The Thousand Faces of Night - Jack Higgins [40]
Marlowe found them with no difficulty. 'Yes, they're here.'
'Good!' Papa Magellan said. 'Then take the gun. You and Mac can have a little relaxation in the fields at the back.'
Marlowe grinned. 'We can always pretend we're blasting away at O'Connor.'
He examined the gun with real pleasure and there was a short silence that was broken by the old man. 'Maria is in love with you, isn't she?'
Marlowe looked up slowly. For a moment he hesitated and then he shrugged. 'Yes, I suppose she is.'
The old man nodded. 'From the beginning it was obvious to me.' He smiled gently and went on, 'Are you in love with her?'
Marlowe laughed harshly. 'Papa, I'm not in love with anyone. I've got other things to worry about.' He shook his head and got up. 'I don't want to be tied down. I can't afford it.'
The old man nodded, his eyes clouding over a little. 'Then it will be better if you go soon. Maria will suffer a great deal over this.'
Marlowe sighed and nodded. 'I'm sorry about that, Papa, but you needn't worry. I'll be moving on very soon anyway. Perhaps in another week. If things work out all right we should have O'Connor straightened out by then and when I leave you'll still have Mac. He's a good man.'
Magellan nodded and smiled faintly. 'So are you, son. Don't rate yourself too low.' He coughed several times and lay back against the pillow. 'This trouble you are in that keeps you from going to London? Is it bad trouble?'
Marlowe paused at the door, the shotgun under one arm and shook his head. 'A few old friends who want to see me and I don't want to see them,' he said. 'Nothing I can't handle.'
The old man nodded and smiled and his eyes half closed. 'Good,' he said. 'I am pleased. Now I think I will sleep.' Marlowe gently closed the door and went downstairs.
During the remainder of the afternoon Maria made a point of avoiding him. When he and the Jamaican were having their evening meal she addressed herself to Mac only and completely ignored Marlowe. At first he was faintly amused by her attitude, but after a while he was conscious of a slight feeling of resentment that increased as the evening wore on.
He and Mac spent several hours checking the engine of the truck that was to make the London trip and packed the boxes and skips containing the produce with infinite care. Marlowe left the Jamaican to make one or two last minute preparations and walked through the darkness towards the house.
Maria was sitting by the kitchen fire reading a magazine. 'Mac's almost ready to move,' he told her. 'I'll take the thermos flask and sandwiches to him if you like.'
'I can manage myself, thank you,' she replied frostily, getting up from her chair.
Marlowe shrugged and went back along the corridor to the front door. He stood in the porch for a moment, breathing in the cold night air and suddenly there was a crash of glass as something hurtled out through the window of the barn.
Marlowe started to run and behind him he heard Maria call out in fear. As he approached the barn three figures ran out through the lighted doorway and disappeared into the dark. He paused for a moment and glanced hurriedly inside. Mac was sprawled out on the floor by the truck. Even as Marlowe hesitated, the sudden roar of a motor shattered the stillness nearby. A moment later it was dwindling into the distance.
He ran forward into the barn and knelt down by the Jamaican. There was a trickle of blood down one temple and when his fingers gently explored the scalp they encountered a fast rising bump.
Maria dropped on her knees beside him. 'Is he all right?' she demanded, anxiously.
Marlowe nodded. 'Just a nasty knock on the head.' He lifted the Jamaican in his arms and walked out of the barn back towards the house. He kicked open the door of the living-room and placed his burden on the old-fashioned settee.
Maria dropped on her knees beside him with a damp cloth and gently washed away the blood. After a moment Mac