The Light of the Day - Eric Ambler [69]
They seemed to go on interminably; but the noisy finales arrived at last. I waited, hopefully, for them to go to their bathrooms; but they didn’t. There was just a long silence, until I heard him say: “Here,” and a lighter clicked. Another silence, until he broke it.
“Where shall we eat tonight?”
“Les Baux. I will have the feuilleté de ris de veau. You?”
“Avallon, Moulin des Ruats, the coq au vin.”
“With the Cuvée du Docteur?”
“Of course. Though right now, frankly, I’d settle for a ham sandwich and a glass of beer.”
“It’s not for long, Liebchen. I wonder who told Hans that this man could cook.”
“He can cook all right, but he’s one of those lushes who has to be wooed. If he isn’t, he gets into a white rage and says ‘The hell with you.’ Hans doesn’t know how to handle him. I’ll bet Arthur eats better than we do. In fact, I know damn well he does. Where’s the ash tray?”
“Here.” She giggled. “Careful!”
“Merde, alors!”
“That is not the place for an ash tray.”
Soon it began all over again. Eventually, when they were exhausted, they did have the decency to go to the bathrooms. While the water was running, I got up onto the chair and worked on the bolt with my room key. By the time he had finished in the bathroom, I had the window unlatched. I had to wait then until they were asleep; though it was not until I heard her voice again that I knew that she had returned to his bed.
“Liebchen,” she said drowsily.
“What is it?” He was half asleep, too.
“Be careful, please, tomorrow.”
“Entendu.”
There was the sound of a kiss. I looked at my watch. It was twenty past three. I gave them ten minutes, then carefully edged over to the window and pulled one side open. I did it very slowly because there was a slight breeze outside and I did not want the draft to open the bedroom door while I was still there. Then I edged my way out onto the balcony.
It was a four-foot drop to the roof of the terrace and I made scarcely any noise getting down. I had more trouble at the end of the terrace. I am really not built for climbing, and I tried to use the trelliswork as a stepladder. It gave way, and I slithered to the ground clutching at the branches of an espaliered peach tree.
I managed to get to my room without anyone seeing the mess I was in. When I had cleaned up and changed my shirt, I went down to the car and put it away in the garage.
If I had noticed then that the door panels had been taken off, things would have turned out very differently for Harper, Lipp, and Miller; but I didn’t notice. It didn’t even occur to me to look at them. I was still too flustered to do anything except try to behave naturally. Garaging the car was just a way of showing myself outside and on the job.
I went back into the kitchen. There was nobody there. I found a bottle of Geven’s brandy and had a drink and a cigarette. When I was quite calm again, I went out and walked down the drive to the road.
The Opel was parked near the fishing-boat pier. I strolled across to it and saw the men inside watching me. As I passed, I said: “Tufan.”
When I had gone on a few paces I heard a car door open. A moment or so later a man fell in step beside me.
“What is it?” He was a dark, hard-eyed police type in an oatmeal-colored shirt with buttoned pockets. He spoke in French.
“Something dangerous is to be attempted tomorrow,” I said. “I do not know what. I overheard part of a conversation. Major Tufan should be informed.”
“Very well. Why did you not drive today?”
“They told me I wasn’t needed. Where did they go?”
“To Istanbul, Beyoglu. They drove to a garage by the Spanish Consulate. It is a garage that has spare parts for American cars. The driver, Fischer, remained there with the car for ten minutes. The other two men and the woman walked to the Divan Hotel. They had lunch there.