Dutch Courage (17 page)

‘I want the owners of these vehicles questioned, some for the second time, and I want one of you to get hold of media reports on that rescue outside Kandahar, wringing the core truth from the hype, while another of you gets details of the capture and escape in Sierra Leone that Collier was involved in. Does this “punishment” stem from that? Have any of his fellow captives recently arrived on this base?

‘Try to trace the source of the phone call that sent Collier out vowing to silence the bastard. Just a wild hope,' he added with a wry smile. ‘Mr Black will study squadron reports on the daily activities of A Flight during November to February in Kandahar, and I will see Mrs Collier. She has to know more than she will reveal.' His mouth twisted in another faint smile. ‘My Nazi tactics might work better with her. I shall also do my best to persuade her to camp out with friends or family until this is sorted. Her safety should remove one reason for her husband's silence. We'll get to the bottom of this however tightly he clamps his lips. It'll take longer than if he opened up and confessed, but we'll get there.' He nodded at Connie Bush. ‘Do your feminine utmost to wear him down.'

The team members were gathering car keys and mobile phones when Max thought of something else. ‘Who's on call here this morning?'

‘I am, sir,' said Roy Jakes.

‘Right, get me the names and present locations of the four wounded men Collier rescued and flew to safety. Might get something from them that'll throw some light on our darkness.'

Margot Collier made it obvious that she regarded the visit intrusive and highly irritating. ‘I'm working on designs for a new ballet and I've already lost a week of creative inspiration. I informed your blundering sergeant major, who precipitately tackled Sam before I had the chance to tell him gently about the harassment, that I have nothing further to add concerning the attack on Monday night. I suggest you concentrate on finding who hurt him instead of persecuting me like this.'

Max saw an entirely different woman from the one who had fainted at his feet. Clad in a beige loose-fitting smock that hid her seductive curves, and with her blue-black hair screwed into a knot, the scowl on her face bare of make-up completed the destruction of his remembered image of a femme fatale.

‘It's my duty to ensure your safety, Mrs Collier. I'm here to discuss that with you. Can we do it inside the house rather than on the doorstep?'

She walked away along the hall leaving Max to close the door and follow her up the stairs. He was not deluded into thinking he was about to be propositioned, however. The rear bedroom had windows in two adjoining walls, creating a well-lit corner where an angled drawing-board such as architects use was placed. On a stand beside it was a large circular container holding an array of glass jars filled with vibrantly coloured paints.

She was working on a dazzling black, gold and silver design that suggested to Max an explosion of fireworks against a night sky. He was fascinated. Even knowing very little about ballet, apart from sharing the common masculine assertion that male dancers padded the front of their tights to produce the maximum effect, Max sensed that real talent had produced what he was seeing. Was
this
why the Colliers spent so much time on the upper floor?

‘That's extraordinarily beautiful,' he commented with sincerity.

‘Yes,' she agreed. ‘Inspiration came last evening while sitting beside Sam's bed. He was sleeping and it was so peaceful.'

‘How long have you been doing this kind of work?'

‘As soon as I gained my degree in art and design, one of Daddy's friends saw some of my designs and mentioned them to his son who dances for Ballet Romayne. They gave me a small commission right away. I've now become their principal costume designer.'

She had suddenly become a compellingly beautiful woman again. Her dark-brown eyes now contained a core of dark fire, her expression had softened with the onset of artistic fervour.

‘You've achieved success very early in your career.'

Her full, naturally pink lips curved in a smile. ‘I'm so very fortunate to find fulfilment in both aspects of my life. Professionally with the Romayne, and personally with my darling Sam.'

Max found himself envying darling Sam, but sanity returned to remind him of why he was there. ‘I would have thought marriage to an army pilot would hamper your professional life. Surely your studio should be in London, or wherever the ballet company has its headquarters. I've known women who're in routine jobs like teaching, PR, or accountancy, who refuse to move around with their military husbands and fragment their careers. Something highly specialized like your work is even less likely to be compatible with army life. Weren't you tempted to take that into account when you first met Sam?'

