Alchemist (47 page)

She relieved him of his coat and his gifts, furnished them each with a large Teacher's whisky and collected her thoughts, then began. He listened to everything, interrupting only
occasionally to ask for a further detail. She told him first about the intruder; then about her visit to Hubert Wentworth in his office, and the discovery of the fourth Maternox victim, Caroline Kingsley, in Zandra Wollerton's files. About her attempt to talk to Dr Corbin, and then his horrific death. About her visit to the Kingsleys' flat. Finally, she pulled out of her handbag the vial of Maternox capsules she had taken and handed it to him.

He studied the label, then he prised off the cap and shook the capsules into the palm of his hand.

She watched the concentration in his face as he held one of the capsules up to the light. There was something about the seriousness of his expression that seemed to go beyond mere curiosity, beyond mere courtesy to her. It struck her, as she watched the hard set of his grave brown eyes, that she was watching a man driven by some private demon. And as her curiosity about him deepened, so did her attraction to him.

They had both finished their whiskies, she realized, and she jumped up. ‘Let me get you a refill?' She wondered whether he would be worried about drinking and driving, but he accepted gratefully.

When she returned, accompanied by Crick and Watson, the American was holding a black notebook in one hand and the Maternox vial in the other; he was so absorbed that he did not acknowledge the refilled glass she put beside him.

‘I see it's the same,' he said, his expression very drawn. ‘Our old friend, BS-M-6575-1881-UKMR.'

‘Yes, I know.' Her mouth felt dry; despite the whisky. ‘Do you know anything about the batch-numbering system for Maternox?'

‘Uh huh. There are about five hundred batches run off a year for distribution in the UK. Maternox is produced in Britain at three different plants – Reading, Plymouth and Newcastle – and the distribution is regional.'

‘Sarah Johnson, who used to work for us, lived in Reading. Caroline Kingsley in London, so I suppose it's very possible they'd have had Maternox from the same plant,' Monty said. ‘But one of the other women lived in Birmingham, and the other in Edinburgh.' She thought for a moment. ‘I suppose
Birmingham might be supplied by Reading, also. But not Edinburgh.'

‘Edinburgh would definitely have been supplied by Newcastle,' he said. ‘I checked.' He dropped the pills back into the vial, then he picked up his whisky, rattled the ice cubes and drank some more. ‘We need to get a chromatography analysis done on these capsules to see if they conform to the specification or whether –'

His words hung in the air.

‘Whether they're a rogue batch?' Monty prompted.

‘Something's
wrong with them. Dr Farmer, the Director of Medical Information, knows that but she's not doing anything about it – or rather she is – she's covering up. Covering up real hard.'

‘Why? Because of the financial damage a scandal could do to the company?'

For a while his expression became unreadable as he examined his whisky, then he began. ‘I –'

But he was interrupted by a sudden hiss from Crick. Both of them stared, startled, at the cat. He was standing, with his back arched, staring at the doorway. Watson stood also. Then the two animals stalked determinedly out of the room as if after a quarry.

Monty and Conor exchanged a glance, then followed. Monty saw the cats suddenly sprint down into the kitchen. She walked swiftly after them.

Watson stopped in the kitchen door, his back arched stiffly, spitting. Crick, near the table, raised his paw and swiped at something. A creature jumped, then jumped again.

Monty shrieked and backed away, straight into Conor.

‘It's a frog!' he said. ‘Just a little frog.'

It jumped once more. Crick had another tentative go at it with his paw, as much in curiosity as anything else.

Conor ducked down, grabbed the frog by one leg, then lifted it up, cupped it gently in his hands and held it out to Monty. ‘Poor little thing – I guess it's got confused with all this warm weather. I –'

He stopped, suddenly noticing that Monty had gone sheet white. Eyes bulging, she backed away from him.

‘Hey! It's only a harmless little –'

‘Please,' she said.
‘Don't
. Don't bring it near me, I have a thing about them.'

‘About frogs?'

‘Please get rid of it.' She darted across to the back door, unlocked it and opened it.

Hold the cats.' Conor deposited the frog outside and hurried back in.

