Rhinoceros (42 page)

'Well,' she said, with a wicked smile. 'Do I pass inspec
tion, sir?'

He knew then that she was in a whimsical mood, which
clashed with his own reaction to the recent tragedy. He
managed a quirky smile.

'Not bad. Would you like a drink?'

She sat down on a couch against the wall, crossed her
shapely legs and a slash in her dress exposed one leg almost
to her thigh. Looking at him from under her eyelashes she
spoke in a mock-indignant voice.

'Not bad? Is that all? And I would like a drink.' Glancing
at the table, she saw the bottle Newman had left. 'I'd like a terrific double Scotch. Please. Sir."

He found a fresh glass on a lower shelf under the table and poured Scotch slowly.

'Say when.'

'Keep going.'

He continued pouring. He looked at her and she was
watching him quizzically, one bare arm stretched along
the back of the couch. He used tongs to cram the glass
with ice, hoping it would dilute the Scotch, then placed
it on the table close to her.

'Any more,' he remarked, 'and you might spill it down
that glorious dress you're almost wearing.'

'That's better. Much better. You are drinking with me?
I hate drinking alone.'

He found another fresh glass, poured himself a modest
drink. She patted the space beside her, raised her eyebrows,
patted the space again.

'You are going to sit with me.'

I don't think so, he thought. If I get any closer to her
now, heaven knows where we'll end up. He sat in the
upholstered chair, raised his glass.

'Cheers!' He took a small drink. 'Now where the devil have you been for the past few hours?'

'You missed me. I like that.'

'Where?' he growled.

'I like you when you growl.'

He began to realize she was going to be hard to handle.
He decided not to mention Mark's death. He felt sure she
had not heard.

'What are all those policemen doing outside the hotel?'
she asked.

'Maybe there was a traffic accident. Lisa, where have you been?'

'You went off to dinner without me this evening.' She pouted, then waved aside the reaction as childish. 'That's
why I got all dressed up. I was hoping.'

She'd had another mood change. Tweed, for the second
time, decided she
was
going to be difficult to handle. He was damned if he was going to apologize. Then he went
ahead and said the wrong thing.

'It was a private dinner. A business dinner . . .'

'About the coming crisis?' she said quickly. 'I had a weird idea I was involved. Or are you shutting me out
now?' She was annoyed. 'Give me a cigarette.'

He took out his packet, held it out. Then he leaned
forward, lit the cigarette for her. She thanked him, sitting stiffly erect, taking several deep drags, then carefully tip
ping the ash into a crystal glass ashtray. He kept quiet until
she had stubbed out the cigarette, leant back against the couch cushion, her chest heaving. She folded her arms.

'What crisis?' he asked quietly.

'The big one . . . the one that's going to blow up in
our faces out of nowhere.' She was talking rapidly. 'The one you should be making preparations for . . . although,
knowing you, I expect you've already made them.'

He was having to concentrate to follow her. He won
dered if she'd take off again if he, once more, asked her
where she had been. He decided she would. She seemed
to read his mind.

'When I realized I wasn't included in the party I hit the
town. Oh, you're probably wondering how I knew you'd gone out to dinner.' Which was exactly what Tweed had
been wondering. 'I saw Newman further down the corridor
when I was coming out of my room. He was standing in
front of a wall mirror, brand new suit, fresh shirt, new
hand-made shoes, fiddling with his Chanel tie to get it just right. Going out to dinner, I thought. Why didn't
Tweed warn me, I thought. Because I'm not included on
the menu.'

'Well, you know why you weren't included now.' He
spoke quietly. 'I agree we might be close to a major crisis,
but what gave you that idea?'

'Sixth sense,' she snapped.

'You can, I suspect, do better than that.'

'Lisa,' she said, 'he says do better than that. OK, I will.'
She half-smiled at him. 'I trawled the Reeperbahn - don't
look like that. Wait till I'm finished. I used taxis to move
from one bar to another
..."

'In that outfit?' he asked in a worried tone.

'Just watch me.'

From her small evening bag she took out several hairpins. She lifted her red mane, coiled it on top of her head
and held it diere with die pins. She picked up the scarf
she'd carried in, now spread over a couch arm, wrapped it round her head, tied it under her chin. The next item
from the evening bag was a pair of large spectacles with thin
horn-rims. She perched them on the bridge of her nose.
Finally she took out a very small metal case, extracted a
slim cigar, placed it in her mouth. She was unrecognizable
and none too attractive.

'Well?' she said.

