the intensity of his concentration on his duel with Gaunt.
'How on earth do you manage to run this enormous place?' she enquired. 'Surely you need servants?'
'True. They don't live in. Too much of an invasion of privacy, which I value highly. The peasants from the local villages provide all the manpower needed.' His blue eyes twinkled. 'Of course, I have to pay them more in summer, but that's understandable. They can make a living tending the vineyards. I own a vineyard myself. Next time you come and see me you can sample some of my wine. I think you will like it. But your friend appears anxious to leave.'
Jennie had been staring straight into his shrewd blue eyes for every second he spoke. The transformation in his personality astounded her. Then she thought of the probable explanation. He was a man who preferred the company of women – and Gaunt had, gone at him like a bull at a gate. She glanced at the Squire. He stood like a man carved out of stone. Furious that he'd got nowhere with the banker.
Amberg escorted them into the entrance hall. As she was stepping out of the chateau Amberg held out his hand, shook hers warmly.
'Don't forget my invitation to taste the wine…'
His expression changed suddenly as he looked at Gaunt. It reminded her of the expression the Swiss had adopted during the 'conversation'. Like a slab of ice.
'Goodbye, Mr Gaunt.'
'And it hasn't been a pleasure,' Gaunt roared at the top of his voice.
34
Trouble. Here it comes,' Marler said to himself.
He was driving along the autoroute towards Colmar in mid-afternoon and it was still light. He was in the middle of nowhere, tilled fields stretching away on both sides, when he heard the police siren, saw the patrol car racing up to him in his rear-view mirror. Slowing down, he stopped.
As he lowered his window icy air flowed inside. He was humming the tune of 'La Jeune Fille aux Cheveux de Lin' when the patrol car parked a few yards ahead of him. Before leaving Strasbourg he had pushed back the front passenger seat to its furthest extent and perched the cello case with its base on the floor and the rest of it angled against the seat. Several sheets of music were spread on the seat itself.
A tall lean-faced uniformed policeman got out of the patrol car. Leaving his companion behind the wheel, he wandered back to Marler. The flap of his pistol holster was unbuttoned.
'Papers!' he demanded.
Marler had his passport and driving licence ready and handed them over. The flic perused both documents carefully, returned them to Marler. He peered inside.
'You are on holiday?' he asked in French.
'No, I'm a musician,' Marler replied in the same language.'I'm working.'
'Where are you driving to?'
'Berne in Switzerland. To perform in a concert.'
Marler hoped there was a concert hall in the Swiss capital. But he doubted whether the flic knew either. He was saying as little as possible, using the minimum of words to answer. The police were always suspicious of voluble travellers. The flic stared at the cello case.
'Your concert is today?' he asked truculently.
'No, tomorrow. I'll put up somewhere for the night to get some rest. I need to be fresh for the concert.'
Marler's mind, racing, was considering every angle. It was not impossible he'd bump into this same flic when he reached Colmar. Walking round the front of the car, the policeman opened the door to the front passenger seat, leaned in, opened the clasp, lifted the lid of the cello case. He stared down at the long slim silk sleeve with the end of a bow projecting.
Marler said nothing. He was careful to display no sign of impatience, nervousness. No drumming of his fingers on the wheel. The flic peered into the back of the Audi.
'What are you carrying inside that bag?'
'It's cricket. One of our national games. Inside is what we play the game with – a bat and a ball.'
The policeman frowned, reached in, unzipped the bag, stared at its contents. He shrugged, re-zipped the bag. The English had peculiar tastes. Marler realized he'd made one of those glaring mistakes the most careful people sometimes make. Who played cricket in winter in this part of the world?
Slamming the back door shut as he had done the front, the policeman shrugged again at the strangeness of the English. Without another word he walked back to his vehicle, climbed inside. The patrol car took off like a rocket.
'And that experience is enough for one day,' Marler said to himself as he closed the lid of the cello case and resumed driving.
For Jennie the drive back from the Chateau Noir to Colmar was a nightmare. Gaunt was moving over snow- covered roads which might conceal ice underneath, racing round hairpin bends on the edge of precipices. Once he skidded close to an endless drop. With great skill he came out of it, proceeded down another steep slope. Jennie had her hands clasped tightly inside her gloves.
'We didn't get much out of Amberg, did we?' she remarked. 'Very Swiss. Although most Swiss I've met have been so polite and helpful.'
'Shut up! I'm driving.'
She knew Gaunt fairly well now, his volatile moods. As they swerved round another bend she studied his profile. No tension, no sign that the BMW could slide at any moment into a fatal skid. She suddenly grasped that only half his mind was on driving the car.
A superb driver, he was controlling the car automatically. Half his mind was miles away, pondering something which bothered him. What could it be that he was mentally gnawing at like a dog with a bone?
A yellow tractor was emerging from a snow-covered field a score of yards or so ahead of them. If it occupied the road ahead of them it would be difficult to overtake. Gaunt rammed his foot down on the accelerator, pressed his hand on the horn, blaring out across the mountains non-stop. God! He was going to try and get in front of it!
Jennie closed her eyes, waited for the shattering collision, couldn't bear not to see what was happening, opened them again. She gritted her teeth. Racing down the curving road, the BMW increased speed. The tractor driver seemed to take no notice. Its yellow hulk loomed over Jennie as the car sped past, almost skimming the side of the machine. She let out her breath.
'Silly devil,' Gaunt commented offhandedly. 'Should have waited. My right of way.'
'Only your right of way if the other chap gives it to you,'she reminded him.
'What was that you said?' He glanced at her briefly.
He hadn't heard a word she had spoken. Now she knew she was right – he was driving on automatic pilot. Most of his mind was miles away. Where?
She went over in her mind all that had been said while they were at the Chateau Noir. Was it frustration that was affecting Gaunt? Frustration at hearing that the film and the tape had gone missing?
Then it hit her. Did Gaunt know what was on the film, the tape? During an early stage of his verbal exchanges with Amberg she recalled one thing Gaunt had said. When Julius had arrived at Tresillian Manor Gaunt had had a chat with him. Had Julius told Gaunt then what he had seen on the film, what he had heard on the tape? It was possible, maybe even likely.
Suddenly as they approached Colmar a dense mist crept in from the fields, entering the town. Gaunt switched on his fog lights. He was crawling now as they came close to the Hotel Bristol, were passing a shopping parade. She put a hand on his arm.
'Greg, could you drop me here. There are lights on in the shops, they're still open. I want to buy something from the chemist.'
'Here do you?'
He pulled in by the kerb. She opened the door, swung out her long legs. As she turned to close the door and
