“Smooth or cut?”
“Smooth.”
“Couldn’t it be green tourmaline?”
“Well, I suppose I don’t know really, Miss Lipp. I’m not an expert.”
“Do you care which it is?”
I was getting bored with this. “Not much, Miss Lipp,” I answered. “It just makes a more interesting story if it’s an emerald.”
She smiled. “It makes a more amusing story if it’s not. Have you ever been to the mysterious East?”
“No, Miss Lipp.”
“But you’ve seen pictures. Do you know what makes those tall pagodas glitter so beautifully in the moonlight?”
“No, Miss Lipp.”
“They’re covered with little pieces of broken bottle glass. And the famous emerald Buddha in Bangkok isn’t emerald at all, it’s carved from a block of ordinary green jasper.”
“Little-known facts,” I thought. “Why don’t you send it in to Reader’s Digest?” I didn’t say it though.
She took a cigarette from the gold case in her bag and I fumbled in my pocket for matches; but she had a gold lighter, too, and didn’t notice the matches I held out to her. “Have you always done this sort of work?” she asked suddenly.
“Driving? No, Miss Lipp. Most of my life I have been a journalist. That was in Egypt. When the Nasser crowd took over, things became impossible. It was a matter of starting again.” Simple, straightforward-a man who has suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune but wasn’t looking for anyone’s shoulder to weep on.
“I was thinking about the traveler’s checks,” she said. “Is that what you meant by ‘starting again’?”
“I’m sorry Mr. Harper had to tell you about that.” It was no surprise, of course, that Harper had told her; but with so many other things on my mind-driving, keeping the door panel from rattling, cramp in my leg and wondering how the hell I was going to replace the screws-all I could think of was that obvious reply.
“Did you think he wouldn’t tell me?” she went on.
“I didn’t think about it either way, Miss Lipp.”
“But since he did tell me and since you’re driving this car, that must mean that I don’t mind too much about things like that, mustn’t it?”
For one idiotic moment I wondered if she were making some sort of pass at me; but it was a brief moment.
“I suppose so,” I answered.
“And that Mr. Harper doesn’t mind either?”
“Yes.”
“And that, in fact, we’re all very sensible, tolerant persons?”
I couldn’t help glancing at her. She was watching me in her amused, considering way, but there was nothing sleepy about her eyes now. They were steadily intent.
And then I got the message. I was being sounded, either to discover what I had made of the setup and if they had left any shirt-tails showing, or to find out if I could be trusted in some particular way. I knew that how I answered would be very important indeed to me; but I didn’t know what to say. It was no use pretending to be stupid any more, or trying to avoid the issue. A test was being applied. If I failed it, I was out-out with Harper, out with Tufan and his Director, out with the Turkish customs, and, in all probability, out with the Greek police as well.
I felt my face getting red and knew that she would notice. That decided me. People get red when they feel guilty or nervous; but they also get red when they are angry. In order not to seem nervous or guilty, all I could do was to seem angry.
“Including Mr. Fischer?” I asked.
“What about Mr. Fischer?”
“Is he sensible, too, Miss Lipp?”
“Does that matter?”
I glanced at her again. “If my personal safety-safety from some sort of bad luck, let us say-depended on Fischer’s being sensible, I’d be quite worried.”
“Because he upset a drink over you?”
“Ah, he told you that, did he? No, that was only stupid. I’d be worried because he was careless, because he gave himself away.”
“Only himself?” There was quite an edge to her voice now. I knew that I had gone far enough.
“What else is there to give away, Miss Lipp?” I am wary but not treacherous, Miss Lipp. I watch my own interests, Miss Lipp, but I know how to be discreet, too, no matter how phony the setup looks.
“What indeed?” she said shortly.
She said no more. The test was over. I did not know whether I had passed or not; but there was nothing more that I could do, and I was glad of the relief. I hoped she would not notice that I was sweating.
We arrived at the airport ten minutes before the plane was due. She got out and went into the arrivals section, leaving me to find a place to park. I quickly did the two loose screws up before I went to join her.
She was at the Air France counter.
“Fifteen minutes to wait,” she said.
“And at least another fifteen before they get through customs,” I reminded her. “Miss Lipp, you have had no lunch. The cafe here is quite clean. Why not wait there and have some cakes and tea? I will keep a check on the plane and arrange for a porter to be ready. When the passengers are in customs I will let you know.”
She hesitated, then, to my relief, nodded. “All right, you do that.”
“May I ask who it is that we are meeting?”
“Mr. Miller.”
“I will take care of everything.”
I showed her where the cafe was, hung around long enough to make sure that she was going to stay there, and then hurried back to the car.
I was sweating so much by this time that my fingers kept slipping on the screwdriver. In fact, I did what I had been trying hard to avoid doing and scratched the leather; but it couldn’t be helped. I rubbed some spit on the place and hoped for the best. The Opel was parked about a dozen yards away and I could see the men in it watching me. They probably thought I’d gone mad.
When the last screw was in place, I put the screwdriver back in my bag and went inside again to the Air France counter. The plane was just landing. I found a porter, gave him five lira, and told him about Mr. Miller. Then I went to the men’s room and tried to stop myself from sweating by running cold water over my wrists. It helped a little. I cleaned myself up and went back to the cafe.
“The passengers are beginning to come through now, Miss Lipp.”
She picked up her bag. “Take care of the check will you, Arthur?”
It took me a minute or two to get the waiter’s attention, so I missed the meeting between Miss Lipp and Mr. Miller. They were already on the way out to the car when I saw them. The porter was carrying two pieces of luggage, one suitcase and one smaller bag. I went ahead and got the luggage compartment open.
Mr. Miller was about sixty with a long neck and nose, lined gray cheeks, and a bald head with brown blotches on the skin. The backs of his hands had blotches, too. He was very thin and his light tussore suit flapped as he walked as if it had been made for someone with more flesh to cover. He had rimless glasses, pale lips, a toothy smile, and that fixed stare ahead which says: “You’ll have to get out of my way, I’m afraid, because I haven’t the time to get out of yours.”
As they came up to the car Miss Lipp said: “This is Arthur Simpson, who’s driving for us, Leo.”
Before I could even say “good afternoon” he had handed me the raincoat he had been carrying over his arm. “Good, good,” he said, and climbed into the back seat. She smiled slightly as she got in after him, though not at me, to herself.
The coat smelled of lavender water. I put it with the luggage, tipped the porter again, and got into the driver’s seat.
“To the villa, Miss Lipp?” I asked.
