A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [40]
She took a deep breath. “Of course I do. So what next?”
Holley had spent his day on Malik Shipping business, dealing with agents worldwide, mainly on screen. A final hour had been with Hamid Malik, his partner in Algiers, who treated him like a recalcitrant son.
“Why can’t the firm be enough for you, Daniel? Business has never been better. We’re making millions.”
“I’ve got millions,” Holley told him.
“Since they gave you Algerian nationality, the foreign minister is delighted with how well you speak for us abroad, even the President.”
“I’m glad to do it, and not only for the diplomatic immunity it gives me. Algeria means a lot to me.”
“But still you crave for this violent world of action that Ferguson offers you. You’re soon to be fifty, and still no woman in your life.”
Holley answered instinctively, “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
Malik was on it like a tiger. “Ah, so there is someone? Tell me at once, Daniel. After all these years, am I not a father to you? Who is she?”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s twenty years too young for me.”
“Are you mad?” Malik demanded. “What is twenty years to a man and a woman in love? In any case, the way you live your life, you could take the fatal bullet at any time—and probably will if you don’t change your ways.”
“She also happens to be a Sephardic Jew.”
Malik was suddenly angry. “Daniel, I’ve managed to survive with a Christian for my partner for almost thirty years. I’m that kind of Muslim. Seize the day. Now go in peace. And by the way, there were Sephardic Jews living in Algiers a thousand years ago.”
He was so tired that he undressed and went to bed in the early evening and drifted into sleep. It was the sound of his mobile that pulled him awake at ten-thirty. He was surprised at how late it was, but then, it had been a long day.
It was Sara. “It’s me, Daniel—what a day I’ve had. Roper is a hard taskmaster. Come and pick me up. I’d love to sit on the terrace and have a drink with you.”
He wanted to say yes, but forced himself to say no. It couldn’t go on, it wasn’t right, and to his surprise he realized that for once in a reasonably self-centered life, he was thinking of the welfare of another human being as more important than his own.
“I don’t think so, Sara. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, the noon meeting. Try and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Damn you, Daniel Holley.” She sounded close to tears. “I’m going to walk all the way down South Audley Street to the Dorchester, look up and imagine you in your solitary splendor on the terrace, wish you a thoroughly rotten night, and then walk back.”
She clicked off. Holley lay there thinking about it. Was it a tantrum or had she really meant it? But then, he didn’t have a choice, because if they were being targeted, the last thing she should be doing was walking down any street at night, even in Mayfair. So he got out of bed and dressed quickly, cords and boots, a khaki shirt and his flying jacket, the holster on his right ankle. He was out the door fast, and behind him the curtains ballooned, stirred, then settled again.
Events had made it clear to Henri Legrande that Holley and Sara were more than just good friends. Their behavior on the walk to Hyde Park and during the riot had convinced him that they were a couple. The chance that Holley would deliver Sara home late from dinner or a show one night seemed obvious, as did the planning of an ambush. It might take two or three nights of waiting, but the moment would surely come.
He sat behind the wheel of the Citroën now, Kelly beside him, and behind were two hardheaded London Irish boys named Fahy and Regan, who had salivated over the prospect of a thousand pounds cash between them for crippling Daniel Holley. They were already drunk, a half bottle of whiskey shared between them, and were rowdy with it.
“Where the fuck is this red Alfa you’re going on about?” Fahy demanded. “We’ve been here for an hour, man.”
“Just shut up and wait,” Henri said grimly. “That’s if you want to see the other half of your money.”
From the dark end of Highfield Court