Lovers and Liars (58 page)

‘I selected it from a list of three/ she continued carefully. ‘It’s a ther heavenly place.’

‘Fine.’ Knowles sounded amused. ‘Be there at six this evening. ait outside, not inside. If there are any difficulties, call this umber at nine tonight. After that, it will not be operable. You nderstand?’

‘I understand.’

Without further words, Knowles hung up the phone.

Pascal was watching her intently. ‘That was McMullen himselfT ‘No. That ex-tutor of his, Knowles.’

‘Interesting. So he has some kind of assistance. I thought so.’ e pause . ‘ e Paradise Caf6? What timeT

‘Six. We wait outside.’

‘Good.’ Pascal moved swiftly away. He began checking his mera bag. He picked up his thick address book, and Gini could e that familiar return of energy, of speed. ‘I need to make a few hone calls first, then we leave. On my bike we can be there in der an hour.’

‘On that bike? Sixty miles? Pascal, do we have to? The meeting’s not until six. We don’t need to leave yet.’

11 ‘Yes, we do.’ Pascal gave her a sharp glance. ‘There are three I ings we know about McMullen for sure. One, he’s devious. Two, ,he’s clever. Three, he’s commando trained. So I intend to check out

e area before we meet him. I want to see this restaurant, and this Varadise Square, before it’s dark.’

XXV1

WHEN THEY reached Oxford, it was bitterly cold, and dampness pervaded the air. By the time they had completed their checks of the area, a low thin mist was rising from the river. As darkness fell, they took up their position in Paradise Square; the mist had thickened and was forming wisps and patches of a yellowish hue. It made the light from the few streetlamps a haze; it would clear momentarily, then descend again obscuring their view.

This area of the city, although close to the colleges, was rundown. Near by were the pens and yards of the cattle market, and to the north, just beyond the square, the high walls of Oxford prison. It was shabby and dispiriting, and almost deserted. Few cars and no pedestrians passed.

Most of the houses here were used as small offices; they were closed now and dark. The only source of light and cheer, were the steamed-up windows of the Paradise Caf6, just across from where they stood on the far side of the square.

At three minutes to six, Pascal gave her an encouraging glance, took -her arm, and drew her across to the restaurant. It was small. The menu in the window showed it served primarily Greek-Cypriot food. Inside there were two waiters, and groups of students. Gini shivered. She looked to right and to left. No-one approached. The minutes ticked by.

She could sense Pascal’s tension in every line of his body as she huddled against him for warmth. A chocolate-bar wrapper -blew along the pavement in front of them, making a scuffling *nmd. The mist drifted; it felt clammy against her skin. At six—

een, Pascal began to show the signs of impatience she had own were inevitable. He swore.

‘I’ve had enough. Don’t tell me this is another damn wild-goose ase.’

‘Wait, Pascal. Give it time.’

‘It’s goddamn freezing here.’ He turned to look through the caf6 dows. ‘You think he could be insideT

‘He might be in the room at the back, I guess.’ She peered ough the glass. She could not see well through the steam d condensation, but all the customers looked far too young. ome on, Pascal.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Think of something

Stop counting seconds. That always makes it worse. Tell me me more of those famous facts of yours. You’ve been thinking f them all afternoon, I could tell.’

Pascal gave her an amused glance; she felt some of his tension side. He turned back to peer through the window.

‘Oh, very well. Learn to control this impatience of mine, yes? e. Well, I can tell you his postings - they’re interesting. Three rs of duty in Northern Ireland, two stints in Germany. A spell the Middle East. He served in Ornan-2

“Yes, I did,’ said a quiet voice behind them. ‘In nineteen seventyht. Would you both get in the carT

Pascal swore, and Gini swung around. The man who spoke had aterialized silently from behind them. As before, he was wearing black track suit and black running shoes. This time, the hood the track suit was down.

The car he had indicated was parked across the square, a black ud-splattered Range Rover. Gini had noticed it, and it had en empty, as they passed.

‘Wecan’t talk here/McMullen said.‘I haven’tmuch time. Would ou get in the carT

It was McMullen. As he spoke, he turned slightly and lamplight earned palely against his fair hair. For an instant, she glimpsed is features. His face was stronger and more determined than it ad appeared in the photograph. She felt Pascal hesitate; she rned and walked across to the car.

She sat in the rear, Pascal in the front. McMullen negotiated xford’s complex one-way system at speed.