Monty locked the door again. ‘I'm sorry,' she said meekly.

He put an arm protectively around her shoulder and gave her a hug. ‘It's OK. We all have our phobias.'

She fought hard to stop herself from crying and sniffed. ‘Oh boy, my nerves are all shot to hell today.'

They went back into the living room and sat down again. Monty tried to establish a more relaxed atmosphere. ‘How was your weekend, Conor?'

‘Well, I had some interesting talks with Charley Rowley. He doesn't share my views about Bendix Schere being ruthless enough to kill anyone.'

Monty drank some more of her whisky; she felt it burn first her throat, then her stomach, then the warm buzz spread through her, calming her, making her feel better, stronger.

‘Conor, you said on Friday you get to a point where you realize that things don't make sense any more the way you've been perceiving them, right?'

He nodded.

‘Well, I think I've run out of my belief in coincidence here. Just what the hell is going on, Conor?'

The wind rattled the panes and the curtains swelled up then eased. ‘Have to test those capsules,' he said quietly. ‘Need to get hold of the original specification and a template, and see how they compare.'

He added, suddenly, ‘Charley Rowley's a good guy, but he's naive as hell. He doesn't have any idea what we're dealing with.'

‘Do you, Conor?'

‘I have some idea,' he said gravely.

Monty pushed her food around the plate. She forced down a few mouthfuls of the vegetables but left the chicken untouched, too many emotions buffeting her for any kind of an appetite to survive. Conor ate hungrily.

She raised her glass, conscious that her voice was slightly slurred, but she didn't care. ‘Delicious wine.'

‘I'm sure yours would have been better.'

She shook her head and took another sip of the powerful French red. ‘This is perfection.' She forked a tiny new potato into her mouth.

He picked a wing up in his fingers and sucked it clean. ‘So is this – you're an amazing cook.'

She shook her head, modestly. ‘I'm rather hit and miss; I tend to improvise my way through most recipes. Sometimes they work and sometimes they don't.'

‘Me, I do a terrific scallops in black bean sauce and stir-fried vegetables. Maybe I could try it on you some time?'

‘Yes, please.'

‘I just have to get my kitchen sorted out. We'll make a date.'

‘Where is it, your new place?'

‘Fulham – well, kind of Fulham – just off a road called –' He thought for a moment. ‘Redcliffe Road.'

'Redcliffe
Road?'

‘Uh huh. Know it?'

‘Yes.' She tapped the side of her wine glass. ‘I was there today. Redcliffe Road is where Dr Corbin was killed.'

‘Jesus! That construction site down by the lights?'

‘Yes. Another coincidence?'

‘One I could do without.'

She looked up at him. ‘It's a nice area. I like that part of London. How did you choose it?'

‘It's within the Bendix Schere approved zone.'

‘Within the
what
zone?'

‘You don't know about that? You didn't read the Bendix Bible?'

‘I have a copy in my office but I've never been right through it.'

‘Makes fascinating reading. You and I and your father and everyone else in the company are only allowed to live in allocated areas of town and countryside.'

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Am I OK here?'

‘You should check; if not they could insist you move.'

‘Let them try,' she said darkly, then grinned at him. ‘Tell me about the flat – is it in one of those lovely terraced houses?'

‘Yup, really elegant. It's just a one-bedroom, but it has a big living room and walk-through kitchen, high ceiling, with all the mouldings.'

‘Sounds gorgeous,' she said enthusiastically.

‘Why don't you come and have dinner with me tomorrow and I'll show it to you? Might have to be a takeaway or something.'

‘I'd love to.'

He raised his glass slowly and held it in front of his face, and their eyes locked. Then he pushed the glass forward, lightly touching hers. ‘I think you're really lovely,' he said.

Monty blushed a fraction and smiled warmly at him; her attraction to him was fuelled further by the wine. ‘Thank you,' she mouthed silently, and felt a lump of excitement tingling within her.

‘How come you're not married? Or don't have a queue of guys with red roses lined up around the block? Or maybe you do?'

‘No, afraid not.' She shrugged. ‘I'm just a very dedicated career girl, I suppose.'

