Cross of Fire (11 page)

At Isabelle's suggestion - when he said he disliked parking
in the street - he drove the Citroen round the end of the
grey apartment block inside an alley leading to a courtyard. He parked the car out of sight of the street.

She was waiting for him, one of the huge tall double
doors unlocked, closed it behind him and led the way across
an interior yard. The apartment was on the first floor at the
top of a flight of bleak stone steps. He realized it overlooked
the street when she ushered him inside. Lace curtains
masked the tall windows.

'Don't switch on any lights in here,' he warned.

'OK. But why?'

'The place will look empty from the street. We need somewhere not overlooking it.'

'The kitchen. Then we can have more coffee ...'

He perched on a stool at an island unit after taking off his trench coat. Underneath he
wore an English business
suit, a blue bird's-eye. The kitchen was a different world
from the living room which was furnished with heavy, old-
fashioned furniture; it was equipped with the latest facilities,
including a hood over the cooker. He opened his onslaught
when she had placed a brown mug of steaming coffee in
front of him, had settled herself on a stool facing her guest.

'How many people knew of your friendship with Henri?'

'No one really. I told you I have few friends.'

'What about your mother?'

'Not her.' She made a move. 'We don't see eye to eye on
many things. I never let her know what happened. She
would have criticized my choice of a barman.' She warmed
her hands round her mug, shapely hands. 'I did think it
funny that Henri was just a barman - he seemed so intelli
gent. When I said so he shrugged, said he was travelling
round France to get experience of the world.'

'Are you actually saying that no one else in the whole
world knew about you and Henri?'

'Yes. When we went out he asked me to choose places to
eat I'd never been before. I didn't ask him why.'

'Someone must have betrayed Henri to the DST. From
what you've said you're the only one who could have done
that.'

Her face flushed. She stared at Newman as though un
able to believe her ears. Newman stared back as she
continued.

'How much did they pay you for your services?'

Her hand tightened on the handle of her mug. For a
moment he thought he was going to get the contents in his face and prepared to duck.

'You swine!' she hissed in her well modulated voice. 'I could kill you for what you've just said. Why? in the name of God, why do you say such terrible things?'

'Because you're the obvious betrayer. Making up to him,
gaining his confidence - when all the time you were an
agent of the DST...'

She slipped off her stool, ran round the island. On the way she tipped the contents of her mug into the sink. She was slimly built, almost as tall as Newman, wore a miniskirt which exposed her excellent legs. She came at him like a tigress.

He stood upright just in time as she aimed the mug to
smash it against his head. He grabbed her arms, forced them
to her sides, surprised at her strength, her agility. She aimed
her knee at his groin, he took the thrust in the side of his
leg, held her prisoner
until she stopped struggling, breath
ing heavily.

'And you're a damned good actress, I'll give you that,'
he goaded her.

She dipped her titian-maned head, prepared to butt him
under the chin. He swivelled her through a hundred and
eighty degrees, holding her arms against her sides, his head
pushing against hers, pressing himself into her back. A faint whiff of perfume drifted to his nostrils. She relaxed, unable
to fight any more. Her voice was controlled now, loaded
with venom.

'Get out of here,' she ordered him. 'I never want to see
you again. I thought you were a friend ...'

'I am.' he said quietly, his mouth close to her ear, 'but I
had to be sure of you. To test you to breaking point. I
believe you now, Isabelle. Sorry I upset you, but I repeat, I
had to be certain of you.'

She relaxed in his arms completely. Her tone held a hint
of amusement.

'Maybe you'd better let me go. If anyone came in and found us like this they'd think we were lovers.'

'Not a bad idea - as far as I'm concerned. But I'm here
for professional reasons. Behave? If I let you go?'

'If I must.'

She turned round and gave him a glowing smile, tears in
her eyes. She collapsed with emotion, buried her head
against his chest. He stroked her hair as she shook with
relief, let her get it out of her system. She let go of him, ran
to the sink, turned on the tap, splashed her face with huge
quantities of cold water. Drying herself, she opened a
drawer, took out a brush and attacked her mane with the
aid of a mirror on the wall.

When she had finished smartening her appearance, Newman pushed his mug of coffee over the island.

I've had enough. The rest is yours.'

She drank greedily, watching him over the rim as she
had done in the Bar Rococo drinking wine. When she had emptied the mug she asked her question.

'Who, then, do you think could have betrayed Henri - if he was doing something against the French state?'

'Tell me why he chose to work in the Bar Miami.'
Newman suggested, folding his arms, leaning against the
island.

'He never said. But I met him there often, sometimes
sitting at a table while I waited for him to come off duty. A
lot of French officers in the Army use that bar. I had the
impression they interested him.'

'He asked them questions?'

'Sometimes, yes. Innocuous questions as though he was
being companionable. Were they on leave? Things like that.'
She frowned. 'I've just remembered something. Shortly
before the two DST men arrested him he was serving two French lieutenants. I was out of sight but close. You know
how in a crowded bar for no reason there is sometimes a
brief hush in the conversation?'

'I know exactly what you mean.'

'That happened on that night. I heard one lieutenant tell his fellow officer he was with a specialist unit, that soon he'd be in Paris - and not on leave. Henri was intrigued by that remark.'

'So am I. But how could you tell Henri was intrigued?'

She looked wistful, had perched herself on a counter top, her long legs swinging.

'Because by then I knew him well. His every little gesture.
Henri was polishing a glass. He was very quick. When the
lieutenant made that remark for a second Henri stopped
polishing the glass, then polished it furiously.'

'I see.'

Newman saw more than that. He thought he'd learned
how Carey had been detected. A trifle too much enthusiasm talking to officers, asking the odd question. Someone had reported his interest.

'Let's go sit on the couch in the living room,' Isabelle suggested, her eyes smoky.

Newman frowned as she switched off the kitchen light
before opening the door, followed her. She seemed to be
interested in him. Business and pleasure didn't mix - and
he sensed that despite her outer poise she was in an
emotional state. Little wonder after what he had put her
through.

He kept close to her to avoid furniture until he became
accustomed to the dark. Isabelle wandered over to one of
the tall windows, glanced down through the curtains, stiffened. Newman saw how her silhouette froze.

'What is it?' he said and joined her quickly.

'Those two men standing in that shop doorway. They are the DST men who took Henri away.'

'How can you be sure?'

'The way the tall one moves. He turned to the shorter
man to say something. It is them, Robert. I may call you
Robert?'

Newman was staring down into the street. He knew the temperature outside was arctic, compounded by the wind-
chill factor. So why should two men take up a position
opposite the entrance to the apartment block? A couple of
friends who had met by chance? Then they'd head for the
nearest bar. Newman looked up and down the narrow street.
Fifty yards away from where the men stood a solitary Renault
was parked. The shorter of the
waiting couple thrust gloved hands into the pockets of his wide-lapelled trenchcoat, huddled his shoulders, stared at the entrance opposite.

'I know it's them,' Isabelle insisted. 'I was close to them when they came up to Henri. That's how they were dressed
then.'

'Does anyone at the Bar Miami know your address?'