Hazard (17 page)

Three ten Argyll Road was a private house converted to commerce. It was occupied by half a dozen small businesses. Wickersham Exchange was on the second floor. There was no name on the door, merely a business card thumbtacked to the door frame. No bell. Hazard went into a narrow anteroom, a short hallway, really, furnished with one abused folding chair. He heard telephone-answering voices coming from the next room and went further in to find two overweight women seated in front of an outdated switchboard. Their glances made Hazard feel intrusive. He asked to see the manager.

One of the women finished taking a message, took off her headset, got up, and tugged at her dress as she came to him. She had punished, mousy hair, an overpowdered face, and a large mouth. “I'm Mrs. Elliott,” she said as though that meant something.

Hazard retreated a few steps to the anteroom. Mrs. Elliott followed cautiously as far as the connecting doorway. Hazard took out the envelope from his jacket pocket. “I'm from the Chase Manhattan Bank,” he said, “London branch.”

“Oh?”

“It's urgent that I locate a Mr.…” Hazard glanced at the envelope for effect, “… a Mr. Nabua.” He made sure Mrs. Elliott saw the face of the envelope but his fingers covered the embossed Dukes insignia in the upper left corner.

“You have something for Mr. Nabua?”

Hazard nodded.

She held out her hand. “I'll see that he gets it.”

“My instructions are to deliver it personally to Mr. Nabua.”

“Then I'm afraid I can't help you.”

“It's a money matter,” Hazard said, and slapped the envelope against the palm of his other hand to let her see how fat it was. “I'll need Mr. Nabua's signature on my receipt.”

“We're not supposed to give out our clients' addresses.”

“Mr. Nabua will be glad you did in this case.” The envelope again.

She told him, “Just a minute,” and disappeared into the switchboard room. Within a few moments she returned with a four-by-five index card. “I don't seem to have an address for Mr. Nabua. He paid cash in advance January last for a year's service. Never gave us an address. We prefer that our clients do so, but he did pay cash in advance.”

“Do you have any idea where I might find Mr. Nabua?”

“Not an inkling. As a matter of fact, we haven't heard from him for several weeks now. He used to call in for his messages quite frequently. Perhaps he's out of town. I'm very sorry.”

Hazard's thoughts exactly. “Well, it's his loss.”

He went back to his hotel suite, got undressed again, and ordered up two more double scotches. In the fading light he lay on the bed with a tumbler of whiskey resting on his abdomen. Thinking about what to do next. He'd counted on Badr's phone number.

It had been the right track but it stopped short. End of the line.

On the positive side he at least knew Badr had been in London as recently as a few weeks back, had for some reason been there long enough to hire a telephone-message service, might still be around, might call in any time to get messages. Hazard thought maybe he could leave some irresistible message with Badr's exchange and maybe Badr would call in and get it and might return the call and maybe on some pretext he might be able to talk Badr into meeting him.

Too many maybes and mights, Hazard decided, and got off that to wonder where the Arab community was in this city. He could find out. But even then it would be like looking for a particular German in New York's Yorkville section of twenty-five square blocks around East 86th. Little chance.

Hazard felt suddenly drained, tired. It was either genuine tiredness or depression or both. His eyes wanted to close but he sat up on the edge of the bed and snapped on a light. He hadn't eaten since the lousy food on the plane and figured that might account for his feeling so empty. Sure. He ordered some dinner.

Waiting for it he got his mind off Badr by reviewing the material he was expected to use for the long-distance exercises Kersh had set up. A small carton containing a hundred opaque, sealed envelopes. Inside each envelope was a printed image. He was to select at random and act as his own control, sending one image every other night at exactly midnight his time. After each transmission he was to record the date on the reverse side of the image, along with any other information he thought pertinent—comments, for example, on his attitude or influencing conditions at that particular time. After every third exercise he was to mail the images to Kersh for evaluation. The schedule called for him to start sending Saturday, May 15th, which was the next night.

Examining the exercise box and its contents Hazard thought about Keven. Where she might be and what she might be doing. He wished she were there with him. She was nearly always good for him when he was down.

