even an hour appalled her.
'It will be for one night only, and you have really earned a little reward.
Besides, I need you, too, you know.' 'Oh, my darling.' His appeal touched her. Her flow of milk was copious. She could express enough to cover the feeds that Nicky would need during such a short absence. 'Of course, I'd love to be with you. You are right. Nicky and Adra will survive a night without me. I'll come as soon as you call me.'
'The woman gave birth to her brat almost a month ago,' General Joseph Cicero whispered hoarsely. 'What has been the delay? You should have terminated the operation immediately. The cost has been out of all proportion!' 'The general will recall that I am meeting the cost out of funds that I have provided, not out of the departmental budget,' Ramsey reminded him quietly.
Cicero coughed and rustled the copy of France Soir which he held before his face. They sat side by side in a second-class coach of the Paris Metro.
Cicero had entered the coach at the Concorde station and taken the seat beside Ramsey. Neither of them had shown any sign of recognition. The rush of the train through the underground tunnel would foil any eavesdropper.
Both of them used open newspapers to cover their face as they talked. This was one of their regular procedures for short meetings.
'I was not referring only to the cost in roubles,' Cicero wheezed. 'You have spent nearly a year on this project, an incalculable cost to the other work of the department.' Ramsey was fascinated by the rapid course of the disease that was destroying his superior. It seemed that at every meeting Joseph Cicero had deteriorated visibly. It would not be much longer, months rather than years.
'These few months of work will pay us back enormous dividends over the years and, yes, over the decades ahead.' 'Work,' snorted Cicero. 'Stirring the honey-pot with your spoon. If that is work, how do you define pleasure, Marquds? And why are you prolonging termination month after month?' 'If the woman is to be of the utmost value to us, then it is absolutely necessary that she bond to the child before we proceed to the next step in the operation.' 14e 'When will that be?' Cicero demanded.
'It has happened already. The fruit is ripe for picking.
Everything is in place. I need your co-operation in the final resolution. That is why I chose Paris for ' this meeting.' Cicero nodded. 'Go on,' he invited.
And Ramsey spoke quietly for another five minutes. Cicero listened without comment, but grudgingly he admitted to himself that the plan was airtight.
Once again, he acceded privately that his successor seemed to have been well chosen, despite the original prejudice he had fostered towards him.
'Very well,' he whispered at last. 'You have approval to proceed. And, as you request, I will monitor proceedings at this end.' Cicero folded his newspaper and stood up as the coach slid into the Mdtro station at Bastille on its silent rubber wheels.
As the doors opened, he stepped down on to the platform and walked away without looking back.
The notification from London University arrived the afternoon that Ramsey left. It took the form of an express letter with the University's coat of arms embossed on the flap of the envelope.
'The Chancellor and the faculty members of the University of London take pleasure in informing Isabella Courtney that she has been awarded the degree of Doctor of Philosophy of the University.' Isabella telephoned Weltevreden immediately. There was little time-difference between MAlaga and Cape Town, and Shasa had just returned from the polo-field. He was still in boots and breeches, and he took the call in the downstairs study whose french windows overlooked the field.
'Son of a gun!' he let out a whoop when she told him. Such an uncharacteristic display was proof to her of her father's deep delight.
'When will they cap you, darling?'
'Not till June or July. I'll have to stay until then.' It was the excuse she had been looking for.
'Of course,' Shasa agreed immediately. 'I'll come over.' 'Oh, Daddy, it's such a long way.' 'Nonsense, Doctor Courtney, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Your grandmother will probably want to come with me.' Strangely the prospect did not alarm her as it might have. She realized that it was probably the ideal occasion for both her father and Nana to meet Ramsey, and Nicky. Centaine Courtney-Malcomess off her home ground was not such a daunting prospect as she was when installed in all the splendour and tradition of Weltevreden.
More than anything at that moment, Isabella wanted to share her joy in her achievement with Ramsey, but he did not telephone that night, nor even the following day. By Thursday morning, she was almost frantic with worry. It was so unlike Ramsey; usually he telephoned every day that they were apart.
When finally the telephone rang she was in the tiny kitchen in a heated argument with Adra as to how many cloves of garlic should go into the paella.
