The Power (56 page)

She happened to glance down and sucked in her breath.
Beyond the picture window the ground fell away into a
sheer precipice. At the bottom was a sinister black lake,
shrouded from the sun by the Vosges. Behind her the
conversation continued. Assuming 'conversation' now meant one man talking to another.

'I have no idea why they went missing,' Amberg
replied. 'It was Julius who supervised the transfer.'

'I thought you were Chairman of the bank,' Gaunt
threw at the Swiss.

'That is correct. Day to day business was handled by
Julius.'

'Are you saying you have no idea what happened to
two items given into the bank's safekeeping?'

That is correct.'

'Put that remark on a record so you can play it,' Gaunt snapped.

As he stood up, his expression grim, Jennie decided to
intervene. Amberg had also stood up, small, portly, dressed in a black business suit. He turned to her in
surprise, as though he'd forgotten her presence. Jennie
realized the intensity of his concentration on his duel with
Gaunt.

'How on earth do you manage to run this enormous place?' she enquired. 'Surely you need servants?'

'True. They don't live in. Too much of an invasion of
privacy, which I value highly. The peasants from the local
villages provide all the manpower needed.' His blue eyes
twinkled. 'Of course, I have to pay them more in summer,
but that's understandable. They can make a living tending
the vineyards. I own a vineyard myself. Next time you
come and see me you can sample some of my wine. I
think you will like it. But your friend appears anxious to
leave.'

Jennie had been staring straight into his shrewd blue
eyes for every second he spoke. The transformation in his
personality astounded her. Then she thought of the prob
able explanation. He was a man who preferred the com
pany of women - and Gaunt had, gone at him like a bull at
a gate. She glanced at the Squire. He stood like a man
carved out of stone. Furious that he'd got nowhere with the banker.

Amberg escorted them into the entrance hall. As she
was stepping out of the château Amberg held out his
hand, shook hers warmly.

'Don't forget my invitation to taste the wine
...'

His expression changed suddenly as he looked at
Gaunt. It reminded her of the expression the Swiss had adopted during the 'conversation'. Like a slab of ice.

'Goodbye, Mr Gaunt.'

'And it hasn't been a pleasure,' Gaunt roared at the top
of his voice.

34

Trouble. Here it comes,' Marler said to himself.

He was driving along the autoroute towards Colmar in mid-afternoon and it was still light. He was in the middle
of nowhere, tilled fields stretching away on both sides,
when he heard the police siren, saw the patrol car racing
up to him in his rear-view mirror. Slowing down, he
stopped.

As he lowered his window icy air flowed inside. He was
humming the tune of 'La
Jeune Fille aux Cheveux de Lin'
when the patrol car parked a few yards ahead of him.
Before leaving Strasbourg he had pushed back the front passenger seat to its furthest extent and perched the cello case with its base on the floor and the rest of it angled against the seat. Several sheets of music were spread on
the seat itself.

A tall lean-faced uniformed policeman got out of the patrol car. Leaving his companion behind the wheel, he
wandered back to Marler. The flap of his pistol holster
was unbuttoned.

'Papers!' he demanded.

Marler had his passport and driving licence ready and handed them over. The
flic
perused both documents care
fully, returned them to Marler. He peered inside.

'You are on holiday?' he asked in French.

'No, I'm a musician,' Marler replied in the same lan
guage.'I'm working.'

'Where are you driving to?'

'Berne in Switzerland. To perform in a concert.'

Marler hoped there
was
a concert hall in the Swiss
capital. But he doubted whether the
flic
knew either. He
was saying as little as possible, using the minimum of
words to answer. The police were always suspicious of
voluble travellers. The
flic
stared at the cello case.

'Your concert is today?' he asked truculently.

'No, tomorrow. I'll put up somewhere for the night to get some rest. I need to be fresh for the concert.'

Marler's mind, racing, was considering every angle. It
was not impossible he'd bump into this same
flic
when he
reached Colmar. Walking round the front of the car, the
policeman opened the door to the front passenger seat,
leaned in, opened the clasp, lifted the lid of the cello case.
He stared down at the long slim silk sleeve with the end of
a bow projecting.

Marler said nothing. He was careful to display no sign of impatience, nervousness. No drumming of his fingers on the wheel.
The
flic
peered into the back of the Audi.

'What are you carrying inside that bag?'

'It's cricket. One of our national games. Inside is what
we play the game with - a bat and a ball.'

