The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (47 page)

“I'll be there in an hour. We'll take him to lunch.”

About two hours after leaving Harrods, Susan saw the woman again. Susan and Paul, having changed for
dinner, were having a cocktail at a bar just off the lobby
of the Grosvenor Hotel. The woman had also changed
and she was now with a pleasant-looking man of middle
age, probably her husband. They sat in the lobby
proper, chatting, people-watching, enjoying the atmo
sphere.

“Do you see that couple?” She touched Paul's arm.

“The woman from Harrods,” he nodded.

“What'll you bet they're going on the train tomor
row, too?”

“You're probably right.” Paul was sure that at least a dozen of tomorrow's passengers would be staying at the
Grosvenor. It was a first-class hotel and it was immedi
ately adjacent to Victoria Station. He had chosen it for
that reason. He knew that other travel agents would
have done the same.

“Why don't we ask if they'd like to have a drink with
us? Maybe even join us for dinner.”

Paul hesitated. “I was hoping we'd have this night to
ourselves. Anyway, Mirabelle is booked solid. I made
our reservation a month ago.”

Susan dropped her eyes
.
Her expression became dis
tant.

“Does that disappoint you?” he asked.

“Oh, no.” She straightened. “Nothing like that.”

“What is it, then?”

“Well . . .” she began pushing an ice cube around
her glass. “Paul . . . you know, you're really a very
neat guy.”

“And don't you forget it.”

“You're great fun to be with, interesting, a world-
traveler, and a wonderful lover, but you're also a very
mysterious guy.”

“What's so mysterious?”

“You jumped right past wonderful lover. When a
woman says that, you're supposed to blush and say something modest.”

“That's because it isn't true. That body of yours
could excite a stump. Now what's so mysterious?”

“Lots of things,” she shrugged.

“But you're going to make me pry them out of you
one by one.”

Susan made a face, half-wishing she hadn't brought it
up, half glad that she finally had. But okay, she thought, let's start with the easy ones. “How come a neat guy like
you doesn't seem to have any. . . ,”

“Go on.”

“The only people you and I have ever been out with
are my friend Allie and her husband Tom. And that was
only twice, both times at their house.”

“You're saying you'd like to socialize more.”

“Not exactly.”

“Come on, Susan,” he said gently. “Just spill it out.”

“How come I've never met a single one of your
friends?”

“You mean like drinking and poker buddies? I don't
have any.”

“And you don't have any family.”

“No immediate family, no.”

“And you're always traveling, mostly alone, and you
never miss a thing . . . like recognizing that woman
over there . . . and you let people get just so close to you and no closer.”

“Including you?”

“Sometimes I feel that way. Yes.”

“Susan, you know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think the Orient Express is getting to you. Spies,
scoundrels and international intrigue.”

“I'm serious, sort of”

Paul sipped his drink, letting Susan wait. “You
know,” he said finally, “I'm almost tempted to let you
believe I'm a spy.”

She said nothing.

“Because what I really am is basically boring.”

“What are you, Paul . . . really?”

He set down his glass and took her hand. “What I
am,” he looked into her eyes, “is a travel agent who's
been running around the world for more than 15 years.
I travel 10 times as much as the average person and I've
probably met 10 times as many people. Some became
friends but they're scattered throughout other coun
tries, because that's where they live. All this is true,
Susan.”

“Okay.”

“As for Westport, you're right that I don't socialize
much. By the time I return from a trip I usually have a
pile of work to catch up on and I've had my fill of
crowds,
cocktails and restaurant food. I've also gained
about five pounds, so my free time, when I'm not seeing
you, is spent trying to sweat it off. This is true, too.”

“Oh, I can understand that.” However
.
. she
took a breath
..
in for a penny, in for a pound. “But
you still act like a spy.”

“How so?”

“You have a habit of scanning faces every time we enter a public place. You always pick a spot, like now,
where you can watch people come and go. And I think
you look away whenever someone points a camera at
you.”

“I do all that?”

“Sometimes.”

“You left out that I don't carry a gun. That's another
dead giveaway. It means that I can kill with pocket
combs, credit cards and little tubes of nasal deconges
tant. You know what I'm going to do from now on?”

“What?”

“Every time I see a camera I'm going to run up and
grin into the lens. I'm going to do that until you beg me,
to stop.”

“I take it back about the cameras.”

“Too late. I'm also going to walk right over to that
couple and ask them to have a drink with us.” He raised
his hands to the sides of his head, forming a pair of
blinders.
“And I'm going to walk over just like this so I
can't scan a single other face on the way.”

She grabbed his sleeve. “U
m
, I was sort of hoping
we'd have this night to ourselves.”

“You're sure?” He kept his hands in place. People at
nearby tables were beginning to turn.

“I'm sure,” she grinned, reddening. “Now quit it.”

“You know, Susan,” his voice became a stage
whisper, “you're a neat lady but you really ought to learn to be more sociable.”

“Oh, good grief.” She reached for his hands, to try to
pull them down.

“You've got to loosen up.” He dropped his hands but
it was only to pick up a bowl of potato crisps, which he
was now balancing on his head.

Susan hid
her
face.

For the second time in less than three days, Ray
mond Lesko sat waiting for Robert Loftus to clear his head. Lesko was reasonably satisfied that he'd come
alone. Upstairs sounded normal. Just the mixed noise of
two different TV sets and the Murphys on the second-
floor front having their regular Saturday-morning argu
ment. Lesko drew his yellow chair up close to Loftus, who was slumped against a Maytag
dryer. His hands
covered his face. He waited, as he had on Wednesday
night, for the pain to reach a level at which he could
function.

“Lesko,” he whispered hoarsely. “I'm going to tell
you this just once.”

“What would that be, Robert?”

“You ever call my wife again, you go anywhere near
her or my kids, I'm going to start by shooting off both
your fucking knees. You understand me?”

Lesko leaned closer, showing his teeth. “I know how
you feel, Robert, being a family man myself. We had a
nice talk about this the other night.”

Loftus looked up at him. “No one bothered your
family, Lesko
.
No one was going to. That happens to be
the truth.”

“Maybe.” Still the teeth. “But you do other bad
things, don't you, Robert? You blow dust in old men's
faces and they die.”

Lesko expected a denial, a look of surprise, some
kind of bluff. But Loftus held his gaze and said, “No,
Lesko. The fact is
,
I don't.”

Lesko's impulse was to ask the obvious. Who did?
But for the moment he was more interested in Loftus's
odd behavior.