'Quenton Park, hey? I read an article in the Shooting Times the other
day. You have a drive there called the 'High Beeches'. Is that right?'
'The 'High Larches','Nicholas corrected him.
'Some of the best birds in Britain. That's what they said,' Sir Oliver
enthused, looking eager and expectant.
'I don't know about that,'Nicholas protested modestly.
'But we are rather proud of them. You must come and have a shot at them
next time you are home - as my guest, Of course.'
From that moment Sir Oliver's attitude towards Nicholas altered
dramatically. He became affable and solicitous, even going so far as to
send the butler to fetch a bottle of the 1954 Lafite.
'You have made a good impression,' Geoffrey murmured wryly. 'HE doesn't
waste the 1954 on anybody but the chosen few.'
It was after midnight when Nicholas was at last able to escape from his
hostess and rescue Royan from Sir Oliver and General Obeid. He led her
away, supporting her as she limped along fetchingly at his side,
avoiding Geoffrey Tennant's knowing and speculative gaze until they had
negotiated the first landing of the staircase.
'Well, you were definitely the star of the evening,' he told her.
'You had Lady Bradford purring like a cat,' she counterattacked, and he
was delighted to hear the faint tone of possessive jealousy in her
voice. He had not been the only one.
At her door she solved any problems by offering him her cheek, and he
kissed it chastely.
'Those bosoms!' she murmured. 'Don't have nightmares about them.' And
she closed the door behind her.
He felt quite jaunty as he went to his own room, but as he opened the
door he saw the envelope lying at the threshold. During dinner, one of
the servants must have pushed it under the door. Quickly he tore open
the flap of the envelope and unfolded the pages that it contained. His
expression changed as he scanned through them, and he left the bedroom
and went back to tap on Royan's door.
After a moment she opened it a crack, and peeped out at him. He saw the
confusion in her eyes, and he hurried to allay her suspicions.
'Reply to my fax.' He showed her the sheaf of papers.
'Are you decent?'
'One moment.' She closed the door, and opened it again only seconds
later. 'Come in, she said.
She indicated the decanter on the cabinet. 'Would you like a nightcap?'
'I think I need one. We know who runs Pegasus now.'
'Tell me!' she ordered, but he took his time pouring a Scotch, and then
smiled at her over his shoulder. 'How about a soda water for you?'
'Damn you, Nicholas Quenton-Harper.' She stamped her stockinged foot.
'Don't you dare torment me. Who is it?, 'When I first met you, you were
a dutiful little Arab girl. One who realized the superiority of the mate
species.
Listen to you now. I think I have spoiled you.'
'I think I should warn you that you are flirting with disaster.' She
tried to suppress her smile. 'Tell me, please, Nicky.'
