The Old Vengeful

The woman turned suddenly to Aske.

'Mr Aske—if Dr Mitchell is a professional historian . . . tell me what you do for a living?'

Paul stiffened. 'Oh—come on, Nikki! You know who we both work for, one way or another—you said that's why they gave you this job ... So Humphrey works with me, you know that.

But what you probably don't know is that he's an authority on early nineteenth-century naval history—is that the answer you want?'

'I want Mr Aske's answer, Paul. Mr Aske—?'

Aske sat back. 'I wouldn't dream of being uncivil, Miss MacMahon . . . but if you were a man I'd say it really wasn't dummy3

any of your damn business—beyond what's on my passport, anyway.' He smiled at her. 'Which says 'Civil Servant', as it happens.'

Nikki MacMahon switched abruptly back to Paul. 'Where did you go yesterday afternoon?'

'After we landed?' Paul packed insolence into his pause for innocent reflection. ' Ah . . . did you lose us for an hour or two? Well . . . let's see ... we signed in at our hotel in Laon, and dropped off our bags . . . Then we went for a spin in the country before meeting Bertrand . . . Then we went back to Laon, and had a drink, and had our dinner— the profiteroles were delicious—and had another drink . . . and then we went to bed. Do you want more detail than that? Did you dream of anything subversive to the Republic, Humphrey?'

Another flash of green fire. 'Where did you go before you met M'sieur Bourienne?'

'We took Elizabeth to see the Chemin des Dames, where the French Army mutinied in 1917. I wanted to show her the British War Cemetery at Vendresse, Nikki—you know my weakness for visiting British war cemeteries in France. I remember taking you to the Prussian Redoubt Cemetery on the edge of Hameau Ridge, back in '74—you remarked on the way the poppies grew there, as I recall. . . They don't grow nearly so well in Champagne as on the Somme—do they, Elizabeth?'

He was cruel, thought Elizabeth. But then, he was fighting on another disadvantageous slope, against heavy odds, so there dummy3

was no room for weakness in his tactics.

'Yes—that's what we did.' She nodded at Nikki. 'I signed the book there, Ma'mselle—' she wanted to add It's a lovely sad place, but that would have been an insult to those poor dead Tommies, to add the truth of what she had felt.

The green eyes pinned her momentarily. 'Yes, I'm sure you did, Miss Loftus.'

Hating herself, Elizabeth frowned. 'I beg your pardon?'

Nikki turned from her. 'Your cover was always good, Paul.

You haven't changed.'

'Cover?' Something stopped him from denying the charge. 'I seem to remember your cover back in ' 74 was pretty damn good, if you want to talk about covers, Nikki.'

Nobody was deceiving anybody, thought Elizabeth. Yet they were both bound by the rules of a game which she didn't really understand, even though she was now one of the players.

'Mr Aske—' Nikki came round to Humphrey Aske again, as though still searching for a weakness in their defences, but now with a hint of weariness in her voice '—why were you nosing around so long outside, after you'd parked your car?

Why didn't you come straight here?'

Aske shrugged unrepentantly. 'Just habit, I suppose. I always take a professional interest in stake-outs, even when they're as amateurish as yours, Miss MacMahon ... I thought the local police must be up to something—I never imagined dummy3

your people could be so gauche—we'd never set up anything so crude in London ... I was looking to see who it was for—it never occurred to me that it was for us, Miss MacMahon!'

When it came to insults, Aske had nothing to learn from Paul, Elizabeth was reminded. They were both professionals.

'No?' The Frenchwoman countered him with bored disbelief. 'Just habit. . . and you are such a good driver, aren't you?'

'A good driver?' Aske feigned bewilderment. 'Yes. I've done a bit of rallying in my time, and I've been round the circuit at Brand's Hatch. . . Let's say I'm a good driver—possibly a very good one, if it's of the slightest interest to you.'

'Not a great deal. But losing those cars which were following you—that was just habit too, Mr Aske?'

'Good lord! You even had a tail on us?' Aske's tone was mocking. 'That was a bit antediluvian, surely? I mean . . .

doesn't your budget run to directional devices?' He thought for a moment, and then shook his head as though mildly surprised. 'It wasn't even awfully bright, either . . . if you already knew where we were going . . . ?'

'You didn't lose them, then? On the peripherique?'

'Was that where I lost them?' He indicated mild interest, edged with amusement. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, but in Paris I do like to drive like a Frenchman—it's a little conceit of mine ... I'd say it looks rather as though your drivers are like your stake-out: just not up to the job.'

dummy3

'Not my drivers, Mr Aske.' The perfectly painted lips again compressed momentarily—lips already a tiny bit too thin for perfection, Elizabeth noted: add a few years, and that would be an