following morning.
Again she didn't realize she had chosen the next express after the one Philip had planned to board. She undressed, had a shower, sank into bed, and fell asleep at once. When she woke in the morning with a start she recalled the dream she had had. The Motorman, a shadowy figure, had been pursuing her. He had almost caught her as she ran, when she woke up.
She ate a full English breakfast, remembering Newman's advice.
'When you're on a job you eat on the hoof. You get a meal wherever you can – because you never know where or when the next one will be available…'
She took a taxi back to Cornavin, boarded the express when it came in. She was making herself comfortable in an empty first-class compartment when someone hurried past to board the train higher up. Keith Kent.
As the express later entered the Valais she had the same reaction as Philip. She gazed out of the window with a growing sense of fascination and horror.
She felt she was entering a white hell. She saw the snow-covered mountains looming close to the train as it passed through Martigny, the valleys, the frozen waterfalls, the lack of life in the snow-deep plain hemmed in by the great mountains on both sides.
I'll have to buy more sweaters in Sion, she thought.
She had brought a fur-lined trench coat with a hood she could pull over her head, but when she opened the window for a moment the well-heated compartment became ice-cold in seconds. She slammed the window shut.
Gazing out of the window, she tried to work out a plan to locate Philip. She felt sure now he would have caught the earlier express. On an assignment, Philip was a very early riser. Then the idea came to her.
She was worried about getting off the train at Sion in case Kent also disembarked. It was only a one-minute stop. A man's voice on the internal tannoy announced they were approaching Sion. Standing up, she saw outside the window the airfield and then everything was blotted out by a white mist as thick as cottonwool.
Charming, she thought. Just what I needed. I don't think…
When the automatic door opened outside the end of the coach she stepped down on to the platform, paused. Further along the platform Kent had already got off, was hurrying towards the exit.
'That was a bit of luck.' she said to herself. 'Now I need a list of hotels in this place.'
She saw the restaurant, went inside, sat down after taking off her coat, ordered coffee from the same waitress who had served Philip earlier.
'Would you have a list of the hotels in Sion, please?' she enquired.
'I can give you a brochure.'
The waitress hurried away, brought back the brochure, handed it to Paula, and went away. She preferred men as customers, particularly if they were on their own. In her opinion women could be all right, but they could also be very awkward.
Paula studied the brochure while she drank her coffee. It was a street plan of the town, a map of the surroundings, and a list of the hotels, each with an alphabetical letter which was reproduced on the map. She counted the number of hotels.
Oh, Lord, she thought. Twenty-two of them. So finish your coffee and get moving. Blast the mist…
She left the station, carrying her bag, and found a hotel not far from the station. She had her script in her head as she walked in and spoke to the receptionist.
'I'm looking for a friend, Philip Cardon. He's staying somewhere at a hotel in Sion but I don't know which one. The trouble is his mother is seriously ill back in London and I have to tell him. Is he staying here? Philip Cardon. Shall I spell it?'
'No one with a name like that staying here, I'm afraid.'
She plodded on, the mist freezing her face despite her pulling her hood close to her face. She thought Sion was dreary, the buildings boring. Maybe it was because there was no one else about and the depressing atmosphere of the mist.
She went into another small hotel. A man stood behind the reception desk. He wore a shabby waistcoat, unbuttoned, and an open-necked shirt due for a spell at the laundry. His hair was greasy, as was his skin. She recited her story.
'Don't fool me.' He leered at her. 'Lost your boy friend, have you? Will I do? And hotel registers are confidential so there we are.'
With an expressionless face she extracted a ten-franc note from her purse, held it between her fingers. His small eyes gleamed. She thought he was going to lick his lips. He reached out, snatched the note and made it disappear in a flash.
'All right. He's not here. Show you the register…'
'Don't spend it all at once.' she snapped and walked out.
Still carrying her bag, she strolled further down the street, heard a motorcycle coming. The rider in black leather pulled up alongside her.
'Just arriving?' he croaked in French. 'On business or pleasure.'
'Just leaving.'
He said something she didn't catch and rode off into the mist. This place is beginning to get me down, she was thinking, when she saw a clothes shop. She went inside, wasted no time buying two polo-neck sweaters, one white, one pale blue.
'I'll be wearing both of them at the same time soon,' she said to herself. Then she trudged on, checking hotel after hotel.
She saw yet another which she hadn't ticked off on her map. Hotel Touring. Taking a deep breath she walked inside, went up to reception.
Paula!'
She swung round. Philip had just come down into the lobby. He rushed towards her. She dropped her bag and the carrier containing the sweaters. He flung his arms round her.
'Am I glad to see you.'
'You can say the same for me. This is the tenth hotel.'
She buried her head in his chest and burst into tears.
33
Philip carried Paula's bag up to her room after she had registered at reception. He was going to leave her by herself when she stopped him.
'Don't go. It will only take me minutes to unpack, so sit down over there.'
'You're exhausted, you need a rest.'
'I need a stiff brandy in the bar…'
He stared at her. Paula's voice had changed, had become strong, normal. He watched with disbelief as she unpacked swiftly. She paused when she had put away her clothes.
'Yes.' she said, 'I know where to hide them.'
'Hide what?'
'Rather lethal travelling equipment supplied by Marler.'
'I see. I hid mine beneath under-clothes in my case and left it open, very much on view. Anyone searching my room will be looking for an obscure hiding place.'
'Good idea. Don't suppose you've had time to find out anything interesting.'
'You'd be surprised.'
'Surprise me, then.'
He told her what he had learned from the waitress at the station restaurant. While he was talking she took out her small armoury, tucked everything away inside the big strong carrier the clothes shop had given her. Then she carefully put back both heavy sweaters, stood the carrier on a stool at the foot of the bed. She was moving quickly but efficiently but it took several minutes before she was satisfied. By that time Philip had finished telling her