Dinner arrived. He ate fast and afterward still felt empty. It was only eight o'clock. He clicked off the light and sat slouched in a chair with his eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes he didn't immediately realize where he was. In London. Sprawled across the bed. He didn't remember having moved from the chair. He must have dozed off for a moment. It wasn't like him to do that. He got up for the bathroom and noticed his watch said four-thirty. Incredible. He'd slept eight hours straight. Not a trivial accomplishment for an insomniac. It made Hazard brighten, suddenly feel good, strong, replenished.

He took his time shaving and returned to the bedroom. He glanced out to see dawn just starting. It looked as though it were going to be a nice day. He decided he'd go out and meet it.

Within ten minutes he was headed down St. James. The street was deserted except for a solitary guard at the gate of St. James Palace. Bright red jacket and tall, ridiculous furry hat as advertised. Inhumanly motionless. Stupid, thought Hazard, and continued on to Stable Yard Road, which allowed him to cut through the palace area. Crossing the Mall he recognized Buckingham Palace off to the right, but he rejected it for the park directly ahead.

No one but himself there at this early hour. It was, he decided, a good chance to run. He took off his jacket, shirt, boots, and socks, left them concealed in a clump of shrubs. With his trousers rolled up to just below the knees, he alternated running and walking a hundred along a path that bordered a calm pond. He left the path for grass, softer and wet. All the way around the park was almost a mile and he did the last four hundred full out. He sat on a bench until his breathing was back to normal, then got dressed and wanted breakfast.

He finally found a restaurant open near Trafalgar Square—cheap, greasy, narrow place, but his appetite was worked up enough not to care. The sausage and three eggs and two coffees tasted really good. Just for the hell of it he asked the counterman if by chance he knew any Arabs. The counterman laughed it off and went about his work.

By then most of London was up and around. On the major streets was the hurry of people who had to work Saturdays or at least had somewhere to go. They brought on an outcast feeling in Hazard. He was going nowhere, had nothing to do, unless, of course, he somehow got a new line on Badr. At the moment that seemed unlikely. Badr probably wasn't even in London, could be anywhere, and that went for the other two—Hatum and Mustafa—as well. There were millions of Arabs in the world—anywhere in the world. That was, he thought, a discouraging but realistic appraisal of the situation.

He wandered aimlessly around Piccadilly, window-shopping stores not yet open. After a while he found himself on Jermyn Street, where he came onto Asser and Turnbull and was that establishment's first customer for the day. He bought four silk-jersey shirts.

(No, the gentleman would not be in London long enough to have some shirts made to measure.) He went back to his hotel.

What to do? There was gambling, of course, but he wished he knew someone in London. Not being alone might help. Then it occurred to him he did know someone. Catherine, Carl's widow. He'd once had her telephone number, two numbers actually. He easily remembered them now, but he hesitated, had second thoughts about her, wasn't really all that anxious to call. He almost decided against it but was glad he hadn't when he heard how pleased she seemed to hear from him.

“Are you over on business?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Pleasure then.”

“Sort of.”

“I want to see you. Are you here with someone?”

“No. Alone.”

“What about today? What are you doing today?”

“I'm loose.”

“Marvelous. I planned a picnic. Does that appeal to you?”

A picnic didn't seem her style, but maybe he was wrong. The idea of a spread of cloth, sandwiches, cold drinks, beer maybe, someplace quiet, just Catherine and himself, unpressured, trading talk about things for the first time, getting to know her and maybe not dislike her. It appealed to him. He told her it did.

She sounded pleased.

“Where shall we meet?”

“I'm in the country.”

“Okay, I'll get a car and drive out. Just tell me where. I'll find it.”

“No. I'll send a boat in for you.”

“A boat?”

“Take a taxi to Lambeth Pier. Be there in an hour.” As an afterthought, just before she rang off, she told him, “Better bring whatever you need in case you decide to stay over.”

Hazard had no intention of staying over. Still, he didn't think it prudent to leave his weapons in the room. To wear the Llama to a picnic didn't seem right, either, so he shoved it into his bag and took everything along.

