'The peace of it all is truly magnificent. World's end…'
Below them a steep path descended to an area of mud-flats and snaking creeks, winding in and out of the marshland. An ancient landing-stage had been reinforced with fresh timbers. Beyond, the vast expanse of the Wash stretched away to the horizon, a blue sea which went on and on until it reached the continent.
It was very calm, water without a ripple. The breeze no longer blew. Not a vessel in sight. The surface was smooth as a lake of oil. It looked as though you could safely walk across it. Grey took in a deep breath, spread his arms again.
The freshest air on the planet.'
`Hugh,' Tweed said quietly.
`Yes?'
`If I return to Hamburg you will under no circumstances put any of your streetwalkers on my track.'
Streetwalkers was Park Crescent jargon for shadows, trackers. Grey dropped his arms, stiffened with resentment. Then he lifted his hands in a theatrical gesture of resignation.
`If you say so.'
`I do. Now, we'd better get back.'
Grey ran down the side of the dyke. Tweed glanced back before he followed. Along the edges of the creeks were areas of murky soft mud mingling with sand. Sinister islets of green sedge peered above the mud. Quicksands.
All the way back to Hawkswood Farm neither man exchanged one word with the other. If anything Grey's face was even pinker than normal, flushed with annoyance at Tweed's rebuke.
Diana and Paula were engaged in the over-polite conversation adopted by two women who disliked each other. Tweed heard a snatch as they entered the farmhouse and Grey said he had to go to the bathroom and would be back in a minute.
`So you don't really like England as it is today?' Paula was saying. 'May I ask why?'
`I read an article once by Jimmy Goldsmith, I think it was, and he said it all. The trouble with Britain today is the breakdown of the caste system. No one knows where they are any more.'
`And that was how life was in Kenya?' Paula enquired sweetly. 'A nice cosy caste system? The natives knew their place?'
`They did before 1963. Then came independence and the rot set in…'
`How perfectly rotten,' Paula commented, sipping more coffee.
`Indeed, yes.' Diana gave her warmest smile. 'Massacre everywhere. Mugabe in Rhodesia, Idi Amin in Uganda. You name it.' She looked up. 'Enjoy your constitutional, Tweedy?'
`Is that what it was?' Tweed broke the surface tension with a rueful smile, sagging into his arm chair. He raised his hands in mock horror, including Paula. 'Fresh air. Smells most odd. If you don't mind we'll have to push off soon.'
`Nothing doing!' Hugh returned from the bathroom full of joy and bounce. 'You're staying to lunch. Paula can rustle up a bit of a meal. Can't you, darling?'
`I love the way men talk of rustling up a meal,' Diana said archly. 'Just as though we snap our fingers. Hey presto! A meal appears as though by magic.'
`You're welcome to stay,' Paula responded without great enthusiasm. 'And since this is my shopping day and I haven't done any yet, Hugh can take us to The Duke's Head in King's Lynn. Can't you, dear?'
Tweed stood up, shook his head. 'Very kind. But we have an appointment in London. Thank you both. And the macaroons were a delight.'
`Wave you off then,' Grey suggested. 'Next time we'll lay on a feast.' Tweed noticed that as they were leaving he did not take Diana's arm, was careful not to touch her after she'd thanked Paula.
They settled themselves inside the car while Hugh and Paula stood apart at the gate. As Tweed began to drive away he saw in the rear view mirror Hugh still standing there, both hands clasped above his head in a boxer's salute. The soul of self-assurance to the end. Paula had gone back inside the farmhouse.
`Were you in the vicinity of Knightsbridge yesterday afternoon?' Tweed asked as he drove away from the Wash towards King's Lynn.
'Yes. I told you I was going to Harrods…'
'Any idea what time?'
'About four o'clock. Why?'
'Hugh and Paula saw you. That is, Hugh saw you and pointed you out to Paula.'
'But how on earth would he know who I was?'
'From a photo. Now, be a good girl, don't ask any more questions.'
She made a moue, asked if she could switch on the radio, did so when Tweed nodded. She lapsed into unaccustomed silence as Tweed thought. He guessed what had happened. The two men Grey had used to follow him – he'd noticed them on the Priwall ferry – had secretly taken photos. Including some of Diana. Normal procedure when a subject – himself this time – was under surveillance.
He also knew why Grey had taken this course of action. For his protection! Cobblers! Grey was ambitious, had wanted to grab as much of the credit as he could if Tweed had pulled off some coup. Monica had been right – Hugh Grey was after his job. At least he was efficient. And he'd owned up to having Tweed followed. That was a plus for Grey. It was the sector chief who tried to win the game by concealing information from his superiors who was a menace.
Later he'd omitted to inform Tweed about the taking of photos after he'd been ticked off on the dyke. Again understandable. Why add further blots to his copybook? Tweed realized Diana had not said a word recently. He stopped the car. 'Like to take a last look at it before we drive back to what passes for civilization.'
He lowered the window and the salty air was blown into the car by a breeze. He scanned the vast flatlands, the few dwellings dotted along the roadsides, separated from each other by miles. The great dyke edged the skyline. Now he'd switched off the engine the only sound was that of the whispering grasses, bending in the slight wind.
`You're very quiet,' he remarked.
Sensing his mood, that he wanted to drink in the atmosphere, she had switched off the radio when he stopped. It had been playing tango music.
`Hugh Grey made a pass at me while we were talking. He took me down a gulley leading towards the dyke. I told him to go to hell. He wasn't pleased.'
`Hence your flushed face when you arrived back?'
`I tried to conceal it – because of his wife. Paula and I didn't take to each other. Now I think I know why. He chases women and she knows it. We were like a couple of cats, circling round each other while you were out with Grey.'
`I'm sorry. On both counts. I'd hoped you'd enjoy the trip.' `Don't get into a fuss.' She laid a hand on his arm. 'I've enjoyed the scenery.'
`What did you think of Grey? If you can stand back and forget his outrageous behaviour?'
`Full of his own self-importance, but that could be me just being catty. Very able at his job, I'd guess. Good at operating on his own, capable of taking responsibility. Perhaps a bit impulsive at taking too many initiatives. Ambitious. In a few years he may quieten down. He apologized all the way back to me. I think he was frightened I'd give the game away to his wife. When do we eat?'
'As soon as we can. Somewhere on the way back.' He started the engine and drove off. 'Do switch on the radio again.'
She turned the knob. They were playing another tango. Diana leaned back against the head-rest, half-closed her eyes, began humming the tune softly. Tweed came to the end of the winding country road, turned left on the A17 leading to King's Lynn. He had a call he wanted to make.
`What is that music?' he asked.
`Jealousy. A tango that goes back to the twenties as far as I know. Paula's theme tune,' she added wickedly. 'We played it a lot back in the old Kenya days at parties. Don't mind me. I'm indulging in a bout of nostalgia. And you're looking very thoughtful.'
`Paula said something significant to me. A chance remark and I'm damned if I can recall it. Do you mind waiting in the car at King's Lynn?'