He said, as they were leaving the outskirts of the city, ‘It’ll take about fifteen minutes to get there. It’s not far.’

After that he did not speak, and Pascal did not prompt him. Gini guessed that, as she was, Pascal was concentrating on their route. In the dark, at speed, along a succession of winding, unlit country roads, this was not an easy task. Gini edged towards the window. At the next junction, when McMullen was forced to slow down, she caught one quick glimpse of a signpost in the headlights. She just had time to read the name of the next village.

it was enough. She kept her eyes on the route. She thought: Of course - Oxford, Oxfordshire. The place where John Hawthorne has his country home. The manor house he had bought had been extensively photographed; she had checked its precise location when they’d begun this story. Unless she was very much mistaken, it was his entrance gates they had just passed, and his estate wall now beside the road to their immediate left.

Wherever McMullen intended to take them, she was certain it would not be far.

She was correct. They followed the high stone wall that bordered the Hawthorne property for two miles, turned sharply right, then left onto a steep rough track. The going was rough, but the Range Rover’s four-wheel drive coped with it easily. Three miles, she estimated, the track continuing to rise the whole way, and curving to the left. When McMullen stopped the car, they were in a clearing flanked by woods on three sides. In front of them was a small building, its windows unlit. To their left, and clear of the trees, the ground fell away in a deep bowl.

They climbed out of the car, and Gini moved towards the gap in the trees, Pascal close behind her. McMullen stood watching them both.

‘There’s no moon yet/ Gini said slowly, ‘but I’m sure the view is spectacular from here. You must overlook John Hawthorne’s land. Can you see his house, as wellT

‘I can see the south terrace, with binoculars. Yes.’ McMullen spoke evenly. He unlocked a door behind them, waited until they were all inside and the door was closed behind them, then switched on the light.

They were standing in a small, sparsely furnished living-room. It seemed to be the only ground-floor room, except for a small lean-to kitchen at the back. An estate cottage once, Gini guessed,

dt to house a gamekeeper or forestry staff from one of the estates bordering Hawthorne’s. There was a stone floor, a bare

ble, a few sticks of cheap furniture, a pile of newspapers in the “Forner. The windows were boarded up, and it was bitterly cold. cMullen crossed the room and lit a paraffin heater.

‘I’m sorry - it’s spartan,’ he said. ‘I like living that way.’ ‘You’re living here nowT Gini said quickly.

McMullen sat back on his haunches. His face took on a guarded ression. He adjusted the flame of the heater. ‘I stay here casionaliv. From time to time.’

‘Your London apartment isn’t spartan,’ Pascal said, watching :‘him closely. ‘Quite the opposite.’

MCMUllen gave a dour smile; he straightened. ‘No. But then I’m ..very rarely there.’ He paused. ‘When exactly did you obtain entry Pere?’

‘Last 1-‘ednesclay. A week ago yesterday.’

McMullen gave a small quick nod, as if this satisfied him in Somv wav. ‘And Venice? You must have gone there.’

‘Last Sunday.’

The question was put evenly; Pascal gave it an even reply. He volunteered nothing further; McMullen noted this, Gini saw, and appeared to approve. There was a brief silence. She watched the ‘two men assessing each other, feeling their way.

‘I illt(‘11ded originally to meet you in Venice.’ McMullen spoke suddenly. ‘That plan had to be changed. The reports of Appleyard’s Jeath there were in the papers yesterday. They don’t make it Clear when he died.’

He kept his eyes on Pascal, who replied, still evenly, ‘Judging from the state of his body when we saw it, around ten days before.’

‘I sec.’ There was a pause. ‘And the other man with him?’ ‘He had died more recently. One or two days before.’

‘Fine.’ NIcMullen showed not a trace of emotion. He continued k) ignore Gini, as if she were not even in the room.

‘Fine?‘she said now, sharply. ‘It wasn’t fine! It was unnecessarily cruel.’

‘SO I L111derstand from the reports.’ McMullen spoke crisply. He tUrned to look at her for the first time. It was a brief, cool inspection. He at once turned back to Pascal.

‘I’ll say this once to get the obvious question out of the way. I did n(;t kill them. I met Appleyard only once, in October last year. I never even heard of his friend. If Appleyard had done as

I told him, and stayed out of all this, he would still be alive.He meddled, and, as a result of that, he died.’

