Sad Wind From the Sea - Jack Higgins [27]
Hagen grimaced. 'Service? What service?'
The man pawed at his sleeve. 'Perhaps my niece has not been accommodating? I could have a word with her.'
Hagen dropped his luggage and swung the man round. He booted him in the rear with all his force and had the satisfaction of seeing him stagger across the hall and fall over a chair. He picked up his bags again and left the place for the last time.
As he drove back to Clara's he was still thinking about the incident and he suddenly saw it in a symbolic light. He hadn't just left that particular hotel for good. He had left behind all the waterfront dives and flea-pits. In a way the hotel had represented the life he had been living for so long. By leaving the hotel he was also discarding a way of life. Once he could get his hands on that gold ... and then he suddenly knew that even if he failed he wouldn't have to return to the old life because he would be dead.
The idea seeped into his mind and a wave of coldness ran through him so that he shivered. As he turned the station wagon into the garage he vowed that nothing was going to stand in his way - not any person or any thing.
The house was still quiet. He went up to his room and dumped the luggage and then he tip-toed into the girl's room to see if she was awake. She was sleeping quietly, her head pillowed on one arm. He closed the door softly and went back to his own room. Suddenly he felt inexpressibly weary. He peeled off his jacket and flung himself down on the bed and in a moment was asleep.
When he awakened it was evening and shadows darkened the corners of the room. She was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at him and as his eyes opened a smile came to her face, warm and wonderful, as though a lamp had been turned on inside her. 'Hello!' he said. 'How do you feel?'
She pushed a tendril of dark hair back. 'Fine! Just fine. It all seems like a bad dream.'
He yawned and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Hell, I feel foul. My mouth tastes of mud.'
'I came to warn you,' she said. 'Dinner is at six and Clara says no excuses accepted. You've got about twenty minutes.'
He got off the bed and opened the suitcase and took out his razor. 'I'm going to have a quick shower and shave,' he told her. 'Shan't be long.'
The stinging lances of water invigorated him and by the time he had dressed again his body was glowing and alive. When he came back into the room she was sitting on the edge of the bed examining a photo in a leather case. He cursed softly at his clumsiness in leaving the suitcase open. She looked up and smiled apologetically. 'I'm sorry. I saw it on top of the other things. I couldn't resist peeking.'
Hagen shrugged. 'It doesn't matter.' He hadn't looked at the photo in a long time. The man on it was a stranger. A good-looking, clean-cut young naval officer who had died a long time ago.
'You looked different then,' she said. 'About the eyes and the mouth. Now you seem bitter.'
He nodded. 'Only a little, though. It's something life does to you.' He looked again at the photo as he adjusted his tie. 'Ah, halcyon days.'
She said, very quietly, 'What happened?'
For a second he was tempted to cut her off sharply, to tell her, to mind her own business, and then he suddenly realized that he wanted her to know and to understand. He walked over to the window and stood looking out, trying to get it clear in his own mind. 'It was one of those things. You never know when they start. Perhaps the day you're born - I don't know. When I finished college my father sent me to finish my education in Europe. I was at Oxford when the war broke out in 1939. I joined