see whether the stories of father and son tallied. Rupert waved a commanding hand.

'First things first. A waiter chappie is coming. What's your tipple?'

'I'll have a double Scotch, no ice.'

I'm going to need it to get through this, he thought. Rupert, heavily in debt, wore an expensive dark smoking jacket, a pair of dark trousers with a razor-edged crease, a crisp white s.h.i.+rt and a polka-dot bow tie. Newman had always mistrusted men who sported bow ties.

'Mine is a very dry martini, shaken, not stirred,' Rupert ordered with a dry smile. 'I was always a follower of James Bond,' he told Newman when the waiter had gone. 'Poor joke, I know. Maybe I'll sparkle after a few drinks.'

'I think I asked you what brings you to Basel.'

'You most certainly did. Amazing memory you have.' Rupert grinned. 'I'm not being sarcastic. Meant to be a joke. Not doing very well, am I?'

'You'll liven up. I'm listening.'

'Pater put on his military uniform, in a manner of speaking. Told me to come with him. The idea, I'm sure, was to keep me out of mischief. And here I was, waiting for a pair of gorgeous female legs to appear, and what happens? You turn up. Again, no offence meant.'

'None taken. I had a drink with. Basil earlier. I suppose that he came along for the free ride.'

'You've got it.' Rupert snapped his fingers, grinned wolfishly. 'Literally.'

'I think I missed something there.'

'Pater's paying for all Basil's expenses, including the air ticket. The idea is I need someone to keep an eye on me. Basil was elected.'

'As a nursemaid,' Newman joked.

'Can't say I- find that tremendously funny. Comes from being one of those reporter chappies, I suppose. They all develop a rather weird sense of humour. Of course you made a mint out of that huge best-selling book you wrote, Kruger: The Computer That Failed Kruger: The Computer That Failed. I've met reporters who failed - ended up behind some crummy desk sub-editing other people's stories. On a clerk's pay.'

'So what are you going to do when you get back home?'

'I rather fancy the idea of becoming manager of a mutual fund.'

Newman could hardly believe his ears. He had never heard Rupert talk like this before. He'd always thought the prospect of doing a proper job had never occurred to him. That was for the peasants.

'I'm surprised,' he said.

'Thought you might be, old boy. Oh, is the divine Paula about?'

'Yes, she is.' Newman became wary. 'She's very booked up now. Tonight she's having dinner with a party of us. Think I'd better make a move.' Newman reached for the bill the waiter had left so he could sign it. 'I'll handle this.'

'No, you won't.' Rupert's hand grabbed the bill. 'I invited you for a drink.'

Newman got up to go. He had left the table when Rupert called out to him. He swung round and Rupert was smiling sardonically.