`Maybe a little later. How did you manage to get hold of such an architectural gem?'
`I have Sir Gerald Andover to thank for that. When I was out in Hong Kong and getting ready to come home after umpteen years, we were having a drink in my favourite bar. Andover, Fanshawe – lives next door – and myself. I asked him if he heard of a likely property would he be so kind as to send details. Three months passed. Nothing. Fanshawe wanted a place, too. Then a sheaf of houses arrived from Andover – including this place. Snapped it up.'
`And lived happily ever after,' Lee interjected with a curious smile.
`Something like that.'
Tweed seized his opportunity. 'It was Andover who sent us round here. Poor chap looks as though he's had a nervous breakdown.' He waited for the reaction.
Paula glanced up at Burgoyne. The living-room was also lit by wall-sconce lights, casting a suffused glow. In the soft lighting Burgoyne's expression was saturnine. He appeared to be considering how to respond.
`Andover is a good friend – as I've just proved. But a bad neighbour. Keeps himself locked up inside that old horror of a pile. It was much better when Irene, his daughter, was around.'
`Maurice took a fancy to Irene,' Lee interjected. 'He means it was much better for Maurice when Irene was available.'
`Nonsense.' Burgoyne dismissed her observation without any sign of rancour. 'Then about three months ago Irene ups and offs to the Riviera with her French boy friend, Louis Renard. Can't say I took to the chap.'
`Maurice,' Lee intervened again, 'you only met him once.'
`Once was enough. A bit of a bounder. But some of you women seem to like the type.' He touched Paula on the shoulder. 'Excluding guests. You look as though you've got your head screwed on the right way.'
`When did Andover resign from the Institute and throw up all his directorships?' Tweed persisted.
`Come to think of it, about the same time. Yes, three months or so ago. Rather foolish. His daughter goes off for a fling – the way they do these days – and her father chucks in all his interests. Told him he was bats. Wouldn't listen, of course.'
`I see you brought the East back with you,' Paula said quickly, feeling Tweed had pressed the subject enough.
She looked round the room. Perched on an Oriental chest in the large curtained bay window at the back was a small Buddha with hooded eyes, which seemed to be watching her. The walls were decorated with Chinese paintings on silk scrolls. Behind an Oriental desk angled in a corner hung a large-scale map of Hong Kong. Burgoyne smiled before he replied.
`Best years of my life were spent out there. Came back to find an England where manners had gone. You can't tell a dustman from a lord these days. The classless society has wrecked everything Britain once stood for. So I surround myself with a touch of the East. Stupid nostalgia, probably.' He looked down at Paula again. 'Can't I relieve you of that case, put it with your coats?'
Paula gripped the executive case she had perched on her knees. She smiled up at him.
`No thank you. It's stuffed with research papers I've been working on for three weeks. I feel happier with my hands on it. Then I can't forget it when we leave.'
`Do you smoke?' Lee asked Tweed.
`No. I gave it up but I still like the aroma.'
She opened a long black evening bag with a diamante clasp while Paula watched her. Fiddling inside it, she brought out a long thick jewelled holder, inserted a cigarette, and then made no effort to light it, which intrigued Paula. Lee's exposed leg leaned against Tweed's as she settled herself more comfortably.
`I never met Irene,' Tweed remarked casually. Did she leave suddenly?'
`I gather so,' Burgoyne replied. 'Here one night, gone the next. The young are so impatient.'
`Talking about leaving…' Tweed consulted his watch. 'Andover urged us to visit Willie Fanshawe while we were here. Or does he go to bed early?'
`Up half the night. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you again.'
`Tweed,' Lee said quickly, opening her bag again, 'I visit London frequently. Maybe we could have lunch together? I'd phone you first. Here is my card. I have an office in town. You're in insurance, Maurice told me. He was talking about you only the other day.'
`I'd like that,' Tweed said quickly. 'And here's my card. Best to phone first, as you suggested. I'm away from the office so much.'
He gave her a card with the legend General amp; Cumbria Assurance – the cover name for the SIS. The card he gave her gave only the name and the phone number. No address. He stood up, shook her hand.
`It's been a great pleasure.'
He stood for a moment, apparently admiring her. His eyes were studying the jewelled cigarette holder she held so elegantly in her left hand.
Burgoyne was standing now, hands inside the pockets of his jodhpurs. He was frowning as though his thoughts were miles away.
`I haven't seen Andover for a while. You don't think he has had a nervous breakdown – you used that phrase?'
`I'd say recovering from overwork,' Tweed replied easily. 'Thank you both for a most pleasant half hour.' `I'll get your coats…'
He had gone when Paula turned to Lee. The magnetic blonde was eyeing her critically.
It's been an experience meeting you,' Paula told her and smiled.
'I'm an experienced woman,' Lee replied.
`She's after you,' Paula said when Burgoyne had closed the outer door and they had settled themselves inside the Escort.
`There are worse fates,' Tweed teased her.
She thumped him in the ribs. Then, clutching her case, she stared ahead as Tweed drove away from the glare of the searchlights and along the drive. Passing between the gates he turned left and parked by the pile of bricks and the concrete mixer.
`What do you make of those two?' he asked.
`There's something odd about their relationship. Burgoyne has got all his marbles, is a strong character. But Lee Holmes is a strange creature. She didn't hesitate to contradict him and I wouldn't expect him to have a woman like that as a mistress. Someone with brains, yes, but more amenable. I almost had the impression I was witnessing…'
'A charade put on for our benefit,' Tweed completed. `And I find it difficult to believe he hasn't been anywhere near Andover for three months or so. There's a mystery inside that mansion. Let's make one more visit, see Fanshawe. You'll find him a very different kettle of fish…'
The Last Haven had no gates, and a gravel drive led straight to the house which came immediately into view. Not at all what Tweed was expecting, it was a single- storey residence with a wide frontage. It reminded Tweed of houses he'd seen in Scandinavia with its small slim bricks and steeply pitched roof.
`It looks very modern,' Paula commented. 'Not a bit like a house in the New Forest…'
A strong light shone over the wooden front door and behind drawn curtains were more lights. Tweed and Paula had just left the car when the door opened. A heavily built man with a large head and shaggy white hair came out to meet them. In his sixties, Paula guessed, and rather like a favourite uncle. His head was craned forward and he had a broad smile as Tweed went to meet him, introducing Paula.
`This is a wonderful surprise,' Fanshawe began. 'Tweed, of all people. How are you? Not chasing kidnappers out in this neck of the woods?'
Paula nearly jumped. With a tremendous effort she kept her expression neutral. Then she realized Fanshawe must be referring to the cover Tweed used in his fictitious role as Chief Claims Investigator for General amp; Cumbria Assurance. With certain people he knew he gave the impression he was involved in negotiating the release of kidnap victims for an agreed ransom, which explained his frequent trips abroad.
Tweed showed no reaction at all except pleasure. Again he introduced Paula and Fanshawe obviously took an immediate liking to her.
`Come in out of the fog.' He guided her inside with an arm round her shoulders. 'Beastly night,' he went on, 'but you'll find it nice and warm inside. The Swedish central heating system works a treat…'
