“How is she, Peter?”
“She is fine now-” He found it strangely difficult to use her name, or any form of endearment. He hoped that the strain would not sound in his voice. “But we went through a hell of a time.”
“I know. I understand. I felt so helpless. I tried so hard, that’s why I was out of contact, Peter but day after day there was no news.”
“It’s all over now,” Peter said gruffly.
don’t think SO” she said swiftly. “Where are you calling from?”
“London.”
“When will you come back?”
“I telephoned Brussels an hour ago. Narmco wants me back urgently. I am taking a flight this afternoon.”
“Peter, I have to see you. I’ve been too long without you but, (Mon Dieu, I have to be in Vienna tonight. Wait, let me see,
if I sent the Lear to fetch you now we could meet, even for an hour.
You could take the late flight from Orly to Brussels and I could go on to Vienna with the Lear please, Peter. I missed you so. We could have an hour together.” the sub managers -of the airport met Peter as he disembarked from the Lear and led him to one of the VIP lounges above the main concourse.
Magda Altmann came swiftly to meet him as he stepped into the lounge and he had forgotten how her presence could fill a room with light.
She wore a tailored jacket over a matching skirt, severe gunmetal grey and tremendously effective. She moved like a dancer on long graceful legs which seemed to articulate from the narrow waist and
Peter felt awkward and heavy footed for the awareness that he was in the presence of evil sat heavily upon him, weighting him down.
“Oh, Peter. What have they done to you?” she asked with quick concern flaring in those huge compassionate eyes.
She reached up to touch his cheek.
The strain and horror of the last days had drawn him out to the edge of physical endurance. His skin had a greyish, sickly tone against which the dark new beard darkening his jaws contrasted strongly. There were more fine silver threads at his temples, gull’s wings against the thicker darker waves of his hair, and his eyes were haunted. They had sunk deeply into their sockets.
“Oh, darling, darling,” she whispered, low enough so that the others in the room could not hear her, and she reached up with her mouth for his.
Peter had carefully schooled himself for this meeting. He knew how important it was that he should not in any way betray the knowledge he had. Magda must never guess that he had found her out. That would be deadly dangerous. He must act completely naturally. It was absolutely vital, but there was just that instant’s remembrance of his daughter’s pale wasted fever-racked features, and then he stooped and took Magda’s mouth.
He forced his mouth to soften, as hers was soft and warm and moist, tasting of ripe woman and crushed petals. He made his body welcoming as hers was melting and trusting against his and he thought he had succeeded completely until she broke from his embrace and leaned back, keeping those slim strong hips still pressed against his. She studied his face again, a swift probing, questioning gaze, and he saw it change deep in her eyes. The flame going out of them leaving only a cold merciless green light, like the beautiful spark in the depths of a great emerald.
She had seen something; no there had been nothing to see. She had sensed something in him, the new Awareness.
Of course, she would have been searching for it. She needed only the barest confirmation the quirk of expression on his mouth, the new wariness in his eyes, the slight stiffness and reserve in his body all of which he thought he had been able to control perfectly.
“Oh, I am glad you are wearing blue now.” She touched the lapel of his casual cashmere jacket. “It does suit you so well, my dear.” He had ordered the jacket with her in mind, that was true but now there was something brittle in her manner.
It was as though she had withdrawn her true self, bringing down an invisible barrier between them.
“Come.” She turned away, leading him to the deep leather couch below the picture windows. Some airport official had been able to find flowers, yellow tulips, the first blooms of spring, and there was a bar and coffee machine.
She sat beside him on the couch, but not touching him, and with a nod dismissed her secretary. He moved across the room to join the two bodyguards, her grey wolves, and the three of them remained out of earshot, murmuring quietly amongst themselves.
“Tell me, please, Peter.” She was still watching him, but the cold green light in her eyes had been extinguished she was friendly and concerned, listening with complete attention as he went step by step over every detail of Melissa-Jane’s kidnapping.
It was an old rule of his to tell the complete truth when it would serve and it served now, for Magda would know every detail. He told her of Caliph’s demand for Kingston Parker’s life, and his own response.
“I would have done it,” he told her frankly, and she hugged her own arms and shuddered once briefly.
“God, such evil can corrupt even the strongest and the best-” and now there was understanding softening her lips.
Peter went on to tell her of the lucky tip-off and the recovery of
Melissa-Jane. He went into details of the manner in which she had been abused, of her terror and the psychological damage she had suffered and he watched Magda’s eyes carefully. He saw something there,
emphasized by the tiny frown that framed them. He knew that he could not expect feelings of guilt. Caliph would be far beyond such mundane emotion but there was something there, not just stagey compassion.
“I had to stay with her. I think she needed those few days with me, he explained.
“Yes. I am glad you did that, Peter.” She nodded, and glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh, we have so little time left,” she lamented.
“Let’s have a glass of champagne. We have a little to celebrate. At least Melissa-Jane is alive, and she is young and resilient enough to recover completely.” Peter eased the cork and when it popped he poured creaming pate yellow Dam Perignon into the flutes, and smiled at her over the glass as they saluted each other.
“It’s so good to see you, Peter.” She was truly a superb actress;
she said it with such innocent spontaneity that he felt a surge of admiration for her despite himself. He crushed it down and thought that he could kill her now and here.
He did not really need a weapon. He could use his hands if he had to, but the Cobra parabellum was in the soft chamois leather holster under his left armpit. He could kill her, and the two bodyguards across the room would gun him down instantly. He might take one of them, but the other one would get him. They were top men. He had picked them himself. They would get him.
“I’m sorry we will not be together for very long,” he countered,
still smiling at her.
“Oh, cheri. I know, so am I.” She touched his forearm, the first touch since the greeting embrace. “I wish it were different. There are so many things that we have to do, you and I, and we must forgive each other for them.” Perhaps the words were meant to have a special significance; there was a momentary flash of the warm green fire in her eyes, and something else perhaps a deep and unfathomable regret.
Then she sipped the wine, and lowered the long curled lashes across her eyes, shielding them from his scrutiny.
“I hope we will never have anything terrible to forgive. For the first time he faced the act of killing her. Before it had been something clinical and academic, and he had avoided considering the deed itself. But now he imagined the impact of an explosive Velex bullet into that smooth sweet flesh. His guts lurched, and for the first time he doubted if he were capable of it.
“Oh, Peter, I hope so. More than anything in life, I hope that.”
She lifted her lashes for a moment, and her eyes seemed to cling to his for an instant, pleading for something forgiveness, perhaps. If he did not use the gun, then how would he do it, he wondered. Could he stand the feeling of cartilage and bone snapping and crackling under his fingers, could he hold the blade of knife into her flat hard belly
