Midnight Never Comes - Jack Higgins [32]
On the other side of the hill in his study at Glenmore House, Max Donner sat at his desk, the Admiralty Chart for the Western Isles spread before him. The door opened, and Murdoch came in, unbuttoning a black oilskin coat that streamed with rain.
Donner looked up and leaned back in his chair. 'Well?'
Murdoch shook his head. 'No luck, I'm afraid. That old bastard Hector was as immovable as a rock. Said Fergus had gone off on his evening rounds and they hadn't seen him since. He was lying of course.'
'What did you do?'
'Searched the caravans.' His face wrinkled in distaste at the memory. 'God, if I could only get the stench of them out of my nostrils.'
Donner's hand slammed down hard on the desk. 'I want Fergus, Jack. I want him here where I can get my hands on him, do you understand? My God, when I think of that filthy animal putting his hands on Asta ...'
His face became congested and he wrenched at his collar as if he found difficulty in breathing. Murdoch moved to the sideboard, poured whisky into a glass quickly and returned to the desk.
Donner took it down in one easy swallow, then he hurled the glass into the fireplace. 'Right, Jack, you know what to do.'
He leaned over the map again and Murdoch turned towards the door and then hesitated. 'What about Asta, Mr. Donner?'
Donner looked up with a slight frown. 'What do you mean?'
'I should have thought this was just about the worst possible time she could have picked to turn up,' Murdoch said awkwardly. 'I mean, what happens if she notices things she shouldn't?'
'You mind your own damned business,' Donner said coldly. 'I'll look after Asta personally. Now get to hell out of here.'
The door closed softly and Donner sat there at the desk for a moment before getting to his feet and crossing to the fire. He took a cigar from a box on the mantelpiece and lit it carefully, staring down into the flames, thinking about her.
The door clicked open again and the man who entered carrying a tray was taller even than Donner with a scarred, hairless head and a great flat-boned face whose slanted eyes and open nostrils gave him an almost Mongolian cast.
He placed the tray on the desk and turned enquiringly. 'Coffee, Mr. Donner?'
Donner shook his head. 'No, I don't think so, Stavrou. I'll go straight to bed.' He moved to the door, opened it, then he turned and said in Russian: 'Not long now, old friend. Not long.'
He closed the door, crossed the hall and mounted the great staircase. As he turned along the landing, a door opened and Ruth Murray came out. She stood waiting for him, the door behind her slightly ajar.
'How is she?' Donner said eagerly.
'Sleeping like a baby. She'll be fine in the morning.' She put a hand on his sleeve. 'Are you coming to bed?'
He brushed her hand away impatiently. 'Not tonight, Ruth. I've got work to do.' She started to turn and he added quickly, 'Just a minute, there's something I want you to do for me. This man Chavasse. Get on to Essex University. See what you can find out about him.'
'You think he might be an agent?' she said.
'I'm not sure, but one thing's for certain. He handled Fergus too damned competently for any university lecturer. Go on, off you go to bed. I'll see you in the morning.'
Ruth Murray hurried away, filled with a sudden aching fury and when she reached her room, flung herself facedown on the bed in an agony of rage and frustration. The girl--that damned girl. It was just as it always was--the moment she appeared, everything else faded into insignificance. It was as if he had forgotten her very existence.
And Asta, having heard every word of the conversation outside her door, lay very still in her own bed, eyes closed, aware of Donner peering in. And when at last the door closed and his footsteps faded, she reached out to switch on the lamp and sat up, a frown