‘That seems harsh/ Gini said quickly, stung by his tone.

‘Very possibly. There’s no point in pretending I feel any great sympathy. I disliked the man.’

‘You used him/ Gini said, in a quieter tone. ‘You also used Lorna Munro. Did you know she was dead tooT

There was a brief silence. McMullen looked from her to Pascal. ‘Is that trueT

‘Yes, it is.’ Pascal paused. ‘She was killed within a few minutes of speaking to me. In Paris. She was knocked down by a Mercedes.’

‘Deliberately?’ ‘Oh Yes. I witnessed it.’

For the first time, McMullen betrayed some emotion. There was a momentary concern in his face, then his mouth tightened. ‘Yes, well. I regret that. Obviously I regret it. However, perhaps

it proves to you what is at stake here, and exactly what I have been up against. Hawthorne tried to have me killed in December. It was then, of course.’ his voice became dry, ‘it was then it became urgent to disappear.’

‘You know Hawthorne was behind the attempt?’ Pascal said levelly. ‘What method did he useT

McMullen gave him a cool assessing glance. ‘The man he employed was that henchman of his and his father’s. Frank Romero. I think we can deduce he was acting on instructions, don’t you? And the method was an obvious one, given I was in London then. It was at Bank tube station, in the rush hour. Romero attempted to push me under an oncoming train.’ He paused. Neither Pascal nor Gini spoke. McMullen gave a small shrug. ‘I’ve had training. He failed. Since then … I’ve had to be careful. Otherwise I would have found more direct ways of contacting you. And I would have done so before now.’

He stopped abruptly. He gave them both another of those blue measuring looks.

‘I’m sorry. We should stop fencing around. I realize now I’ve overlooked something very obvious. You’re journalists, and I’m not used to dealing with journalists. I’m assuming that when I tell you the truth, you’ll believe me. I should know better. It’s a mistake I’ve made before .

He hesitated then, for the first time, and Gini realized that beneath his crisp questions and curt replies, McMullen was as

jWnse as strung wire. He gave a sigh, and glanced around the

1. , cold room.

‘I’d set great store by this meeting,’ he continued, his tone now ch less calm. ‘When I finally was able to meet you - what ‘should say, and do. I hadn’t expected suspicion, or hostility. y mistake. Christ … ‘ He turned away with a sudden violent ture. ‘Christ! I should have known.’

The alteration in his demeanour had been very rapid: one min, calm control; the next, strong emotion, which Gini could see was fighting to subdue. She and Pascal exchanged looks. She de a quick covert calming gesture of the hand, and Pascal ded.

.Look,’ he said to McMullen in a more neutral tone, ‘you must erstand. The allegations you’ve made are very serious. If they ame public they’d destroy a man’s whole life and career. We’re t hostile to you, we’re trying to find out the truth, that’s all.’ He

ed. ‘Listen, it’s very cold in here. Gini’s freezing, and so am ould we have some tea, something warm to drink? Then we sit down, and go through this carefully from beginning to .1

McMullen looked at Pascal, then nodded. ‘Very well.‘He glanced wn at his watch. ‘But we must be quick. I don’t have a great deal time.’

He made his way out to the lean-to kitchen at the back. After ther brief exchange of glances, Pascal followed him out there, leaned in the doorway, blocking McMullen’s view back into room. Gini, who had known Pascal wanted to case the place

soon as he mentioned tea, began to move swiftly around the m. It told her a little, but not as much as she had hoped. The of newspapers dated back six months: some were local, some

tional. Flicking quickly through them she saw that several were n at reports of John Hawthornefs public activities, meetings d parties he had attended, or speeches he gave. The previous gust, Hawthorne’s Oxfordshire gardens had been opened to e public in aid of a hospital charity: the page reporting this ent, with photographs of the gardens, had been cut out from that week’s issue of the Oxford Mail.

In the comer of the room, near the door to the kitchen, was a een rucksack which might have been army-issue. It was laced ghtly closed. Near the empty fireplace, on a shelf, was a half-full

bottle of whisky and glasses. There was an ashtray with some Itered cigarette stubs in it. Next to that were two yellowing

paperback novels, one by Frederick Forsyth, the other by Graham Greene. Nothing else: no pictures, no carpets, just furniture which looked as if it might have been abandoned with the house. The hiss of the heater, and the heavy oily smell of burning paraffin. Spartan, indeed.