endowed with its own life. It was the choice of a woman of immense wealth and even greater style.
As Peter straightened, he realized that she was appraising him as carefully as he was her. It seemed that he would be unable to conceal anything from those slanted emerald eyes, but he returned her gaze steadily, knowing without conceit that he could withstand any such scrutiny; still intrigued, however, with the certainty that she had known him.
“Your name has been much in the news recently she said, as if in explanation.
There were sixteen for lunch, including Steven and Pat’s three children and Melissa-Jane. It was a happy, relaxed meal, but the
Baroness was seated at a distance that made it impossible for Peter to speak directly to her, and though he strained to follow her conversation, her voice was low and addressed mostly to Steven and the editor of one of the national daily newspapers who flanked her. Peter found himself fully occupied in fending off the breathless attention of the pretty but feather brained blonde on his left. She was a starlet who had married well and divorced even better.
She had been handpicked by Pat Stride. Peter’s sister-inlaw was indefatigable in her efforts to find him a suitable replacement for
Cynthia. Twelve years of straight failures had not daunted her in the least.
There was still time for Peter to notice that though the Baroness sipped once or twice at her wine, the level in the glass never fell,
and she picked only lightly at her plate.
Though Peter watched her covertly, the Baroness never glanced once in his direction. It was only as they went through for coffee that she came directly and unaffectedly to his side.
“Steven tells me there are Roman ruins on the estate, she said.
“I could show them to you. It is a lovely walk up through the woods.”
“Thank you. I do have some business to discuss with Steven before that; shall we meet at three o’clock?” She had changed into a loose tweed skirt and jacket that would have looked bulky on a shorter or plumper woman, and high boots in the same lavender tinted brown.
Under it she wore a cashmere roll-neck jersey, and a scarf of the same fine wool hung down her back. A wide-brimmed hat with a bright feather in the band was pulled down over her eyes.
She walked in silence, hands thrust deeply into the big pockets of her jacket, making no effort to protect the expensive boots from mud,
thorns or damp bracken. She moved with a flowing, long-legged grace,
swinging from the hips so that her shoulder and head seemed to float beside Peter, at a not much lower level than his own. Had she not been a world leader in finance and industry, she might have made a great model, he decided. She had a talent for making clothes look important and elegant, while treating them with indifference.
Peter respected her silence, pleased to be able to step out to match her pace, as they went up through the dark dripping woods that smelt of leaf mould and cold rain, the oaks bare and moss-pelted,
seeming to beseech a purple grey sky with arthritic limbs held high.
They came out on the higher open ground without having stopped once, although the path had been steep and the ground soft underfoot.
She was breathing deeply but evenly, and she had coloured just sufficiently to flatter the high Slavic cheeks.
She must be in peak physical condition, he thought.
“Here they are.” Peter indicated the barely discernible grass-covered ditch that circled the hilltop. “They are not very impressive, but I didn’t want to warn you in advance She smiled now.
“I have been here before,” she said in that intriguing husky accent.
“Well, we are off to a flying start. We have both deceived each other at our first meeting-” Peter chuckled.
“I came all the way from Paris, she explained. “It was most inconvenient really the business I had to discuss with Sir Steven could have been completed by telephone in five minutes. What I had to discuss with you could only be done face by face-” She corrected herself immediately.
“I am sorry, face to face” It was a rare slip. Steven had been strangely insistent that Peter spend this particular weekend at Abbots
Yew, and was certainly party to this encounter.
“I am flattered by the interest of such a beautiful lady-“
Instantly she frowned, and with a gesture of irritation cut short the compliment as frivolous.
“Very recently you were approached by the Narmco section of
Seddler StLel with an offer to head their Sales Division,” she said,
and Peter nodded. Since his resignation had been accepted by the War
Office, there had been many offers. “The terms of employment offered were extraordinarily generous.”
“That is true.”
“You prefer the cloistered academic life, perhaps?” she asked, and though Peter’s expression did not change, he was taken off balance. It seemed impossible that she could know of the offer of the Chair of Modern
Military History that he had been offered by a leading American university, an offer with which he was still toying idly.
“There are some books I want to read and write,” Peter said.
“Books. You have an important collection, and I have read those you have written. You are an interesting contradiction, General
Stride. The man of direct action, and at the same time of deep political and social thought.”
“I confuse myself at times,” Peter smiled. “So what chance do you have to understand me?” She did not rise to the smile. “A great deal of your writing coincides with my own conviction. As for your action, if I had been a man and in your position, I might have acted as you did.” Peter stiffened, resenting any allusion to the taking of Flight 070, and again she seemed to understand instinctively.
“I refer to your entire career, General. From Cyprus to
Johannesburg and including Ireland.” And he relaxed slightly.
“Why did you refuse the Narmco offer? “she asked.
“Because it was presented with the unstated conviction that I
could not refuse. Because the terms were so generous that they left a strange unsatisfying odour in my nostrils.
Because I believe that I would have been required to perform duties in line with the reputation I seem to have acquired since the taking of Flight 070.”
“What reputation is that?” She leaned slightly towards him, and he smelled her particular aroma. The way perfume reacted upon that pet ally-smooth skin, heated by the exertion of the climb up the hill. She smelled faintly of crushed lemon blossom and clean healthy mature woman.
He felt himself physically aroused by it, and had an almost undesirable impulse to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth and glossiness of her skin.
A man who makes accommodations, perhaps, he answered, “What did you think you might have been asked to do?” This time he shrugged.
“Perhaps carry bribes to my onetime colleagues in NATO Command, to induce them to consider favourably the products of Narmco.”
“Why would you believe that?”
“I was once a decision making officer in that
Command.” She turned away from him and looked out across the special greens of an English winter landscape, the orderly fields and pastures,
the dark wedges and geometrical shapes of the woods and copses.
“Do you know that through Altmann Industries and other companies I
control a majority shareholding in Seddler Steel, and naturally in
Narmco?”
“No,” Peter admitted. “But I cannot say I am surprised.”
“Did you know that the offer from Narmco was in reality from me personally?”
