The Labyrinth Makers

wouldn't bluff you. You'd best take yourself and your fifty pounds on holiday–a week would do.'

Tierney reached forward and scooped the five notes off the table, where they lay in a little puddle of spilt whisky.

Audley got up.

'A short holiday, Tierney–and we'll be keeping an eye on you, for your sake more than ours. And don't try to be clever. Don't go poking around Newton Chester trying to make up for lost time. I might see you there, and then I'd have you out of the way before your feet touched the ground again. Is that clear?'

He bent down, close to Tierney's ear.

'And go today, Tierney–go this afternoon.'

X

Richardson was just across the street outside the pub, peering morosely into the window of an antique shop. 'Tierney's going for a trip somewhere,' Audley told him. 'Just see him on his way. If he dummy4

isn't off by four, go and remind him. Are you still mobile?'

The long face split in a grin.

'Hugh Roskill didn't fancy my old heap–he whistled up that souped-up racing car of his.'

'Phone Newton Chester and book us a couple of rooms at the Bull.

We'll meet you there with the others tomorrow morning.'

'Make that a double room,' said Faith casually.

'Yes, ma'am.' Richardson's eyes flicked between them. He was no longer grinning; it occurred to Audley that he was not only not grinning, but had apparently been struck by some facial paralysis which had stranded his features in between emotions. Certainly no one could accuse him of grinning.

Audley wasn't sure that he approved the way she was setting the pace of their relationship, even if it was one of the logical outcomes of emancipation. But he knew equally well that with a pace maker one either keeps up or drops out of the race altogether.

'With a double bed,' he added in what he hoped sounded an equally casual tone. If Richardson too was required to report back on his progress, then he might as well have something to enliven his report.

It wasn't until they were settled into the Rover that Faith spoke again.

'I suppose I was out of line there?' she said, with a suggestion of truculence rather than apology in the question. 'Not in front of the help? You didn't like it much?'

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Audley could think of no suitable reply, short of admitting that he was old-fashioned, but she didn't wait for one anyway.

'Well, I didn't like what happened in that bar very much either,' she continued. 'I didn't like you very much. I didn't even like myself.'

He tried to concentrate on his driving; the Rover's transmission was automatic and his unoccupied left foot seemed unnaturally large.

'Actually I thought you were hamming it a bit at first. I expected him to laugh in your face any minute. Or sock you, even though you were twice as big. But then you started to gloat–and it wasn't funny then. It was nasty!'

Audley's left foot shrank back to its normal size as he saw the truth of it, and the chasm. He was not suited to this kind of work; not because he was too soft-hearted, as he had cretinously believed, but because with a little practice he could grow to like it too much.

He'd been lucky with Morrison and Tierney–forgetting Jones and the police inspector. But when he'd learnt more he wouldn't need such luck . . .

'I just don't know what sort of man you are! I've seen a gentle side–

Mrs Clark's side. And a diffident side. And Daddy said you were very clever. And that nice man Roskill thinks the world of you–and so does Richardson, and he'd never even met you! But I think there could be a dark side I wouldn't like.'

Damn her, thought Audley. She was fogging the issue when there were things, other things, he ought to be worrying about. Except that in the long run they might be less important things.

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'You still asked for a double room,' he said cruelly.

She shook her head.

'That wasn't just for you, David. It was for the Bull.'

'For the Bull?'

'That's not quite fair on you–it's only a hotel to you. You can't know about it.'

'You've been there?'

'Been there?' She sighed. 'No, I've never been there, not in the flesh. But it's part of my family history–I've heard them all talk of it. Grandmother used to tell me how they all met there. It was the squadron pub–'See you at the Bull' was their good luck saying! It was his special place–Johnnie Steerforth's pub. He met Mother there before I was born; I think he met her there the very first time.

And Daddy met her there afterwards, my step-father, I mean. It was the only place . . .'

She left the sentence unfinished and Audley writhed inwardly. He couldn't have known, and she was honest and had conceded it. But he could hardly have been more hamhanded in his egotistical misconstruction. Among all those ghosts of the living and the dead she didn't wish to be alone. Again it had been the need rather than the man, he told himself sadly.

'I'm sorry. I've been rather thick, haven't I?' he confessed heavily.