He tilted his head a little. ‘Are you?'

‘Yes.'

He nodded at the painting on the wall, of St Mark's Square. He had noticed the artist's signature earlier. ‘Yours?'

‘Like it?'

‘I think you've got talent. You're wasting yourself in the pharmaceutical industry.'

She shook her head, then in a moment of weakness took a Marlboro from the pack he proffered and let him light it. She
inhaled and felt a dizzying buzz in her head, then coughed and had to apologize.

‘Sorry – my first in five years!' She took a second, much more cautious drag, and cleared her mind. ‘Painting's not important. There are plenty of pictures in the world, thousands of painters far more talented than me, and one more is neither here nor there. But there aren't thousands of people like my father. There aren't even hundreds.'

‘Probably not even a dozen,' Conor said.

She took a gulp of wine, then another more daring drag. ‘God, this tastes good. You bastard, you're going to get me hooked on smoking again!'

He leaned over, gently prised the cigarette from her fingers and crushed it out.

‘Hey! I was really enjoying it.'

‘Oscar Wilde once said that a cigarette was the most perfect thing – because it always leaves one unsatisfied.' He looked at her expectantly.

‘Very true,' she said.

‘So, quit while you're ahead, OK? And maybe the same should apply to Bendix Schere.'

‘Quit Bendix?'

‘Quit investigating Maternox.'

‘Are you serious?'

‘Yes. I don't want you to come to any harm.'

She looked at the curled, crushed butt in the ashtray. ‘Conor, I don't quit anything easily.'

‘That's what I'm afraid of.' He laid his own cigarette down in the ashtray and watched her face. ‘I just told you Charley Rowley doesn't have any idea what we're dealing with. Nor do you.'

‘What
are
we dealing with, Conor?'

He shook his head. ‘I really think you should try to forget it.'

Monty argued back. ‘It was you who encouraged me, if you remember. When I was in hospital and you hinted pretty strongly that Jake Seals' death wasn't an accident.'

He picked up his cigarette again. ‘It had begun before that for you,' he said. ‘I didn't put any thoughts or doubts into your mind that weren't already there. Right?'

It was true, she knew. She wouldn't even have been in hospital in the first place if she hadn't listened to Hubert Wentworth and agreed to help him. She touched the stem of her glass. ‘So come on, what is it that Charley Rowley and I don't know about Bendix Schere?'

‘Tell me first what you do know.'

She shrugged. ‘Not a lot – I –' She hesitated suddenly. ‘Actually, I heard something very strange this afternoon. I've become quite friendly with one of the security guards in the lobby. There've been a couple of times when I've heard a lift going down to the basement – but the weird thing is that the sound doesn't seem to have any origin. When I asked him about it he got very nervous. He told me I ought to check out the site plans some time – hinted that the Bendix Building wasn't all it seemed. Then he said that I ought to read Jules Verne's
Journey to the Centre of the Earth
.' She smiled.

He smiled back thinly. ‘Sounds like a guy with a pretty wild imagination,' he said, and lowered his eyes evasively to his empty plate.

‘Conor, what is it
you
are hiding from me about the company?'

‘I don't know, Montana. I just –' He stood up, shaking his head, and walked round to her side of the table. Slowly he leaned over, took her hands and entwined his fingers in them. ‘I don't want anything to happen to you, you don't deserve it. And I'm not going to let it. OK?'

She looked up at him, feeling a sudden intense longing for him, and agreed. ‘OK.'

He squeezed her fingers a little harder, and lowered his face towards hers. ‘I've only just met you and I don't intend losing you.'

Monty felt a sensual excitement. His face filled her view, became a blur of warmth. ‘Thank you,' she said softly. ‘I don't want to lose you either.'

He was smiling and there was something in that smile that she was finding hypnotic.

‘You know, Conor, it's really strange. I feel as if I've known you for ages.'

‘Me too.'

Their lips brushed lightly and she felt the sensation reverberate through her whole body. They brushed again, and she shuddered with pleasure, then reached up, spontaneously, and kissed him harder.