about it too.
'You haven't forgotten that tomorrow we're having lunch, darling.'
'How could I, you've reminded me every hour on the hour.'
'Poor darling. We don't have to talk — we can just eat.' She hugged me. 'You make me feel like a terrible shrew, Patrick, and I'm not. I'm really not. I can't help being possessive. I love you.'
'We'll talk,' I said.
Chapter Nine
Chess. A pejorative term used of inexperienced players who assume that both sides make rational decisions when in fall possession of the facts. Any history book provides evidence that this is a fallacy and wargaming exists only because of this fallacy.
If the phone rings in the middle of the night it's always for Marjorie. That's why we keep it on that side of the bed. That night, full of wine and cognac and Dawlish, I came only half awake, snorted and turned over, 'It's for you,' said Marjorie.
'It's me. Ferdy. I'm in my car.' 'I've had this one fitted in the bed — pretty wild, eh?' 'Yes, I know. I'm awfully sorry but I've got to talk with you. Will you come down and open the front door?' 'And it couldn't wait until morning?' I asked. 'Don't be a pig,' said Marjorie. 'Go down and let him in.' She yawned and pulled the bedclothes up over her face. I couldn't blame her, she seldom had the luxury of seeing me turned out in the middle of the night.
'It's life and death.'
'It had better be,' I said, and hung up.
'You talk to him as though he's a child,' said Marjorie. 'He's much older than you are.'
'He's older, richer and better-looking. And he smokes.'
'You haven't started again? I'm proud of you, darling. It's nearly two months isn't it?'
'Sixty-one days, five hours, and thirty-two minutes.'
'It's not even fifty days.'
'Must you ruin my best lines?' I shook the token box of matches on my bedside table and put it back unused. There wasn't a pack in the house or I might have succumbed. I'd even refused the cigars at Ferdy's. It was sometimes difficult net to feel very proud of myself. I pulled on some clothes: evening-dress trousers and a turtle- neck sweater. 'I'll talk with him in the sitting-room,' I said, switching off the bedside lights.
There was no answer. Marjorie had acquired the knack of instant sleep. I yawned.
I let Ferdy in and sat him down in the sitting-room. There was last night's cocoa in the saucepan. I lit a flame under it and set up cups in the kitchen so that I had an excuse for waking up in easy stages. Ferdy paced the sitting-room carpet in enough agitation to make his hands shake as he lit the inevitable cigar.
'Just don't offer me one,' I said.
He stirred the cocoa dutifully but did. not even sip it 'Now perhaps you will believe me,' he said. He fixed me with a beady stare but revised his opening each time his opened his mouth. 'I don't know where to begin,' he said.
'For God's sake, sit down, Ferdy.'
He was wearing his impresario's overcoat: black loden with a collar of curly astrakhan. Ten years ago it would have been old-fashioned. He sat down and slipped it back off his shoulders in a matronly gesture. 'This is a rum district.'
'It's a lousy neighbourhood,' I agreed. He looked round the dust-covered room, at the wad of paper that levelled the clock, the stains on the sofa, the burned carpet and the books that all had bargain prices pencilled on the flyleaf. 'You could do better than this over my way.'
'I was thinking that, Ferdy. Why don't you legally adopt me?'
'You don't know what happened tonight.'
'Schlegel kicked Boudin?'
'What? Oh, I see.' He scowled and then gave a perfunctory smile to acknowledge that it was a joke. 'They've attacked poor old Tolly.'
'Who?'
'Toliver. Ben Toliver the M.P. You were with him tonight'
'Who attacked him?'
'It's a long story, Patrick.'
'We've got all night,' I yawned.
'The bloody Russians attacked him. That's who.'
'You'd better start at the beginning.'
'The phone went tonight just before you left. Toliver was followed. He has a phone in his car so he called me on his way back. When you'd gone, I took Teresa's car and went to meet him.
'You sound pretty bloody calm about it. Why didn't you phone the police?'
'Yes, I've started at the wrong place. I should have told you that Toliver works for the Secret Service… now, don't pull a face. I'm telling the absolute truth, and you can ask anyone…'
'What do you mean, I can ask anyone? How the hell would anyone know?'
'Anyone who is anyone knows,' said Ferdy primly.
'O.K., Ferdy, that puts me down. But this no one remains unconvinced.'
'Just for a moment suspend your hatred of Toliver…'
'I don't hate Toliver… It's just his teeth.'
'Yes, you do, and I understand why you do:, but if you really knew him, you'd like him.'
'On account of him being in the Secret Service.'
'Do you want me to tell you?'
'I'm not desperate about it, Ferdy. I was asleep when all this car-telephoning started.'
'Forget the car-telephoning,' said Ferdy. 'I know that irritates you, too.'
'For God's sake get on with it.' From the next room Marjorie shouted for us to make less noise. I whispered, 'Toliver runs the Secret Service and was being followed while he phoned you from his Bentley. Let's move on to where you arrived. What sort of car was following him?'
'It wasn't exactly a car,' said Ferdy doubtfully. 'It was an enormous eight-wheeled lorry. I know you won't believe me but I saw it.'
'And he was in the Bentley? He could do a ton in that Job without putting his foot on the floor.'
'At first there was an old Humber Estate behind him. He realized that it was following him, so he slowed right down trying to make it overtake. It was then that the big tea-ton job overtook both cars. He was sandwiched. The lorry was doing fifty or more; while the Humber pushed him close, the lorry swung out to prevent him overtaking.'
'Nice fellows.'
The Humber was hitting the back bumper. Tolly was scared stiff.'
'You could hear him on the phone?'
'Yes, he'd put it on the seat but he was shouting. Then the truck slammed on the brakes. It was a wonder that they didn't kill Tolly.'
'They weren't trying to do that.'
'How can you be so sure?'
'I can't be sure, Ferdy, but people who'd go to all that trouble and expense… well, it would be easier to make it a fatal accident than
'Tolly always has his seat belt on.'
'Where were you all this time?'