‘It was love at first sight. I told you that. I
had
to have him.'

‘Whatever the cost?'

‘Cost? What cost?' She waved a hand at the vivid design. ‘I can do this anywhere. I don't have to go to an office, or a school to use my skill. An artist satisfies the creative urge wherever it comes. I've known friends to travel back and forth on a bus or a ferry for a whole day because they have to obey the need to work while the impulse is strong.'

Deciding that this fanciful, to him, arty dissertation had gone on long enough, Max said, ‘It's good that location doesn't hamper your inspiration, because I'm here to advise you to leave and stay with friends or family until we've put an end to this campaign against you and your husband. It will ensure your safety and lessen the problems he's having to deal with.'

Margot began walking from the room. ‘Wrong! He needs me more than ever now.'

Max had to follow her down the flight of stairs, marvelling at how she had instantly changed back to the aggressive woman who had answered his knock on the front door.

‘We hate being apart. It's
unbearable
when he has to go to a war zone without me.'

‘So you make it bearable by spending those four months in the Seychelles with a group of friends?'

She rounded on him. ‘Those
friends
were from the Romayne. We were
working
. And what gives you the right to pry into my private life?'

Max regarded her shrewdly. ‘You asked SIB to investigate an apparent campaign of harassment against you and your husband. We're investigating, as you asked. People answer our questions and frequently tell us facts we don't even ask about.'

She put her hand on the door ready to open it and usher him out. ‘Your so-called investigation appears to be more a muck-raking exercise than serious probing into those incidents I told you about.'

‘Those incidents, Mrs Collier, have paled against the brutal attack on your husband. Our investigation has become a far more serious case; one which, I'm afraid, dictates deeper penetration into the background of you both. We're no longer acting on your application for help. A serving officer has been injured to the extent of making him unfit for action at a time of war. Regardless of smashed eggs on your doorstep, or deflated tyres at the NAAFI, we have a duty to seek out the person or persons who committed this serious crime against him. As a result, we think it's necessary for your safety to leave the base to stay with friends throughout the investigation.'

‘No.'

Any enchantment he had experienced upstairs rapidly evaporated beneath growing irritation. ‘When you spoke to Mr Black on Monday morning you gave as your reason for finally deciding to come to us your fear of a third miscarriage. I understand you told him that you and Sam desperately want this child. Is that no longer the case?'

Angry colour flooded her cheeks. ‘How dare you make such a comment?'

‘I dare, because you appear to fluctuate between desires,' he replied calmly. ‘You've seen what your enemies – yes, they
are
enemies, Mrs Collier – have done to your husband. Are you yet aware that the attack culminated in a flogging? Have you seen his back? No, I can tell from your expression that you haven't. Perhaps you should take a look when you next visit him. Our concern is that you could suffer similarly before we apprehend those responsible, which would certainly heighten the risk of miscarriage.' Well into his stride, Max said again, ‘So I dare to ask about the importance you place on this pregnancy.'

Margot's hands had gone up to cover her mouth as she gazed at Max in distress. ‘I don't understand. What do you mean,
flogged
?'

‘Exactly what I say. Sam's back was lashed with what we believe was a length of rope.' He took advantage of her silence. ‘Perhaps you'll now understand why we consider you should get away for a while.'

‘I must see him.'

Max caught her arm as she made to run upstairs. ‘Not right now. One of my sergeants is questioning him. He chose not to confide in me, but while he continues to withold evidence the danger to you both will remain.' Still holding her arm, he led her through to the room where two nights ago he had set her unconscious body on the sofa. ‘When is the baby due?'

The response came without hesitation. ‘Early November.'

That would tie in with Collier's return from Kandahar. If Clarkson's estimate of the present stage of pregnancy was correct, she would have to bluff it out with darling Sam by claiming premature birth. Nothing new there. Many a husband had been thus fooled.