'You would inject the stuff into your veins if you were Oven the chance,' she accused in her now fluent Spanish.
'We are making paella, not Irish stew.' Adra held her ground, and then the telephone rang and Isabella dropped the spoon with a clatter and knocked over the chair in the hall in her haste to reach it.
'Ramsey darling, I was so worried. I missed your call.' 'I'm sorry, Bella.' The rich dark tones of his voice soothed her, so her own voice became a purr.
'Do you still love me?' 'Come to Paris, and I will prove it to you.' 'When?' 'Now. I have made a reservation for you on the Air France flight at eleven o'clock. They are holding your ticket at the airport. You'll be here by two o'clock.' 'Where will I meet you?' 'At the Plaza Athdnee. We have a suite.' 'You spoil me, Ramsey darling.' 'No less than you deserve.' She left the flat immediately. However, the Air France take-off was delayed by forty minutes. In Paris the baggage-handlers were working to rule, so she stood fuming and fretting at the baggage-carousel for almost an hour before her overnight case made its leisurely appearance. It was after five o'clock in the evening before her taxi pulled up in the Avenue Montaigne before the elegant facade of the Plaza Athen&e with its scarlet awnings.
She half-expected Ramsey to be waiting for her in the marbled and mirrored foyer and looked about eagerly as she came in through the revolving glass doors. He was not there. She paid no heed to the gaunt figure who sat in one of the gilt and brocade armchairs opposite the reception7desk. The man lifted his head of lank white hair and for a moment regarded her with strangely lifeless tar-black eyes. Then he coughed harshly and returned his attention to the newspaper he was reading.
Isabella crossed quickly and expectantly to the concierge's counter.
'You have a guest, the Marques de Santiago y Machado. I am his wife.' 'A moment, madame.' The uniformed concierge consulted the guest-list, and then shook his head and frowned as he started again at the head of the list.
'I'm sorry, Marquesa. The Marquds is not staying with us at the moment.' 'Perhaps he has registered as Monsieur Machado.' 'I'm afraid not. We have nobody of that name.' Isabella looked confused. 'I don't understand. I spoke to him this morning.' 'I will make further enquiry.' The concierge left her for a moment to consult the booking-clerk, and returned almost immediately. 'Your husband is not with us, and there is no reservation for him.' 'He must have been delayed.' Isabella tried to look unconcerned. 'Do you have a room for me?'
'The hotel is fully booked.' The concierge spread his hands apologetically.
'It's spring, you understand. I am desolated, Marquesa. Paris is overflowing.' 'He must be coming,' Isabella insisted brightly. 'Do you mind if I wait for my husband in the gallery?' 'Of course not, Marquesa. The waiter will bring you coffee and whatever refreshment you wish. The porter will guard your baggage in his store.' As she moved towards the long gallery, which at the cocktail hour was the fashionable meeting-place for 'le tout Paris', the white-haired gentleman rose from his armchair. He moved stiffly with the gait of a frail and sick old man, but Isabella in her consternation did not even glance in his direction. Cicero went out into the street, and the doorman hailed a taxi for him and it dropped him in rue Grenelle. He walked the last block to the Soviet embassy, and the guard at the night-desk recognized him as he approached.
From the office of the military attachd on the second floor, Joe Cicero phoned a number in Mdlaga.
'The woman is waiting at the hotel,' he whispered huskily. 'She cannot return before noon tomorrow. You may proceed as planned.' A little before seven o'clock, the concierge came and found Isabella in the gallery.
'There has been a cancellation, Marquesa. We have a room for you now. I have already sent your baggage up.' She could have kissed him, but instead tipped him a hundred francs.
From the room, she rang the flat in Mdlaga. She hoped that Ramsey might have left a message with Adra, now that the arrangements had so obviously gone awry. Although she let the telephone ring for a counted one hundred peals, there was no reply. That truly alarmed her. Adra should have been there; the telephone was in the hallway just outside her bedroom door. Isabella telephoned again twice more during the night, each time without success.
'The telephone is out of order,' she told herself with conviction, but she hardly slept at all.
As soon as the airline reservations office opened, she booked a flight back to Mdlaga, and despite her distress she managed to sleep for an hour during the journey. It