'I'm amazed. I suppose you learned tricks like that when
working for the security agency in New York.'

'Right on the button, Mister.'

Her accent was convincingly American. Tweed waved
both his hands in admiration.

'I got lucky,' she said, after removing the cigar, 'in the
sixth bar. I'd left my drinks hardly touched in the other bars. In the last bar I found myself sitting next to Blue
Shin, Pink Shirt, whatever

'He's been identified as Oskar Vernon, now staying at
the five-star Atlantic facing the Aussenalster.*

'Now he tells me.' She smiled. 'Oskar, then, was
whispering to my old friend, Barton, last seen in Bedford Square while I was with my friend, the tramp. I have very
acute hearing. Oskar said, "We're going to have a bloodbath
with that bastard Tweed and his whole team. Wipe them
off the face of die earth. Soon now. We just have to trick
them, get them well outside Hamburg. I've worked out
how we do it." Having heard that, I thought I'd better
make myself scarce.
Oh, Oskar was wearing a violet shirt.
Hideous.'

'So now we know.'

She reached for her half-empty glass of Scotch, put
it down untouched. She pulled the scarf off her head,
dropped it on the floor, removed the spectacles which had made her look like a schoolmistress. She looked as though
she had squeezed the last drop of energy out of herself. She
swayed. Tweed grabbed her by the shoulder. She closed
her eyes, opened them again with an effort.

'I'm flaked out,' she said hoarsely. 'Can't move my legs.
Sleep. I need sleep. For a week . . .'

She swayed again. She was half asleep already. He
moved
to
the end of the couch. He just had time to
grab a cushion, lay it on his lap, before her head fell on
it. Leaning forward, he got hold of her legs under the knees,
spread them along the couch. She half opened her greenish
eyes, looked up at him.

'Thanks,' she mumbled. 'I know poor Mark is dead.
Saw his body on the pavement when I got back . . .'

Then she fell into a deep sleep. Tweed understood now
her erratic moods. The sight of Mark, half his head shot
away, had shaken her up badly, accounted for her swift
changes of emotion. He leaned back against the high end
of the couch and fell fast asleep.

He woke in the morning to find her still fast asleep,
her head in his lap. Daylight filtered through the closed curtains. His back felt stiff as a board but he had slept
non-stop. He couldn't move without disturbing her so
he stayed still until, after a few minutes, she opened her eyes, stared at him, smiled. Lifting her head, she sat up,
planted her legs on the floor.

'A shower,' she said, suppressing a yawn. 'My kingdom
for a shower.'

Tweed pointed to the bathroom, told her to take her time, that he'd have a shower when she had gone.

I'll order breakfast for us from room service,' he called out.

'But won't they think . . .'

'Who the hell cares what they think? What do you fancy for breakfast?'

When she had gone into the bathroom, he ordered
orange juice, coffee, toast, scrambled eggs and tomato,
croissants, marmalade for two people. Then he tidied
himself up, checked in a wall mirror, decided he wouldn't
have time for a shave but he didn't look too bad.

'Bathroom's yours,' she said, emerging more quickly
than he'd expected.

She was wearing a white flannel robe she'd found in the
bathroom and looked herself again. She smiled at him.

'Excuse the robe. I do have the dress on underneath.'

'I'd better hurry. Breakfast will come soon . . .'

During the first part of breakfast they didn't say much to each other. Lisa had said she was ravenous. Then Tweed,
keeping off serious subjects, described to her the Aussen - or Outer - Alster. How the ferries zigzagged across it,
moving from one landing stage to another, picking up and dropping off passengers. How, at the extreme distant end,
it narrowed into little more than a wide stream with willows
drooping into the water with small parks behind them.

'Sounds heavenly,' she said, watching him.

'We ought to take a trip sometime,' he suggested.

'I'd love to. Sounds so peaceful -you described it in such
a graphic way. I think I'll get back to my room now.'

She returned the robe to the bathroom, straightened her
creased dress, went to the door, looked back.

'Am I still on the team?'

'You were never off it.'

CHAPTER 24

Paula tapped on Lisa's door. She heard it being unlocked
and approved of the caution. Lisa opened the door, looked
pleased, invited her in.

'My face is a mess,' she explained. 'Do sit down while I try to make it look half decent.'

'You look OK,' Paula replied as she sat down next to the table with the phone.

'Don't feel it.'

'You have heard,' Paula began tentatively.

'About Mark being shot last night? Horrible, isn't it? I
saw him on the pavement. I must have got back just after
he had been killed. I felt sick.'