The House Sitter

didn’t complain. He was comfortable looking at the papers with half an eye on the TV.

When she did emerge from the bathroom she was in skintight black velvet trousers with vents showing portions of hip and thigh. Her small, sleeveless, gipsy top announced to the world that she was not wearing a bra. To top it off, a black hat the size of a police helmet, but with the added feature of a vast floppy brim.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

Tact was wanted here, he thought. He got to his feet and gave her the full appraisal. “Amazing.”

“Let’s go, then. I’m in serious need of retail therapy.”

He cleared his throat. “Allowing that we’re trying to keep a low profile, maybe the hat is just a little too eye- catching.”

“A fashion statement,” she told him cheerfully, as if that answered his objection. “I’ll be wearing my shades.”

He tried another tack. “Before we do any shopping, we’ll be moving you to your new address in Bennett Street.”

“You and whose army?”

Prickling, he reminded her, “I told you about this yesterday.”

“Change of plan,” she said sweetly. “This hotel will do for me.”

“Sorry. It’s a security measure.”

“Another of these crap safe houses? You’re not going to spoil my day before we even start on the shops?”

“Not a safe house.”

“Unsafe,” she said, with a mocking laugh.

He rephrased it. “Safe, but not in the Special Branch sense. This will be your own pad, a beautiful Georgian house in Bennett Street, one of the most exclusive areas of the city. It links with the Circus. Saville Row, with its antique shops, is just across the street. The Assembly Rooms are-”

She butted in, “What were you called again?”

“Diamond. Peter Diamond.”

She linked her arm under his. “I know you mean well, Pete, but I’m comfortable here. The shower works and the waiters are good-looking. What else could I require? So let’s you and me chill out a little and take a hike around the shops.”

“I don’t like to spoil the fun,” he said, disentangling himself, “but I’ve got to insist. The move has to be done before we see a single shop. Where are your cases?”

“Room Service took them away.”

He picked up a phone and dialled the front desk.

She said, “This is getting to be a pain.”

“I’m having them sent up.”

“Masterful,” she said with irony.

“Only thinking of your safety.”

“Like I haven’t heard that a zillion times in the past two weeks?”

“Why don’t you start folding your clothes?” he said to her just as someone answered the phone. He explained that Miss Walpurgis would be checking out shortly and required her suitcases.

Tony from Special Branch had not exaggerated. Five large cases presently came up on a trolley. Their owner, uninterested, was sitting on the sofa watching Tom and Jerry. Diamond tipped the man himself.

Alone with her again, he eyed the luggage, wondering what she could find to fill it. “I’ll have a job getting all these in my car.”

“Don’t bother, then,” Anna told him.

“Are you going to pack, or would you like me to do it?”

“‘For you, Johnny, ze war is over.’”

“I’m going to make a start.” He opened the hanging space behind the door and unhooked several coats.

She said, “Do you blow fire as well?” Swinging her legs off the sofa, she got up and picked one of the empty cases off the trolley and carried it into the bedroom.

He’d won the first round.

The packing took a few minutes over the half-hour. Each bulging case had to be forced down before the zip- fastening would work.

“And you still want to buy more clothes?” he said in disbelief.

“Louis Vuitton expects… I can always get another suitcase,” she said.

They called the bell-captain and arranged for the laden trolley to be moved downstairs.

Down in the lobby, Anna insisted on paying for her stay. “This was my choice of hotel,” she said.

The receptionist checked for mail. “There is a letter for you, Ms Walpurgis.”

“So soon?” she ripped open the envelope and took out a single sheet, unfolded it, went pale, and said, “What sicko sent this?”

Diamond took it from her.

Six lines of verse, produced on a printer:

Like one, that on a lonesome road

Doth walk in fear and dread,

And having once turned round walks on,

And turns no more her head;

Because she knows, a frightful fiend

Doth close behind her tread.

He knew the lines. He’d read them recently in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Seeing them again, knowing who must have sent them, was chilling. They were picked to strike terror into Anna Walpurgis. Coleridge’s words had been slightly altered to make the subject female. This time the message wasn’t a prediction or a play on words, as the others had been. It was calculated to make the victim suffer before the kill.

“I’m afraid he knows you’re here.”

“The killer?” She put her hand to her throat. “How could he?”

“The point is, it’s happened.”

“God! What can we do?”

He felt like saying, What I’ve been trying to do for the past hour-move you out of here. But he also felt sympathy. Seeing how shaken she was, he calmly told her they were doing the right thing. Mentally he was reeling himself, at a loss to understand how the Mariner could have penetrated the security.

He showed his ID and asked the desk staff if they recalled who brought the letter in, pointing out that it must have been delivered by hand, because there was no stamp.

Nobody had any memory of a letter being handed in.

“The night staff?”

They promised to make enquiries.

He took some rapid decisions. “If you get anyone asking for Miss Walpurgis, tell them she’s not in her room at the moment. Give the impression she’s still a guest. Then contact Bath police at once. Do you understand? Next, is there a goods entrance? We’ll use that for loading the car.”

Anna, ashen-faced and silent, was taken through a door marked “Private-staff only.” Diamond moved his old Cortina to the rear of the hotel and the cases were stowed: three in the boot, one beside him at the front and the other on the back seat. After telling Anna to remove the hat he asked her to huddle up, head down, in the remaining space on the back. He covered her with the garment bag. Then he drove out, studying the mirrors for any sign of a vehicle following. He went twice around the perimeter roads of Sydney Gardens before deciding no one was in pursuit. Taking the Bathwick Street route, he crossed the Avon at Cleveland Bridge and turned south, past the Paragon, and joined Lansdown Road at the bottom. Satisfied he was still alone, he made his way up to the Bennett Street turn and came to a halt outside Georgina’s house.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

Anna’s muffled voice answered, “Terrified. Are we there?”

“I’ll open the front door first. Go straight inside when I give you the word. I’ll bring the cases after.”