you, of the comparative adjective and the comparative adverb.
If you say ' The phone rang.
Dixon.
For the moment Roy Holmes was not to be found: he wasn't at home; he wasn't
anywhere. Did Morse want him to keep looking?
''What the hell do you think?' Morse had snapped at him. 'You remember the
old proverb? If at first you don't succeed, don't take up hang-gliding.'
The brief telephone conversation pleased Lewis, and for a few seconds he
wondered if he was being a little unfair in his judgement on Morse. But only
for a few seconds.
'Not the only one we can't find, sir.'
'Frank Harrison, you mean? Ye-es. I'm a bit puzzled about him. He might be
a crook he is a crook but he's not a fool. He's an experienced, hard-nosed,
single-minded, rich banker, and if you're all those things you don't suddenly
put your fingers in the ' The phone rang.
Kershaw.
Morse listened, saying nothing; but the eyes that lifted to look across the
desk into Lewis's face, if not wholly surprised, seemed very disappointed and
very sad. Much as two hours earlier Lewis's own eyes had looked.
In mid-afternoon (Morse was no longer at HQ) the phone rang. Swiss Helvetia
Bank.
'Could we speak to Superintendent Lewis, please?' 'Sergeant Lewis speaking.'
320
chapter sixty-nine sec. off. : Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of
Count Orsino. ant. : You do mistake me, sir. first off. No, sir, no jot.
(Shakespeare, Twelfth Night) at 5. 20 p. m. he was still standing beside
his minimal hand- luggage a few yards from the Euro-Class counter at
Heathrow's Terminal 4, looking around him with as yet dismiss able anxiety,
but with gradually increasing impatience. 5. 10 p. m. - that was when
they'd agreed to meet, giving them ample time, once through the fast-track
channel, to have some gentle relaxation together in the British Airways
Lounge before boarding the 18. 30 Flight 338.
Paris . . .
A long time ago he and Yvonne had gone to Paris on their honeymoon: lots of
love, lots of sex, lots of sightseeing, lots of food and wine. A whole
fortnight of it, although he'd known even then that just a week of it would
have been rather better. It was not difficult (he already knew it well) to
get bored even in the presence of a mistress; and he'd begun to realize on
that occasion that it was perfectly possible to grow just a little wearied
even in the company of a newly wed wife. There had been one or two
incidents, too, when he'd thought Yvonne was experiencing similar thoughts .
. .
especially diat time one evening when she'd quite obviously been exchanging
long 321
looks with a moustachioed Frenchman who looked exactly like Proust.
He'd called her 'a flirtatious bitch' when they got to their hotel room; and
when she'd glared back at him and told him they'd make a 'bloody good pair'
one way or another . .
There would be no trouble like that with Maxine: only two and a half days
just right, that! And she was a real honey, a law professor from Yale, aged
forty-two, divorced, a little over- sexed, a little overweight, and hugely
desirable.
She finally appeared, pulling an inordinately large suitcase on wheels.
'You're late!' His tone was a combination of anger and relief; and he
immediately moved forward ahead of her to the back of the short queue at the
First-Class counter.
'You didn't get my message, did you? I tried and tried--' ' Like I told you?
On the mobile? '
'It wasn't working. I think you'd forgotten--' ' Christ! ' Harrison took
his mobile from an inside pocket, tapped a few digits, then another few; then
repeated the blasphemy: ' Christ!
I'd had enough of the bloody mobile recently and--' 'And you forgot that we'd
agreed--' ' Sorry! Say you'll forgive me! '
He looked down at her squarish, slightly prognathic face, her dark-brown
silky hair cut short in a fringe across her broad forehead and above the
quietly gentle eyes that were becoming tearful now, perhaps from her hectic
rush, perhaps from the undeserved brusqueness of his greeting, but perhaps
