• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

'A little coffee will soon fix that.' She spoke to the man at the door. 'See to it, Karl.'

He went out and the girl sat on the edge of the table and crossed one slim leg over the other. She was wearing a hip-length suede jacket and a neat skirt in Donegal tweed and, in any other circumstances, would have struck him as being extremely attractive.

Chavasse pushed himself up, discovering in the same moment that he was wearing his old tracksuit. Peggy immediately produced a Walther .32 from her pocket and held it in her lap. 'Just relax, Mr. Chavasse.'

'You know, you're good,' Chavasse said. 'Very good. A Dublin accent, suspiciously good Russian and legs to thank God for.'

She grinned. 'Flattery will get you nowhere.'

'One thing does puzzle me. What's a County Cork girl doing mixed up in a thing like this?'

'Wexford,' she said. 'And if you're interested, my father served ten years in an English prison for daring to fight for what he believed in.'

'Oh, no,' Chavasse groaned. 'Not that again.'

At that moment, an unearthly scream sounded from some lower floor and someone started to kick a door repeatedly.

He smiled brightly. 'What is this, a zoo?'

'It depends on your point of view,' she said. 'Most people come here for a rest cure.'

'Who for, their relatives?'

'Something like that. You could scream the place down and nobody would take the slightest notice.'

'Isn't that nice? This plane we're waiting for? Where's it taking me?'

'To visit some old friends of yours. They seem to think you may be able to help them in your retirement.'

'So from your point of view this is a strictly commercial proposition?'

'Exactly.' She got to her feet as Karl came back into the room with a tray. 'I must say I'm glad I was paid in advance. You don't strike me as being much of a bargain, Mr. Chavasse.'

Karl moved back to the door and she poured coffee into a blue mug. 'Would you like cream?'

'No, better make it black.'

She handed the mug to him and turned to Karl. 'You can take the tray away.'

In that single brief moment in which neither of them was looking at him, Chavasse poured his coffee into the space between the edge of the bed and the wall. When the girl turned to face him again, he was holding the empty mug to his mouth.

There was a sudden glint of amusement in her eyes that told him he had been right to be cautious. He pretended to drain the mug and leaned back, shaking his head from side to side as if suddenly drowsy.

As he closed his eyes, she chuckled. 'That's right, Mr. Chavasse. Just drift with the tide.'

Chavasse pushed himself up, allowing the mug to roll off the bed on to the floor, then fell back, head lolling to one side. He was aware of her cautious approach to the bed and schooled himself to take the sudden heavy slap across the face without flinching.

A step sounded in the doorway and the Russian spoke, sounding a little out of breath as if he had climbed the stairs too quickly. 'Karl told me he was awake.'

'Not any more,' Peggy said. 'He's just had a cup of black coffee laced with chloral hydrate. He'll be out for hours.'

'You're sure he'll be all right? He's of no use to us dead, you know.'

'You worry too much. Personally, I feel like an early breakfast. It's been a long night.'

They moved to the door. It closed and Chavasse heard two bolts rammed home and then a key turned in the lock. He swung his legs to the floor, sat there for a moment and then got to his feet.

The strange thing was that he felt no ill-effects at all except for a fierce hunger that gnawed at his empty belly as he moved to the door and listened. The voices faded away as though the two of them were descending a flight of stairs and then there was silence.

There was little point in wasting time on the door and he moved across to the window and pulled back the curtains. It was of the old-fashioned sash type and heavily barred. Rain drummed against the dirty glass and fifty or sixty feet below, a stone courtyard and outbuildings gleamed palely through the grey dawn. Beyond, rolling parkland was shrouded in a heavy, clinging