one hand and the telephone at the other.
His first call was to Quenton Park, where Mrs. Street tried not to show
how delighted she was to have him home.
'Your desk is about two feet deep with mail awaiting your return. It's
mostly bills.'
'Cheerful, aren't we?'
'The lawyers have been pestering me, and Mr Markham from Lloyd's has
been ringing every day.'
'Don't tell any of them that I am back, there's a good girl.' Nicholas
knew exactly what they wanted from him the same thing that persistent
callers always wanted, money. In this case it was not simply five
hundred guineas for an overdue tailor's bill, but two and a half million
pounds. 'It's probably better if I stay in York, rather than at
Quenton,' he told Mrs. Street. 'They won't be able to find me at the
flat.'
He pushed his debts to the back of his mind, and concentrated on the
task at hand. 'Have you got your pencil and notepad ready? All right,
here's what I want you to do.'
It took him ten minutes to finish his dictation, and then Mrs. Street
read it back to him. 'Okay. Get on with it, will you. We'll be back this
evening. Dr Al Simma will be staying indefinitely. Ask the housekeeper
to prepare the second bedroom for her at the flat.'
Next he rang the number in Devon, and while the phone rang he imagined
the converted coast guard's cottage of the cliffs overlooking a, grey,
storm-whipped on top winter sea. Daniel Webb was probably in his
workshop in the back garden, either tinkering with his 1935 Jaguar, the
great love of his life, or tying salmon flies. Fishing was his other
passion, the one that had originally brought them together.
'Hello?' Daniel's voice was guarded and suspicious.
Nicholas could imagine him, his bald head freckled like a plover's egg,
gripping the telephone with a hairy, workscarred fist.
ave a job for you. Are you a starter?'
'Sapper, I
'Where are we headed, Major?' Although it had been three years, he
recognized Nicholas's voice instantly.
'Sunny climes and dancing girls. Same pay as the'last time.
'I' a starter. Where do we meet?'
'At the flat. You remember it from last time.
bring your slide rule.' Nicholas knew that Tomorrow. Danny put no store
by these newfangled pocket computers.
'The jag is still in good nick. I'll leave early and be there for lunch
tomorrow.'
Nicholas hung up, and then made two more calls: one to his Jersey bank,
and the other to the Cayman Islands.
The funds in both his emergency accounts were running low. His budget
for the expedition that he hadmorked out with Royan on the flight was
two hundred and thirty thousand. Like all budgets, he knew that it was
optimistic.
'Always add fifty percent,' he warned himself 'Which that the cupboard