The policeman frowned, reached in, unzipped the bag,
stared at its contents. He shrugged, re-zipped the bag. The English had peculiar tastes. Marler realized he'd made one of those glaring mistakes the most careful
people sometimes make. Who played cricket in winter in
this part of the world?

Slamming the back door shut as he had done the front, the policeman shrugged again at the strangeness of the
English. Without another word he walked back to his
vehicle, climbed inside. The patrol car took off like a rocket.

'And that experience is enough for one day,' Marler
said to himself as he closed the lid of the cello case and resumed driving.

For Jennie the drive back from the Château Noir to
Colmar was a nightmare. Gaunt was moving over snow-
covered roads which might conceal ice underneath, racing
round hairpin bends on the edge of precipices. Once he
skidded close to an endless drop. With great skill he came
out of it, proceeded down another steep slope. Jennie had
her hands clasped tightly inside her gloves.

'We didn't get much out of Amberg, did we?' she
remarked. 'Very Swiss. Although most Swiss I've
met
have been so polite and helpful.'

'Shut up! I'm driving.'

She knew Gaunt fairly well now, his volatile moods. As
they swerved round another bend she studied his profile.
No tension, no sign that the BMW could slide at any
moment into a fatal skid. She suddenly grasped that only
half his mind was on driving the car.

A superb driver, he was controlling the car auto
matically. Half his mind was miles away, pondering
some
thing which bothered him. What could it be that he was
mentally gnawing at like a dog with a bone?

A yellow tractor was emerging from a snow-covered field a score of yards or so ahead of them. If it occupied
the road ahead of them it would be difficult to overtake. Gaunt rammed his foot down on the accelerator, pressed
his hand on the horn, blaring out across the mountains
non-stop. God! He was going to try and get in front of it!

Jennie closed her eyes, waited for the shattering col
lision, couldn't bear not to see what was happening,
opened them again. She gritted her teeth. Racing down
the curving road, the BMW increased speed. The tractor
driver seemed to take no notice. Its yellow hulk loomed
over Jennie as the car sped past, almost skimming the side
of the machine. She let out her breath.

'Silly devil,' Gaunt commented offhandedly. 'Should
have waited. My right of way.'

'Only your right of way if the other chap gives it to
you,'she reminded him.

'What was that you said?' He glanced at her briefly.

He hadn't heard a word she had spoken. Now she knew she was right - he was driving on automatic pilot.
Most
of
his mind was miles away. Where?

She went over in
her
mind all that had been said while they were at the Château Noir. Was it frustration that was
affecting Gaunt? Frustration at hearing that the film and
the tape had gone missing?

Then it hit her. Did Gaunt
know
what was on the film,
the tape? During an early stage of his verbal exchanges
with Amberg she recalled one thing Gaunt had said.
When Julius had arrived at Tresillian Manor Gaunt had
had a chat with him. Had Julius told Gaunt then what he
had seen on the film, what he had heard on the tape? It
was possible, maybe even likely.

Suddenly as they approached Colmar a dense mist
crept in from the fields, entering the town. Gaunt
switched on his fog lights. He was crawling now as they
came close to the Hotel Bristol, were passing a shopping parade. She put a hand on his arm.

'Greg, could you drop me here. There are lights on in
the shops, they're still open. I want to buy something
from the chemist.'

'Here do you?'

He pulled in by the kerb. She opened the door, swung out her long legs. As she turned to close the door and
looked at him he seemed to be finally aware of her
existence.

'Bristol's just down the way. You'll know where to find
me. In the bar. Of course .. .'

The rear of the BMW was swallowed up in the mist
which had now become a fog. Glancing in the mirror,
Gaunt's last sight of her was a vague silhouette standing
by the kerb.

At the Bristol Tweed had chosen the Brasserie for a
belated lunch. After their arrival he'd spent a long time alone in his bedroom studying a map of the Vosges,
checking the different routes to the Château Noir.

There was a more upmarket restaurant at the hotel,
entered, from the reservation lobby. The waiter who met
Tweed as he led Paula and Newman wore formal black jacket and trousers. His manner, as he attempted to guide them to a table, was that he was conferring an honour on them.

'I'm looking for the Brasserie,' Tweed told him in
English.

'Really, sir?' The waiter's tone conveyed that he'd misjudged the quality of the client. 'Through that door, then turn left and left again.'