Dutch Courage (25 page)

‘Usual Lufthansa efficency. Bit different over here. The car hire desk was unmanned; taxi driver wanted an infamous amount to bring me to central London. “Late night surcharge, guv'nor”, so I defiantly opted for the Piccadilly Line. Reached Osterley. Everyone off the train! Work on the line ahead; buses waiting to take passengers onward.' Max gave a wry smile. ‘The taxi fare from there cost me almost as much as from Heathrow.'

Andrew depressed the plunger, then poured dark coffee and handed a cup to Max. They sipped in silence. He remembers that I like it black and sugarless, Max thought with surprise, yet we can only communicate with social chit-chat. He studied his father as they drank. A man of impressive physique with well-defined features, green eyes and dark wavy hair not yet showing any grey. I've inherited his height, stature and colouring, mused Max, but not his irresistible charm. Is that why I feel awkward in his company? He dazzles where I probably just glimmer.

‘Over here on a case?'

Max came from his thoughts and answered automatically. ‘Yes, yours.'

It brought a strong reaction. ‘Don't be crass. There's not the slightest connection with SIB Germany.'

‘I'm not here wearing my red cap,' he returned quietly.

The comment hung between them for long moments, and Max saw the lines of strain deepen. ‘I suppose some well-meaning contact over here decided you should know before it hits the headlines.'

Max hesitated, then decided it was not the right moment to reveal his relationship with Livya. ‘That's right.'

‘You've made an unnecessary journey. I can handle this, believe me. I've dealt with . . .'

‘This isn't a military operation. For once, you're not in command. Difficult though you'll find it, you'll have to sit tight and do nothing while others attempt to limit the damage that could result from this theft.'

‘And you count yourself one of these “others”, do you? They'll never let you join their team. You'd be too biased in favour of the military.'

‘And I'm a blood relative,' Max returned curtly. ‘No, I don't aim to muscle in on the investigation.'

Another long moment of awareness between them until Andrew got to his feet. ‘Let's have a man's drink.'

Max said nothing while his father poured whisky in two cut-glass tumblers and added a splash of soda to each. ‘Too much coffee rots the brain,' he said with a faint smile as he handed Max a glass. ‘And this stuff rots the liver . . . but what the hell!'

Max eventually broke the silence his father seemed content to maintain. ‘Care to tell me what happened?'

Staring steadily into his glass, Andrew said, ‘After all these years of meticulous observation of security, one moment of carelessness. Just one, but a junkie comes along and sees the price of his next fix in my hand.' His gaze lifted to face Max. ‘I refused to let go, but he yanked with desperation. If the thing had been fastened to my wrist he'd have had my hand off. Then he clobbered me with something. It was bloody hard, a stone he had as a handy weapon, perhaps. I went down on my knees, still holding the briefcase. That's when he put his boot in my guts, over and over until I collapsed. Next thing I was aware of was a young city type bending over me and insisting on driving me to the nearby A and E. I was then empty-handed.'

On the verge of embarking on the series of questions he would normally put to the victim of such an assault, Max refrained. It would be almost insulting to ask if this senior officer had notified his department immediately of the loss of documents, and where he could be contacted in the next hour or so.

‘Familiar scenario,' he commented instead. ‘I'd guess the city type witnessed the whole thing, along with others, but was reluctant to intervene. Pity he didn't instead follow the junkie. It might have given a lead to where he was getting his supplies.'

Andrew raised his eyebrows.'Typical police thinking. Leave the old fool to sort himself out and chase the villain.'

Managing a suggestion of a smile in return, Max said lightly, ‘The city type wouldn't have known ladies would flock around to help. They always have, as I recall.' After a pause, he said, ‘What was in it?'

Andrew took another sip of his whisky, then hesitated before answering. ‘I'd attended a high-powered conference. It broke up and I called my driver to bring the car round. We set off, but I remembered something I needed to pick up from here on the way back to the office. It's impossible to park outside this place, so I told Barnes to drop me at the corner and I'd take a taxi when I was ready to return. I called the firm I always use. They said they'd divert one returning from dropping a fare. Ten minutes, tops, they promised. I went down, had a brief chat with Eric, the security guy, then saw the taxi arrive. The bloody thing dropped two residents, then drove off. It wasn't mine. The junkie came up behind me as I stood there. The rest you know.'

