• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

He moved forward and stretched out his hand to the handbrake. There was a gentle cough from behind and a voice said, 'Now that would be a very silly thing to do, son.'

Alpin moved out of the darkness and came forward, shaking rain from his hat, a uniformed sergeant and constable at his shoulder. 'It's you,' Marlowe said stupidly.

Alpin put a hand on his arm and said gently: 'The police handle this sort of thing much better, you know. It's about time you found that out, isn't it?'

Marlowe shook his head. 'But you haven't any proof?'

Alpin smiled and replaced his hat on his head. 'Monaghan's at the station now,' he said. 'He was unconscious when they brought him in, but he recovered enough to give me a few very interesting facts.' He gave Marlowe a gentle shove. 'Go on, get out of here. Your pal's waiting for you outside.'

He turned and went down the ramp towards Jenny O'Connor, the men in uniform walking with him. She turned to face them and as Marlowe watched, Alpin began to speak to her. For a moment she faced him boldly and then her shoulders dropped and she became an old woman.

As Marlowe turned and walked away he remembered the long years, the grey years in the tiny cells, with a little sunlight filtering in through small windows and he wondered how she would look after ten years of that. Would her loveliness last or would it wither away and wrinkle like an apple stored in a dark cupboard for too long?

A truck was standing at the kerbside, its engine gently ticking over and Mac called quietly, 'Over here, Hugh.'

Marlowe climbed up into the passenger seat and the Jamaican drove away. After a while he said, 'I had to tell the police, Hugh. I couldn't stand by and see you ruin yourself. She just isn't worth it.'

Marlowe nodded. 'That's all right, Mac,' he said and then, as an afterthought: 'The other truck's still parked outside the station.'

Mac shrugged. 'We'll pick it up tomorrow.'

Tomorrow, Marlowe thought. So there's going to be a tomorrow, is there? He suddenly realized that he was soaked to the skin and a tremendous wave of tiredness ran through him. 'How's Maria?'

Mac grinned. 'Plenty worried about you, man, but that's all.'

The rain had stopped and Marlowe let down the side window and breathed the cold night air deeply into his lungs. In some inexplicable way he was beginning to feel good about things. He turned to the Jamaican and said, 'What are you going to do now, Mac?'

Mac shrugged. 'That depends.'

'Depends on what?' Marlowe demanded.

'On how good an offer I get,' Mac retorted.

Marlowe smiled and shook his head. 'Don't run away with ideas like that,' he said. 'It's Maria's business now. She may have other notions.'

Mac shook his head and said definitely, 'That girl's got only one idea where you're concerned.'

Marlowe put a hand into his inside pocket and took out a sodden envelope that dripped water. He looked at it seriously and said, 'There's nearly two thousand quid in there, Mac. The way I look at it, Maria's entitled to a little compensation. A clever man could develop the business over the years and use this money without her ever realizing it.'

Mac grinned. 'Especially if he had the right kind of assistance.'

Marlowe clapped him on the shoulder. The truck swung into the farmyard, and as it moved forward the front door opened, flooding the porch with light.

She stood looking out from the step, her face in darkness. Marlowe wearily clambered down from the cab and turned towards her. He still couldn't see her face and as he took a hesitant step forward, she cried his name brokenly and ran towards him.

As he pulled her close in the prison of his arms, Marlowe was finally at peace. For the first time in his life he felt completely sure of himself and knew where he was going.

She turned and pulled him gently out of the darkness into the warm light of the house.

A Biography of Jack Higgins

Jack Higgins is the pseudonym of Harry Patterson (b. 1929), the New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy