Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Spy

'Yes,' I said.

'And it's going wrong?'

'It looks like it,' I admitted. 'Mrs Bekuv will have to be kept under surveillance and that will be more difficult now she needs medical attention.'

'In London,' said Red suddenly. 'What sort of a house do you live in?'

'I don't have a whole house,' I said. 'I rent the top floor to a friend — a reporter — and his wife. It's a small Victorian terrace house, trying to look Georgian. The central heating is beginning to crack the place apart — first thing I must do when I get back is to get some humidifiers.'

'Where is it?'

'That part of Fulham where people write Chelsea on their notepaper.'

'You said there was a garden.'

'It's more like a window-box that made it. But from the front you can see a square with trees and flower-beds — in summer it's pretty.'

'And what kind of view from the back windows?'

'I never look out of the back windows.'

'That bad?'

'A used-car dealer's yard.'

She pulled a face. 'I'll bet it's the most beautiful car dealer's yard in the world,' she said.

I kissed her. 'You can decide that when we get there,' I said.

'Do I get to change the drapes and the kitchen lay-out?'

'I'm serious, Red.'

'Yes, I know,' she said. She kissed me again. 'Don't let's be too serious though — give it time.'

'I love you, Red,' I said.

'I love you too — you know that. Do you want a cigarette?'

I shook my head. She reached across me to the bedside table and found her cigarettes and lighter. I couldn't resist the chance to hug her close to me, and she tossed the cigarettes aside and said, 'Well, if I can choose.' The cigarette-lighter slid down behind the mattress, and clattered to the floor. Red giggled. 'Will you always want me?' she said.

'Always,' I said.

'Not that, you fool,' she said.

She kissed me with opened mouth. Eventually I said, 'What then?'

'Would Major Mann let me stay with you?' she asked. 'I could make the coffee, and sweep the floor, and look after Mrs Bekuv.'

I said, 'I'll ask him tomorrow, if he's in a good mood.'

She kissed me again, more seriously this time. 'If he's in a good mood,' I repeated.

'Thanks,' she mumbled.

I reached for her. 'You chatter too much,' I said.

Chapter Ten

There was no sky, no sun, no earth: until a few hundred square miles of France appeared like a smear upon the lowest layer of cloud. And as suddenly it was gone again.

'I don't want to phone from the airport,' I told Mann, 'but I'll check that there is nothing for us on the telex.'

'Worry about something else,' Mann told me, as the stewardess removed the tray containing the dried-out chicken, shrivelled peas and brightly coloured pieces of tinned fruit. 'Worry about income tax. Worry about the inflatable life-rafts. Worry about pollution. Worry about ptomaine poisoning. Worry about youth. But quit worrying about Red Bancroft.'

'I've stopped worrying about Red Bancroft,' I said.

'She's been checked by the F.B.I., by the C.I.A. and her hometown police department. That girl is O.K. There is good security: she'll be safe. It will all be O.K.'

'I've stopped worrying, I told you that.'

Mann turned in his seat so that he could see my face. He said finally, 'Bessie said you two were hitting it off, and I didn't believe her.' He leaned across and punched my arm so that my coffee spilled. 'That's just great,' he said.

There's something wrong there,' I confided. 'She's a wonderful girl and I love her — at least I think I do — but there is something in her mind, something in her memory… something somewhere that I can't reach.'

Mann avoided my eyes as he pressed his call-button and asked the stewardess to bring a bottle of champagne. 'We're getting awfully near Paris,' said the girl.

'Well, don't you worry, your pretty little head about that, honey,' Mann told her. 'We'll gulp it down.'

I saw him touch the document case beside him. It contained the paperwork that we would need if Mann decided to drag Hank Dean, screaming and swearing, back to the New World. Mann caught my glance. 'I'm not looking forward to it,' he admitted. 'And that's a fact.'

'Perhaps he will talk,' I said.

'Perhaps he knows nothing,' said Mann.

The stewardess brought the champagne. Her uniform was one size too small, and the hair-do three sizes too big. 'We'll be going down in a minute or two,' she told us.

'All three of you?' said Mann. The stewardess departed. Mann poured the champagne, and said, 'I guess everything depends upon the way you look at it. Maybe if I'd been at college with Andrei Bekuv, I could even feel sorry for that schmendrik.'

'Everything depends upon the way you look at it,' I agreed. 'But I already feel a bit sorry for Andrei Bekuv.'

Mann made a noise like a man blowing a shred of tobacco from his lips. It was a sign of his disagreement.

'I feel sorry for him,' I said. 'He's crazy about his wife, but she's wrong for him.'

'Everybody is wrong for that jerk,' said Mann. 'Everybody and everything.' He picked up his champagne. 'Drink up,' he commanded.

'I don't feel like celebrating,' I said.

'Neither do I, my old English buddy, but we are pals enough to drink together in sorrow — right?'

'Right,' I said, and we both drank.

He said, 'Mrs Bekuv is the best thing that ever happened to that creep. She's one of the most beautiful broads I've ever seen — and I'm telling you, pal, if Bessie wasn't around, I'd be tempted. Bekuv doesn't deserve a doll like that. And she wet-nurses that guy: wipes his bottom, checks his haircuts, demands more dough from us. And she even takes a blade that's coming his way. No wonder he's in a constant sweat in case she kisses him goodbye.'

'Well, everything depends upon the way you look at it,' I said.

'Don't tell me you haven't felt some stirring of carnal lust for Mrs Bekuv,' said Mann. 'Don't tell me you haven't fancied it.'

'I've got Red,' I said smugly.

Mann repeated his tobacco noise. 'You know something,' he said scornfully. 'You can be very, very British at times.'

I smiled, and pretended to think that it was a compli ment. And I returned to him the Biographical Abstract I'd been reading. He locked it away in his case.

'Drink up. We'll be landing any minute,' he said. But, in fact, we joined the stack, somewhere over the great wooded region of Compiegne, and circled to await landing permission which did not come until forty minutes later.

It gave me time to think about Hank Dean. It was the new format BIO-AB, dressed-up to look like a report