‘There wouldn't be a connection with the taxi driver? Guessing you'd be outside waiting.'

‘It's not your case,' came the chilly reminder.

In retaliation, Max gave a reminder of his own. ‘You still haven't said what was in it.'

‘Documents relevant to the conference. Not top secret, but highly confidential. Could be damaging in the wrong hands.' He got to his feet signifying the end of confidence. ‘My responsibility. Should have returned to the office in the staff car. No question of apportioning guilt. It rests squarely on my shoulders.' He walked towards the bedroom area. ‘Breakfast makings are in the kitchen. Help yourself whenever.' Pausing to glance back at his son, he said quietly, ‘There was no need for you to come, as I've outlined . . . but I appreciate the gesture.'

The king-sized bed was so comfortable Max would have slept well into morning, if Tom had not called to confirm that two more girls had accused Charles Clarkson of sexual advances. It was unwelcome news. Max prided himself on his ability to read people's character. He had been right about Margot Collier, but badly wrong about the Medical Officer. Clarkson's career with the Army was virtually finished. How the General Medical Council would deal with him Max was not qualified to judge, but the man's entire future looked rocky. What a fool to throw it all away for want of a little control. This was the doctor whom he had suggested should attempt to help Collier face his demons.

Taking a lengthy shower, Max put on the dark-green bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, and went in search of coffee. Andrew was reading the
Daily Telegraph
at the breakfast bar, with a tall glass of orange juice and a basket of croissants before him. He was drinking coffee and indicated the cafetière as he bade his son a serious good morning.

Max poured the strong, dark coffee into a bone china cup which stood in a matching gold filigree-patterned saucer. After drinking some, he said, ‘It always tastes infinitely better from fine china, so why do we so often use thick mugs?'

‘Sleep well?'

‘Very, until my sar'nt major woke me with news I'd rather not have heard.' He drained his cup and refilled it, asking carefully, ‘Anything in there about what happened?'

‘No. Won't know about the tabloids until I get a call from the office. They'll check.'

After slight deliberation, Max asked, ‘How are you feeling this morning? Physically.'

‘Hearty aches in the gut and head, but the painkillers will soon kick in. Ready for breakfast?'

‘Soon as I've shaved and dressed . . . if I can trace my things in that vast room. I'll take this with me.'

Picking up the cup and saucer he walked towards the bedrooms, then pulled up short as the main door opened and Livya walked in, key in hand.

‘Andrew, there's nothing . . .' Her words tailed off as she realized the man in the bathrobe was not who she had expected to see. When she registered who he actually was, she halted in obvious confusion.

Pulse racing with reaction, Max said coldly, ‘My father is in the kitchen. You doubtless know where that is.'

She recovered her poise very swiftly. ‘Why didn't you tell me you planned to come over?'

‘You cut the connection too abruptly.'

Moving to where he stood, she said quietly, ‘I have a key so that I can fetch things if they're needed, and keep an eye on it when he's away.'

‘You don't have to explain your arrangements to me.'

‘Oh, I think I do,' she countered. ‘Right now, you're certain your suspicions are justified. Well, have your moment of smugness and wallow in it. I'm here on a matter more vital than your bruised ego.'

She stepped past him and headed for the kitchen. Still shaken, Max then noticed she held beneath her arm a thick pile of newspapers, which made sense of her words to Andrew when she reached the elaborate kitchen.

‘We've been through them all very thoroughly. No mention, thank God.'

Max took refuge in the bedroom, his emotions in turmoil. A key to this apartment? Was it usual for a captain to have such access to the home of a brigadier? Livya had early in their relationship revealed that his father insisted on her using his name when they were off duty; hated being called ‘sir' over the dinner table or on a long flight. Would he be as lenient with a male subordinate? Max doubted it, so was it Andrew Rydal's natural charm towards women that made him uncomfortable with protocol in any dealings with them that were not wholly military?

