Hampton Court, and turned off over the bridge along the road by Hurst Park; in Walton they turned right again, and a few miles later they turned under a brick archway into what seemed like a dense wood. A few more turns, and the car swung into a circular drive and swept its headlights across the front of a big weather-tiled house set in a grove of tall pines and silver birches.
They pulled up with a crunch of gravel, and Simon opened the door.
'Here we are, darling,' he said. 'This is my nearest country seat. Thirty minutes from London if you don't worry about speed cops, and you might as well be in the middle of the New Forest. You'll like the air, too, it has oxygen in it.'
He picked up her valise and stepped out. As she got out after him she saw Patricia coming round the front of the car, pulling off her gloves, and her face went stony.
The Saint waved a casual hand.
'You remember Pat, don't you?' he murmured. 'The girl with the wardrobe you liked so much. She'll chaperon you while you're here and see that you have most of the things you want. Come along up and I'll show you your quarters.'
He led the way into the house, handing over the valise to Orace, who was standing on the steps. Without saying a word Lady Valerie followed him up the broad oak staircase.
Upstairs, at the end of one wing, there was a self-contained suite consisting of sitting room, bedroom and bathroom. Simon indicated it all with a generous gesture.
'You couldn't do better at the Carlton,' he said. 'The windows don't open and they're made of unbreakable glass, but it's all air-conditioned, so you'll be quite comfortable. And any time you get tired of the view, you've only got to tell me where that cloakroom ticket is and I'll take you straight back to London.'
Orace put down the valise and went out again with his peculiar strutting limp.
Lady Valerie turned round in a quick circle and stood in front of the Saint. Her face was blazing.
'You,' she said incoherently. 'You . . .'
She took a swift step forward and struck at him with her open hand. His cheek stung with the slap. Instinctively he grasped her wrist and held it, but she struggled in his arms like a wildcat, wriggling and kicking at his shins.
'Oh!' she sobbed. 'I—I hate you!'
'You break my heart,' said the Saint. 'I thought it was the dawn of love.'
She took a lot of holding: her slim body was strongly built and her muscles were in excellent condition. In the struggle her hair had become disordered, and her breath came quickly between parted lips that were too close to his for serenity.
The Saint smiled and kissed her.
She stopped struggling. Her breasts were tight against him; her lips were moist and desirous under his. One of her arms slid behind his neck.
The kiss lasted for some time. Then he put his hands on her shoulders and moved her gently away.
'I'm sorry about that,' he said. 'I didn't really mean to force my vile attentions on you, but you asked for it.'
'Did I?' she said.
She turned away from him towards a mirror and began to pat her hair into place.
