Cry of the Hunter - Jack Higgins [43]
‘Kill him. It’s all that he deserves.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘And you came across the border to save him. What a stupid business it all is.’ He nodded without replying and she said with a determined gaiety, ‘But what if I do have to cross the border? Where will I go? What will I do?’
He considered the point for a moment and said slowly, ‘You could come to Cavan to my cottage.’
‘Would I like it there?’ she said.
He laughed. ‘You’d like it very much. It’s only half a mile over the border. You can see it from the border post at Doone. It’s a grand place. The air’s like wine and the sky over the mountain changes its face every five minutes just to entertain you.’
‘Why did you ever leave it if you were so happy there?’ she said, shaking her head.
He grinned in puzzlement. ‘I wish to God I knew. I was a bit lonely. I’ll grant you that, and I was drinking more than was good for me, but there was something else. Some malaise of the spirit.’ He screwed up his eyes and stared back into the past and then he stood up and said abruptly, ‘Murphy has the right idea. We ought to go to bed.’
She nodded, a curious expression on her face, but made no reply. He put out the light and they went upstairs together. When they reached her door they paused and she smiled and said, ‘Well – good night.’ A sudden tightness clutched at his throat. He opened his mouth to reply and then she slipped a hand behind his neck and pulled down his head. Her lips touched his mouth, slightly parted, draining the strength out of him, and as he reached out for her, the door banged and she had gone. He stood looking at her door for a long time before he turned, with his mind in a turmoil, and walked slowly along to his own room.
He slept very soundly, a fact which surprised him considering the amount of sleep he’d had during the previous two days, but he decided that his wound must have sapped his strength more than he had realized. He was awakened by Murphy with a cup of tea at seven-thirty. The boy smiled and said, ‘It’s another hell of a day, Mr. Fallon. I don’t think it’s ever going to stop raining.’
Fallon swallowed the tea gratefully. He handed the cup back to Murphy and started to get out of bed and a sudden thought struck him and he groaned. ‘My God!’ he said. ‘I haven’t any clothes. I forgot clean about it.’
Murphy grinned and shook his head. ‘It’s all right. She thought of that. Yesterday afternoon when you were sleeping she went shopping. If you’ll look in the cupboard you’ll find a pair of trousers and a shirt. You left the jacket of your suit when you ran out so unexpectedly.’
He left the room and Fallon went into the bathroom and washed and shaved. His side was still very sore and stiff and his arm felt curiously numb. He swung it a few times to restore the circulation and then he dressed. When he put his jacket on, the Luger was back in its usual place. He took it out and hefted it in his hand. There was a comforting feel to it. He wondered what would have happened if he’d taken it with him that morning when he had gone to warn Stuart. He smiled grimly. One thing was certain – he would have been dead now. He slipped the weapon back into the holster and went downstairs.
Breakfast was ready and waiting. He sniffed at the aroma of frying bacon and said, ‘That smells good.’
She turned to greet him, her eyes crinkling. ‘How do you feel this morning?’
He grinned. ‘Not so bad. A bit stiff, but it looks as if I’ll survive.’
She put plates before them and they began to eat. When they were finished Fallon said. ‘What time will they be here?’
Ten o’clock,’ she told him and began to clear the table. When she had finished she went out into the hall and came back wearing her raincoat. ‘I’m going out for an hour,’ she said.
Fallon looked up in surprise. ‘Is it important?’
She nodded. ‘I’m going round to see Philip Stuart’s wife, Jane. If he calls and finds I’ve gone without leaving a message he’ll think it’s peculiar. Might even start trying to trace me.’
Fallon nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. Careful you don’t stay too long.