He nicked his cheek in two places while shaving, and stuck small pieces of toilet paper on them to stop the bleeding while he dressed in beige shirt and trousers, with a chocolate-brown sweater. He fussed needlessly with the few items he had brought in his holdall to delay the moment when he must emerge and see them together. How would Livya play it when they came face to face in his father's presence? How would
he
play it? The delaying tactics were to allow him time to decide.

Demanding of himself whether he was man or mouse, Max went out to settle the situation one way or another with the woman who meant a great deal to him. She was pale but composed, sitting on a high stool at the breakfast bar opposite Andrew, drinking orange juice. Tabloid papers lay fanned out on the veined marble surface.

If she had had little sleep, as she had forecast in her phone call, it was not apparent. Her strawberry-pink skirt suit and cream silk shirt were immaculate; her make-up expertly applied. Although deliberately not in uniform for this call at a senior military officer's home, she wore her hair neatly coiled at the nape of her neck.

Andrew glanced at Max and, for the first time since his arrival, smiled at him. ‘No need to introduce my estimable ADC because you two met up at the Chess Championship just before Christmas.'

‘That's right,' said Max, ‘and we've been meeting regularly ever since, haven't we, darling.'

There was a brief silence before the other two reacted to that bold statement. Livya's colour rose a little as Andrew said lightly, ‘Courtesy of Lufthansa, I take it.' Then he added, ‘Ah, the contact who spilt the beans yesterday . . . with an ulterior motive.'

Although Max hardly knew his father, he was experienced enough at reading reactions to surprise to feel certain the news had not disconcerted Andrew. He was less sure of Livya's response to having their affair announced, yet he knew her intimately. However, as he had frequently said to Tom, women were better than men at disguising their feelings.

‘There was no ulterior motive,' Livya said evenly. ‘I called Max to alert him to the probability of unpleasant headlines. The last thing I expected him to do was to drop everything and hop on a plane. From my reading of the situation here, it's very uncharacteristic behaviour.'

Her dark gaze challenged Max. He had revealed the nature of their relationship; she had just made it plain she knew of his with his father. Score even, but she did not appear angry over what he had done. Nor was there any evidence of dismay because Andrew had accepted the news so unemotionally.

‘My father behaved uncharacteristically to precipitate this situation,' said Max with a relieved smile. ‘It's a facet of Rydals you've not yet come across.' He went to sit on the stool beside her, and kissed her cheek. ‘Let's make inroads into these croissants.'

Livya's presence made all the difference. Conversation flowed easily, more coffee was made, and a fruit bowl was brought across from the worktop by Livya to compensate for the croissant calories. Andrew and Livya were very easy with each other, and Max could see why women liked his father. Andrew Rydal treated them with old-fashioned courtesy. Connie Bush and Heather Johnson would be charmed, both being accustomed to the tough attitudes of their male contemporaries.

Livya soon declared she must get to the office where work was piling up. This put Max in a quandary. What to do now? His surprising impulse to visit his father appeared to have run its course, and with Livya's departure he and Andrew would be back to wondering what to say to each other. There was also work awaiting him in Germany.

Knowing he needed some time alone with Livya before he took a flight back, Max was on the point of suggesting they met for lunch when the doorbell rang. Livya went to discover who the visitor was, arousing a fresh faint shaft of disquiet in Max at this sign of her familiarity with his father's home and affairs. Yet an ADC's duties involved such familiarity, which Max would accept without question if the ADC was a man.

The disquiet evaporated when Livya returned with the visitor, playing her official role to perfection. He was tall, handsome and dressed in a dark grey suit bearing the unmistakable mark of having been made for him by a leading military tailor. The regimental tie of discreet oblique stripes would have been bought from the same establishment proud to count members of the royal family among its clients. Andrew was on his feet; Livya stood quietly just inside the kitchen door. Max, isolated beside the massive refrigerator, recognized Major General Sir Preston Phipps with a jolt of pleasure. He had encountered ‘Daddy'. What a piece of luck.