'God!' said Paula. 'It's baking and you don't like the heat.'
'So it's a good job you reminded me to wear my safari jacket and tropical drill trousers. Now, let's get the show on the road…'
Newman was waiting for them in the reception hall. He grinned as he came forward, shook hands with Tweed, hugged Paula, took her case.
'I phoned Monica early and she told me your flight details. I have a car outside. Straight to the Grande Bretagne? Marler is there, looking after Christina.'
'Straight to the Grande Bretagne,' Tweed replied. 'Sarris must not know I'm in town. We have to organize an expedition into Devil's Valley. I must see Petros, cross-examine him.'
'That will have to be planned carefully,' Newman remarked as he sat behind the wheel and drove off after storing their cases in the boot. He sensed tension in Tweed, that he was in one hell of a hurry.
Forty minutes later they were sitting in the room Newman had booked for Tweed. Newman relayed to him all the details about Anton he'd extracted from Christina. As he listened, sipping mineral water in his shirt-sleeves, Tweed's expression became grimmer.
'A man of many talents,' he commented as Newman concluded his report. 'And now I'm sure he's returned to England.' He told Newman the news Beck and Monica had given him in Zurich. 'I don't like the sound of any of this. But when can we get down to Devil's Valley? Tomorrow?'
'That's pushing it. You'll need protection – and an interpreter. Petros doesn't speak English, you don't speak Greek. I think we have just the man. Nick the Greek, our driver. I've kept him on ice. He's holed up at the Astir Palace just across the square. He's even protested about the extra fee I pay him, saying he's doing nothing for it. Do you want to talk with Christina?'
'Yes.' He looked at Paula.
She shook her head, smiled impishly. 'Better you see her on your own. I'll cramp your style. I bet you have her eating out of your hand.'
'I doubt that.' Tweed finished off his second glass of mineral water. 'But one-to-one conversations normally get off the ground better.'
'Especially when you're with an attractive girl,' Paula went on.
'Oh, do shut up.' Tweed put on his jacket. 'Just going to the bathroom. Back in a minute…'
Paula waited until he reached the door, then called out. 'Don't forget to comb your hair!' Tweed gave her a glare and vanished.
'You do twist his tail,' Newman commented.
She became serious. 'I'm trying to relax him. I'm really worried about him. He's got the bit between his teeth over this business. He's become obsessed.'
'Can you explain that quickly? I'll be taking him along soon to Christina.'
'It started with Masterson's death. You can't kill one of Tweed's sector chiefs and expect him to shrug it off like Howard might. Then Jill Kearns – and he took a fancy to her – was murdered in London. Before that his old friend Sam Partridge was killed on Exmoor. And now an old lady in her seventies, a Mrs Larcombe, he interviewed has been battered to death at Porlock Weir. That was the last straw, I suspect. All the killings could be linked. If he decides Petros is in some way responsible I don't know what he'll do. Which is why I'm petrified about this Devil's Valley visit. Tweed has lost his sense of detachment.'
Thanks for telling me. I'll bear it in mind. Now I must call someone.'
Newman went to the phone, dialled a number, perched on the edge of the bed. 'That you, Nick? Can you get over here for a talk? In about five minutes? Good. My room. See you…'
Tweed came out of the bathroom as he put down the phone. 'We'll be having a conference about the trip to Devil's Valley while you talk with Christina,' he told Tweed. 'Nick, Marler and myself.'
The sooner the better. I'm ready for Christina. What about you, Paula? Going to peek at the shops?'
'She'll be joining us,' Newman said firmly. He seemed to have taken command of the situation, noted Paula. Noted it with relief.
Newman escorted Tweed to another room on the same floor. When he rapped on the door in a certain sequence it was opened by Marler. He gazed at Tweed, then at Newman.
'You might have told me he was coming. About time,' he continued, looking at Tweed. 'Glad to have you on board. We need to take some action.'
'You'll get all you can handle soon,' Newman promised him. 'Be a good chap, push off to my room. Here's the key. Tweed wants to talk with Christina.'
As Marler left he walked into the room, followed by Tweed, and introduced him to Christina. 'My Editor-in- Chief…'
Christina was sitting on a sofa, her back propped against one end, her long legs stretched out. She wore a low-cut emerald green dress, strapless, and backless to the lower part of her spine. She put down the book she was reading and stared at Tweed with her large eyes as Newman left the room, assessing him. Then she swung her legs off the sofa and sat with them crossed, one bare arm rested along the top of the sofa.
'Do sit down. Pull up a chair close to me. You look like a man who can take care of himself.'
'I've survived so far.' Tweed moved a chair, sat down so their knees were almost touching. She was a woman who liked close combat, who liked to touch a man if he passed inspection. Tweed had a feeling he'd done just that. And he wanted her to talk. She asked him if he'd like a drink. He said mineral water would be fine. She reached out to a table standing at the end of the sofa, poured him a glass from a collection of bottles, then she helped herself to a glass of white wine. She raised her glass.
'Here's to us.'
'To us…'
'And you're not an editor.' She peered at him over the rim and sipped some wine. 'You have the eyes of a policeman. They're nice eyes.'
'I was once a policeman.' He had decided frankness -up to a point – was his best tactic with this shrewd and glamorous creature. 'What can you tell me about the Greek Key? I need your help. Very badly. A lot of people have already died here and in England. I suspect more may die unless I find out what is going on.' He took off his glasses, laid them on the table. 'I need all the help I can get.'
'Will Newman or Marler be coming back?' She watched him through half-closed eyes.
'Not unless I summon them. I wasn't thinking of doing so.'
He had trouble keeping his eyes off her beautifully moulded shoulders. The dress fitted her snugly; her well- rounded breasts projected against the cloth. She leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth.
'That was for starters, Tweed.'
The Greek Key?'
'A group of the most dangerous men in Greece. Shadow men who operate in the dark. The police can't find them. They live secret lives. Does that sound melodramatic?'
'Yes. But it sounds just what I'm looking for. Tell me more.'
'So you don't really need your glasses to see?'
'Only long distance. When I'm driving. Times like that. Then I forget I'm wearing them. Tell me more,' he repeated.
'I've told you too much already. You want to get me killed?'
'No. I'd go a long way to prevent that. Is Anton a member?'
She blinked, lowered her eyes. He could have sworn the suggestion came to her as a great shock. That she was thinking back over incidents she had observed – trying to link them up with his question.
'I never thought of that.' She opened her full red lips and ran the tip of her tongue along her lower lip. 'I can trust you?'
'You must decide that for yourself.'
'When my mother sent me to the university – she's dead, Petros killed her with overwork on the farm – there was an English professor, Guy Seton-Charles.'
'What about him?' Tweed asked in the same quiet tone.
'There were rumours. He came to lecture from England each year. Behind his back they called him The Recruiter.'
'Who were 'they'?' His voice was very soft now, careful not to disturb her mood.
