Rondel led the way along a devious route through the complex mansion until they emerged into the hall and he opened the double doors. As he did so, another figure appeared at the back of the hall, watching them. The chauffeur. Danzer.
'Safe journey,' Rondel wished them and then they were outside and the doors closed behind them.
They were moving slowly down the drive when Tweed glanced back, saw Mrs France dashing after them, still clutching her hydrangeas.
'Stop the car,' he ordered, lowering his window.
'It's Floral Dress,' said Newman, looking back. 'The lady who was feeding ducks, who spoke to you as we walked along the edge of the Alster.'
Mrs France was almost out of breath when she reached them. She thrust the flowers through the open window and Paula took hold of them. She smiled at the plump-faced lady who had a high colour. Mrs France peered through her huge thick-lensed spectacles.
'These are really beautiful.'
'That is very kind of you,' said Tweed, smiling.
The woman pushed her face inside the window. She was very nervous and her hands were trembling. She tried to speak, then had to start again.
'Mr Tweed, I need to come and see you on my own. Something is happening which is very serious, which you should know about. I expect they are watching me from the house.'
'Four Seasons Hotel,' Tweed said quickly, keeping his back to the house. He gave her his suite number. 'You would like to come and see me soon? This afternoon? Three o'clock any good to you?'
'I will be there at three. Oh, thank you so much. You are a nice man. I must go now. They will question me. I will say I heard Miss Grey comment when you arrived how much she admired the hydrangeas.'
'I do…' Paula began.
Mrs France didn't hear her. She was hurrying back up the drive to the house.
'That,' said Newman, 'is one very frightened lady.'
CHAPTER 25
On the day Tweed was driven to Millionaires' Row, in London Gavin Thunder stood in his Whitehall office and gave orders to Montagu Carrington, the aide who had replaced Jeremy Mordaunt.
'You will, nominally, be in charge while I am away. I am flying abroad on holiday for five days. Try not to make too big a mess of things in my absence.'
The heatwave was intensifying and Thunder wore tropical kit. His sharp features seemed even more pronounced, as though he was in a state of tension. His temper was on a short fuse.
'A sudden decision, sir,' commented Carrington, a pale-faced man in his thirties who regarded himself as a high flier. 'May I ask where you are going so I can contact you?'
'You damned well may not. How can I get a quiet holiday if people like you are bothering me? My destination is both private and secret. Has your thick head grasped that?'
'I can at least arrange for a limousine to drive you to the airport…'
'You bloody well won't. I'm driving myself. Got it?'
Carrington, clad in a grey suit quite unsuitable for the weather, frowned. He shifted his feet.
'You are a Minister, sir. You should at least have two bodyguards wherever you are going. Somewhere hot?'
'I know I'm a Minister, you idiot. Has anyone ever told you that you're like a mangy dog which keeps on chewing its bone?'
'No, sir, they haven't…'
'Well, I'm telling you now.' Thunder's mouth was tight, his eyes impaled Carrington's. 'No bodyguards. No limousine. No nothing. Shall I write it down for you?'
'Not necessary, sir.' Carrington had been told wrongly that as a civil servant it was important to stand up to a Minister. 'Supposing there's an emergency while you're away,' he suggested in a subdued voice.
'An emergency!' Thunder exploded. 'In that case I would have thought your reaction was obvious. Clearly it isn't. You pass it straight to the PM,' he roared. Then his tone became casual. 'If I have any more of your foolish chatter when I return you will be fired. You may be anyway when I get back. Now get out of my room!'
Alone, he unlocked a cupboard, took out his packed case, left the room. He departed by a back entrance, got into the parked modest Ford car waiting for him, drove off.
Aware that his appearance was well-known, due to the many times he had blasted inerviewers out of the water on TV – a popular act with the public – on his way to Heathrow he parked in a deserted side street. It took him only a moment to perch a Jewish skullcap on his head, concealing his hair. He checked his fake passport in the name of Rosen, then strapped a dark patch over his left eye. Checking himself in the rear-view mirror, he decided he was unrecognizable, drove on to the airport.
After passing through the controls he looked at the monitor. His flight would be leaving in fifteen minutes. His flight to Hamburg.
'I saw Marler while I was walking with our host in the park behind the mansion,' Tweed remarked as Newman headed back for the hotel. 'I thought it was a shadow, then, as he was vanishing, I recognized his walk.'
'He takes good care of you,' Paula told him.
'The odd thing was I couldn't see any guards at first. A man like that would have guards, I thought. Then I noticed a couple of gardeners. One of them was bent over and his bolstered gun was exposed.'
'Incidentally,' Newman called out from behind the wheel, 'Marler and Nield are only a little way behind us in the Opel.'
'How did Rondel's partner strike you? 'Paula asked. 'Would you trust him?'
'I can't say that, one way or the other. We were talking about the present state of chaos. He mentioned strong government being needed. I responded by recalling Hitler, Mussolini and Stalin. His reaction was ambiguous.'
'You mean he approved of those three terrible dictators?'
'In one way he seemed to, but I did say he was ambiguous. He wants me to meet him again. He said he had his headquarters in the far north. That could mean north of Hamburg or even further north. Scandinavia.'
'He doesn't tell you much,' she observed.
'He's a very wily man. Oh, Rondel's real name is Blondel – had a French father, a German mother. Milo explained it was vanity, that Blondel is conscious of his blond hair.'
'So,' she mused, 'I'd better be careful if I meet him again. To call him Rondel, not Blondel. Safer if I just use Victor.'
'You rather like him, don't you?' Tweed suggested.
'He's a charmer.'
'I always did mistrust them. Maybe because I lack charm myself.'
Tweed had lunch in the Condi with Lisa, Paula and Newman. He sensed that Lisa was ill at ease, although she chattered quite animatedly to Paula. They were having lunch when the Brig appeared. He dragged a chair over to their table.
'Mind if I sit with you?'
'You are doing.' Tweed smiled. 'And welcome too. You do look serious.'
Paula thought Tweed was right. The Brig, clad in khaki drill, looked grim. It seemed to her that his hawk-like face was even larger, more ferocious than when she'd last seen him. They had reached the coffee stage and the Brig said he'd like some too. He remained oddly silent until coffee had been served.
'You've heard there was a fatal shooting outside here late last night?' he said suddenly.