Lambeth Pier is on the river directly in front of Lambeth Palace, where the Archbishop of Canterbury resides. Hazard had no sooner arrived on the pier when a powerful Riva speedboat executed a swift, sharp circle, abruptly reversed its engines, and came alongside where he stood. The driver of the Riva shouted his name like a question. Hazard nodded and got aboard. At once the Riva was throttled; its bow bent up and it left the pier with an insolent roar.

The driver steered standing up. He had on a T-shirt, navy blue with white horizontal stripes, and a pair of white shorts. He was very tanned. Apparently speedboating was his profession, and anything less than full speed was a waste of time.

Hazard relaxed and observed London as they went up the Thames under the bridges, passing barges with a racy superiority. After a while they were skimming by Fulham, Putney, and Hammersmith. The outskirts of London, not so many large factories and warehouses. Past such places as Kew, Twickenham, Toddington, and then Hampton Court, where Henry the Eighth had cavorted in silk bloomers with his Anne and others. All the way to where the Thames wound more, and was less than a third of the river it had been at the start. It also smelled better. The banks on either side were growing green, reedy along the edges, and there were groves of trees, many of them forlorn but lovely willows. Every so often Hazard caught a glimpse of a large private house. The sky had a high haze now, the sunlight softened as though it were coming down through pale blue gauze. It was indeed a nice day, Hazard thought, especially for a nice little picnic. He wondered if there'd be hot dogs.

Just before Lower Holliford the Riva's driver favored the west bank. He soon came even closer in and stopped alongside a high retaining wall of mortared granite inset with large iron rings for tying up. There were three other speedboats there. Several rope ladders hung down the wall and Hazard climbed the most accessible. The Riva's approach and the height of the wall had blocked a view of what lay above, so when Hazard reached the top he wasn't prepared for what he saw.

First, Catherine's country house. It was at least forty rooms, Queen Anne style, with numerous room peaks and large chimneys. Between the house and the river was an expanse of grass, a gentle slope of green so impeccably kept that it gave the impression of a vast new carpet that had been rolled out for the occasion.

On the lawn were about fifty or sixty people. Not gathered but separated into groups of threes and fours, spotted here and there. Each group had its own spread picnic cloth of pale yellow linen.

As Hazard walked by and around and up to the house, he noticed cut-crystal goblets and fine silver. He felt a bit self-conscious but no one paid any attention to his arrival. They were all too preoccupied with themselves; were sprawled, kneeling, sitting in poses that were like pages of
Harper's
and
Queen
nearly come to life, as though contrived to portray the perfect picnic. Conversation was subdued, punctuated by fragments of forced laughter. They were all young or at least gave that impression, and while each competed for attention there could be no winner, because, in their attempts for originalities, they resorted to merely mimicking one another. Each girl was evidently her own favorite person. They were dressed in long, loose organza or chiffon; floral patterns borrowed from earlier in the century but worn now with nothing underneath. Faces framed by wide-brimmed hats, straws with ribbons that streamed from oversize blossoms of pale silk. Pretty. The young men were hatless. Possibly that was the one sure way of distinguishing gender, because their hair was just as long and their bodies just as thin as the girls', and their gestures not very definitive. They wore sheer shirts with billowing sleeves tight at the wrists, shirtfronts carefully unbuttoned all the way down, not as a matter of comfort. The beautiful androgynous people. They used that description themselves, believing it synonymous with personal liberation.

By the time Hazard got to the house he felt out of place. He found Catherine reclining beside her picnic spread just below the wide steps of the back terrace. It was a position that afforded her a view over all. Flanking her was Peter, the so-called personal secretary Hazard had met at the Pierre, and a young woman named Brett who preferred being boyishly handsome.

Catherine didn't notice Hazard immediately, but when she did she jumped up to hug and give him welcoming cheek kisses. How happy she was to see him, she said, keeping hold of his arm. There was some small talk about the boat ride down and how long he planned to be in London, during which a servant came and took his piece of luggage. Hazard figured Catherine would have him sit there with her, but she glanced around and said, “Now, where shall I put you?”