The Old Vengeful

'So one day I looked at her. It was raining—and I was glad to see her... So I looked at her, Elizabeth, when I should have been looking somewhere else.'

Silence.

'And that was a mistake, Elizabeth. And she died of my mistake . . . in the rain, in my arms, Elizabeth.'

It was very strange, but only for one fraction of a second was she sorry for poor dead Frances. Because poor dead pretty Frances was still her enemy, and if ever there was a moment for defeating her enemy it was now—when the dark was her dummy3

ally.

'Paul—please come in with me,' she whispered. 'I'm so frightened.'

XI

EVERYTHING WAS JUST fine until Humphrey Aske turned on the car radio for no apparent reason, and then refused to turn it off, and finally started to talk nonsense. And—

'Yes,' he said finally. 'I think the great Dr Audley may have been careless somewhere along the line.'

'What do you mean, Mr Aske?' asked Elizabeth.

'I mean, Miss Loftus, that we're being followed,' said Humphrey Aske.

Actually everything hadn't been altogether fine even before, not really. But everything had been different; or, if not exactly recognisably different, at least not quite the same because she felt it had no right to be as it had been before.

Although actually . . . but then it might just have been the presence of Humphrey Aske at the breakfast table with them which had spoilt everything—and an unbearably bright and talkative Humphrey Aske, not in the least blear-eyed from night-watch—even, it was Aske who behaved as she so desperately wanted Paul to behave, noticing and complimenting her on the second of her elegant summer dummy3

travelling suits, which Paul had studiously ignored in preference for one quick glance, which had almost been a stranger's frown, at her face.

And there, she had had to admit to the mirror already, the wear and tear of the last almost-24-hours had done Monsieur Pierre's original work of art no good at all, which she had lacked the expertise to restore as it had been: what she had seen in the mirror was the truth of the fairy story, she had realised now—that Prince Charming simply hadn't recognised Cinderella the morning after, it had only been the size of her foot for the glass slipper which had identified that happy ending.

'Paris—no problem,' said Aske to Mitchell. 'There's hardly any mist this morning. I filled the car up last night, before I went to bed. Straight down the N2, through Soissons—the last bit's motorway, and we can whip round the peripherique and come off at the Pointe d'Asnieres for the Avenue de Wagram—no trouble at all.' He smiled at Elizabeth. 'Be there in time for coffee, then M'sieur Bourienne's professor . . . then a nice elongated lunch at a little place I wot of... then the airport and the great Dr Audley himself. . .

Then another motorway, with the foot down on the pedal, and supper in Alsace, Miss Loftus. No Problem! '

On Paul Mitchell's face, Elizabeth observed out of the most oblique corner of her eye, there was a look of the purest hatred.

'What one would like to know—' either Aske couldn't or dummy3

wouldn't observe the same storm warning '— is ... if the great Dr Audley is coming to take the reins from your capable hands, Mitchell... which means that we are on to something highly promising . . . is—what is it? Isn't it time now that one was told why one may be required to do and die?'

It occurred to Elizabeth that, after the events of the last three days since the church fete, and more particularly after the events of last night which were already beginning to become unreal, she had some rights. So, just as Paul's mouth opened in a snarl, she kicked him hard on the ankle.

'Fff-aargh!' exclaimed Paul.

Aske looked at him curiously. 'I beg your pardon?'

'I'm not sure that Dr Mitchell knows any more than we do, Mr Aske,' said Elizabeth.

Humphrey Aske transferred his curiosity to her. 'Ah . . . now that hadn't occurred to me, you know—'

Paul grunted explosively. 'The fact is, Aske . . . I'm not permitted to tell either you or Miss Loftus everything that's going on—for obvious reasons, which you should understand better than she does.'

What Miss Loftus understood, thought Elizabeth, was that Paul Mitchell was never going to admit to Humphrey Aske that he didn't know what he was really doing, and didn't like it either.

'But if David Audley wants you to do and die . . .' Paul reached down to rub his ankle '. . . I'm sure he'll tell you.' He dummy3

straightened up. 'If it suits him.'

'Which it probably won't—I know!' Aske shook his head ruefully at Elizabeth. 'The occupational temptation of our profession, Miss Loftus, is to confuse essential secrecy with inessential secretiveness . . . with the predictable result that the left hand rarely knows what the right hand is doing. But a trip to Paris is better than nothing, I suppose.' He smiled suddenly and disarmingly at her again. 'We must just hope that the great Dr Audley is right, and we aren't simply wasting our time, however agreeably!'

She couldn't kick Paul again—she had kicked him a bit too hard the first time. All she could do was smile and nod, and hope for the best.

And the best was that Paul drank his coffee, and pushed back from the table. 'If you're packed up, Elizabeth, then let's go,'