`Hard work.' The Brigadier grunted, tasted the Krug the waiter had poured. 'That'll do.'
Paula had her first chance to look at the shoes Lee was wearing. Sensible walking shoes. Which didn't go at all with the glamorous purple off-the-shoulder outfit.
Newman had moved his chair so he sat close to Helen Claybourne. Lee had blood-red nail-varnished fingernails, a colour he disliked intensely. Looked as though she'd dipped her fingers in blood. As a contrast, Helen's slim strong-looking fingers were varnished a pale pink. She turned to him and her grey eyes held his unblinking.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lee stroking back her blonde mane so she could see Tweed clearly. Again a contrast: Helen sat quite still, her hands clasped in her lap, still staring at him with the hint of a smile.
`Are you enjoying all this?' he asked her quietly.
`I am now. I've read quite a bit about you in magazine profiles. I'd imagine you're a very resourceful man – someone a woman could depend on in an emergency. Which is more than you can say for most men nowadays.'
With any other woman it would have sounded like flattery. But Helen made it sound like a simple statement she believed. They clinked glasses and she gave him her half-smile again.
I'm not doing very well tonight, Paula thought. Lee appears to have Tweed in the palm of her hand. Newman can't take his eyes off Helen. I must be losing my touch. Willie seemed to sense her feeling of isolation. Turning to her, he clinked his glass with hers, beaming at her.
`You must have had the appetite of a lady who hasn't eaten for weeks. The way you devoured those sandwiches. I know a rather nice little restaurant just up the boulevard. The Copenhagen Tavern. It has a bar. Why don't we go up there, get away from this lot?'
`I'd love to – and thank you, Willie. But it's been a long day. Maybe tomorrow..
She was watching Lee who had twisted round in her chair. She was straightening Tweed's tie. Willie glanced in the same direction, then went on chatting.
`Tell you what. There are some pretty good exhibitions on at the moment. Helen,' he called out, 'hope I'm not interrupting. I wonder if you could find out all the exhibitions on in town early tomorrow, give me a list?'
Helen produced a notebook from her handbag. Newman kept quiet as she produced her expensive fountain- pen, took off the top, make a note.
`Consider it done,' she assured Willie.
`That's a nice pen,' Newman remarked. fountain-pens are coming back into fashion. And it suits your neat handwriting.'
Pile it on, Bob, Paula thought. Helen was playing with the fat pen, made a movement as though to show it to Newman, then dropped it back inside her bag.
`It was a present from my favourite uncle. I guard it with my life…'
Tweed seemed totally absorbed by Lee. She took out her jewelled cigarette holder, inserted a cigarette, and put the holder between her lips. She made no attempt to light it and Tweed, a non-smoker, produced the lighter he always carried. Igniting it, he leant forward. Lee snatched the holder out of her mouth away from him.
`Sorry. I'm giving up smoking. I do this as a test of will power. So far I haven't lit a cigarette for over four weeks.'
`Damn silly idea,' Burgoyne commented. 'Just don't buy any cigarettes. These pseudo-psychological methods never work. I suppose that crank doctor you consulted suggested it.'
`Maurice,' Lee said sweetly, 'why don't you mind your own damned business?'
`And are you here on business, Brigadier?' Tweed asked, seizing on the opening.
`Yes. What about you?' Burgoyne barked.
`The answer is yes,' Tweed said slowly. 'In my capacity as Chief Claims Investigator for my insurance company. I am actually investigating a particularly grim kidnapping.'
Was it his imagination or had a sudden hush descended on the party? Paula, who had pushed her chair back, was in a better position to see everyone. She could have sworn someone froze for a second. The trouble was she couldn't identify who it was.
`Anyone we know?' Burgoyne asked eventually.
`I would assume probably not,' Tweed replied in the same slow tone. 'And I am close to my target.'
`I'm going to bed,' the Brigadier announced abruptly, and stood up. 'The rest of you can chatter the night hours away.'
On this polite note he left them. Lee insisted that she and Tweed walked up the boulevard to the Copenhagen Tavern. Willie turned to Paula as Lee went to fetch a coat.
`Now you are going to join me for a nightcap. We can get one just up the street at Les Arcades. You'll like it. Quite atmospheric. Be a devil, say yes.'
`I'll get my own coat,' Paula agreed immediately. At least someone was showing interest in her. 'Won't be a tick…'
Helen waited until she was alone with Newman before she made the suggestion. Facing him, she fiddled with a brooch under her mandarin collar, her grey eyes staring straight into his.
`If you feel like it, we could slip into the bar over there and have a quiet drink and a chat. Get to know each other better.'
`Then why are we still sitting here?' Newman asked, and gave her a warm smile.
Tweed didn't let on to Lee that he was familiar with the Copenhagen Tavern. At that time of night there were only a few customers – some finishing a meal, others sitting over drinks.
A spacious establishment, it had an intimate atmosphere – largely created by the fact that the walls were lined with brown cloth, combined with subdued lighting from brass wall sconces supporting brown shades.
Tweed guided Lee to the back of the split-level room, avoiding the steps leading up to a large alcove on the right. He chose one of three empty tables at the back of the room with brown banquettes against the wall. Lee slipped round the table on to the banquette, tapped the space beside her. Tweed took off his coat, walked round the other end, perched the coat on the banquette between Lee and where he sat. She stripped off her coat, folded it carefully, placed it on top of his and pushed the pile towards him. Then she eased herself closer.
To his surprise she ordered a glass of dry French white wine when the waitress came and he followed suit.
`I'm floating in champagne,' she confessed in a husky voice. 'God! The Brigadier is a pain in the proverbial.'
`Why work for him then?'
`For a secretary-housekeeper the pay is very good. And I still haven't a clue about his business. He seems to dictate letters in some sort of code.'
`You mean a code like the Secret Service are supposed to use?'
`No. But his phraseology is strange. I always have the feeling there is a double meaning to the words. Still,' she smiled and for a moment left her full red lips half open, `don't let's talk about him. Let's talk about us.'
She sipped at her glass of wine, watching him over the rim of the glass. Her greenish eyes glowed with excitement.
`Isn't that Guerlain Samsara? The subtle perfume I caught a whiff of?' Tweed enquired.
`Yes. You seem to know a lot about women. Helen Claybourne has a bottle, let me try it.'
`Maybe the Brigadier would buy you a bottle,' Tweed suggested.
Not Maurice.' She smiled warmly again. 'He reckons he pays me too much. He'd say I could afford to buy it myself. Which I suppose I could.' She sipped more wine. 'Your Paula is a striking-looking girl,' she said suddenly. `And sharp as a tack.' She smiled again, wickedly this time. 'I bet she's a marvellous asset – in every sort of way.'
Tweed evaded the probe. 'She is extremely efficient. Incidentally, whose idea was it for the four of you to come on this trip together?'
`Are you interrogating me?' she needled him good- humouredly. 'It was Maurice's. I'm afraid he treats Willie as a pet lap-dog. I hope that doesn't sound cruel. I gather the friendship started ages ago out in the Far East.'
`Any idea what Willie did in those days? To earn his living, I mean.'
`More interrogation,' she chaffed him. 'You're not a top claims investigator for nothing. According to Maurice he – Willie – was known as Mr Fix-It. Let's suppose two trading companies were trying to take over each other. And