‘You owe it to your child, if no one else, to put an end to this persecution,' he said firmly. ‘Who made that phone call on Monday evening? Who wrote the letters Sam destroyed? Who tried to run you off the road?'

‘I have to see Sam,' she said plaintively. ‘I
have
to.'

‘Answer my questions!' He knew he sounded brutal but, after Collier's performance this morning, he was losing all patience with this pair.

She appeared to wilt as she gazed at him with tears shimmering in her eyes. ‘
I don't know
. Sam told me he'd sort it. I should have believed him. It's all my fault he's been hurt.
I've
done this to him by running to you. It's all my fault.'

Enlightenment suddenly dawned. Max folded his arms and gave her a calculated survey from head to toe. ‘You shouldn't be designing costumes for the theatre, you should be performing in it. Drop the act, Margot, you've lost your audience.'

For a long silent moment Max was treated to a comparable calculated survey, before she said frankly, ‘I had you cast as the simple khaki plod.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘Grave error. I'm taking the lead role in this plot . . . and
you
are in danger of being charged with withholding vital evidence. Let's have an end to your arty tomfoolery. Start behaving like a responsible woman and tell me all you know about this campaign against the man you profess to love so deeply. Or is that merely an aspect of the histrionics?'

‘No,' she said quietly.

‘Then fire away . . . and give it to me straight this time.'

Eight

S
am Collier no longer looked a hunk and a half to Connie Bush when she entered the small ward. Not surprising after such a beating, but she still was impressed by his composure and by the contrast of blond hair and very dark eyes. She reminded herself that, whatever he had done to provoke retaliation, he had rescued four soldiers under fire. She had previously dealt with men whose basic character verged on the villainous, yet who displayed amazing courage on the battlefield. Was Collier another of them?

Connie smiled and perched on the bed. ‘Sergeant Bush, SIB. The Doc has allowed me to talk to you on condition that I don't use Nazi tactics. I won't ask how you're feeling, because that rainbow of bruises on your face gives me a likely answer. Although, I guess it's your back that's giving the most pain. Major Clarkson reckons no lasting damage has been done, so you should be back in the cockpit before too long.'

Collier said nothing while he very obviously studied her dark trouser suit, white blouse and neat hairstyle.

‘Andy Richards told us flying is the great love of your life. How old were you when you first took to the air?'

‘Twelve.'

She gave another glowing smile. ‘However did you manage that? A kind uncle?'

‘Aye, you're right there, but he wasn't a pilot. Our family aren't in that bracket.'

‘You're a pilot,' she pointed out.

‘At the county fair there was a guy who gave joy rides around the dales for fifteen minutes. Uncle Jack talked him into taking me up for ten pounds less than the usual price.'

‘And that lit a flame in you? My friend has a fourteen-year-old brother with the same burning desire. He spends all his free time at a local transport museum helping a former World War Two squadron leader to restore a classic bomber from that period. He can't wait to leave school and join the RAF. I guess flying has to be a real passion. People don't become pilots the way they would drift into selling shoes or ice-cream.'

‘Or fish-and-chips. You've carefully avoided that, haven't you?'

Connie reminded herself she was dealing with a man Max had described as cool, glib and lying his head off. He had seen through her attempt to jolly him along before firing the relevant questions.

‘
You
avoided joining the family business,' she riposted, using that opening to get down to brass tacks. ‘Did it create a break with your parents, cause bad feeling with your siblings?'

‘To the extent that they'd fly to Germany to beat me up?' He leaned back on his pillows, winced and sat forward again. ‘Use the Nazi tactics, lass. You'll employ them sooner or later.'

Very
cool! How glib would he prove to be when she did as he suggested? ‘You told Captain Rydal you remember nothing of the events of Monday evening; why you were walking alone in the dark or who had phoned to tell you to rendezvous there. We think you're lying.'