By Stealth tac-9 Read online

  `I like men with strong hands,' she confided.

  Tweed squeezed her hand and was startled at the strength of her responding grip. He gently pulled his hand free.

  `You are pretty strong yourself,' he observed. 'How do you pass the time out here?'

  `A lot of riding. I can even out-race Maurice, although he doesn't like me advertising the fact,' she teased.

  `Which isn't difficult for her,' Burgoyne retorted as he perched himself on the arm of Paula's chair. 'Her horse is carrying less weight.' He looked down at Paula. 'I hope you don't object to the proximity?'

  `Why should I? You have a wonderful home here. Not what I'd expect to find in the New Forest.'

  `Goes back into history, I gather. Mineral water for you, Tweed?'

  `Maybe a little later. How did you manage to get hold of such an architectural gem?'

  `I have Sir Gerald Andover to thank for that. When I was out in Hong Kong and getting ready to come home after umpteen years, we were having a drink in my favourite bar. Andover, Fanshawe – lives next door – and myself. I asked him if he heard of a likely property would he be so kind as to send details. Three months passed. Nothing. Fanshawe wanted a place, too. Then a sheaf of houses arrived from Andover – including this place. Snapped it up.'

  `And lived happily ever after,' Lee interjected with a curious smile.

  `Something like that.'

  Tweed seized his opportunity. 'It was Andover who sent us round here. Poor chap looks as though he's had a nervous breakdown.' He waited for the reaction.

  Paula glanced up at Burgoyne. The living-room was also lit by wall-sconce lights, casting a suffused glow. In the soft lighting Burgoyne's expression was saturnine. He appeared to be considering how to respond.

  `Andover is a good friend – as I've just proved. But a bad neighbour. Keeps himself locked up inside that old horror of a pile. It was much better when Irene, his daughter, was around.'

  `Maurice took a fancy to Irene,' Lee interjected. 'He means it was much better for Maurice when Irene was available.'

  `Nonsense.' Burgoyne dismissed her observation without any sign of rancour. 'Then about three months ago Irene ups and offs to the Riviera with her French boy friend, Louis Renard. Can't say I took to the chap.'

  `Maurice,' Lee intervened again, 'you only met him once.'

  `Once was enough. A bit of a bounder. But some of you women seem to like the type.' He touched Paula on the shoulder. 'Excluding guests. You look as though you've got your head screwed on the right way.'

  `When did Andover resign from the Institute and throw up all his directorships?' Tweed persisted.

  `Come to think of it, about the same time. Yes, three months or so ago. Rather foolish. His daughter goes off for a fling – the way they do these days – and her father chucks in all his interests. Told him he was bats. Wouldn't listen, of course.'

  `I see you brought the East back with you,' Paula said quickly, feeling Tweed had pressed the subject enough.

  She looked round the room. Perched on an Oriental chest in the large curtained bay window at the back was a small Buddha with hooded eyes, which seemed to be watching her. The walls were decorated with Chinese paintings on silk scrolls. Behind an Oriental desk angled in a corner hung a large-scale map of Hong Kong. Burgoyne smiled before he replied.

  `Best years of my life were spent out there. Came back to find an England where manners had gone. You can't tell a dustman from a lord these days. The classless society has wrecked everything Britain once stood for. So I surround myself with a touch of the East. Stupid nostalgia, probably.' He looked down at Paula again. 'Can't I relieve you of that case, put it with your coats?'

  Paula gripped the executive case she had perched on her knees. She smiled up at him.

  `No thank you. It's stuffed with research papers I've been working on for three weeks. I feel happier with my hands on it. Then I can't forget it when we leave.'

  `Do you smoke?' Lee asked Tweed.

  `No. I gave it up but I still like the aroma.'

  She opened a long black evening bag with a diamante clasp while Paula watched her. Fiddling inside it, she brought out a long thick jewelled holder, inserted a cigarette, and then made no effort to light it, which intrigued Paula. Lee's exposed leg leaned against Tweed's as she settled herself more comfortably.

  `I never met Irene,' Tweed remarked casually. Did she leave suddenly?'

  `I gather so,' Burgoyne replied. 'Here one night, gone the next. The young are so impatient.'

  `Talking about leaving…' Tweed consulted his watch. 'Andover urged us to visit Willie Fanshawe while we were here. Or does he go to bed early?'

  `Up half the night. I'm sure he'd be glad to see you again.'

  `Tweed,' Lee said quickly, opening her bag again, 'I visit London frequently. Maybe we could have lunch together? I'd phone you first. Here is my card. I have an office in town. You're in insurance, Maurice told me. He was talking about you only the other day.'

  `I'd like that,' Tweed said quickly. 'And here's my card. Best to phone first, as you suggested. I'm away from the office so much.'

  He gave her a card with the legend General amp; Cumbria Assurance – the cover name for the SIS. The card he gave her gave only the name and the phone number. No address. He stood up, shook her hand.

  `It's been a great pleasure.'

  He stood for a moment, apparently admiring her. His eyes were studying the jewelled cigarette holder she held so elegantly in her left hand.

  Burgoyne was standing now, hands inside the pockets of his jodhpurs. He was frowning as though his thoughts were miles away.

  `I haven't seen Andover for a while. You don't think he has had a nervous breakdown – you used that phrase?'

  `I'd say recovering from overwork,' Tweed replied easily. 'Thank you both for a most pleasant half hour.' `I'll get your coats…'

  He had gone when Paula turned to Lee. The magnetic blonde was eyeing her critically.

  It's been an experience meeting you,' Paula told her and smiled.

  'I'm an experienced woman,' Lee replied.

  `She's after you,' Paula said when Burgoyne had closed the outer door and they had settled themselves inside the Escort.

  `There are worse fates,' Tweed teased her.

  She thumped him in the ribs. Then, clutching her case, she stared ahead as Tweed drove away from the glare of the searchlights and along the drive. Passing between the gates he turned left and parked by the pile of bricks and the concrete mixer.

  `What do you make of those two?' he asked.

  `There's something odd about their relationship. Burgoyne has got all his marbles, is a strong character. But Lee Holmes is a strange creature. She didn't hesitate to contradict him and I wouldn't expect him to have a woman like that as a mistress. Someone with brains, yes, but more amenable. I almost had the impression I was witnessing…'

  'A charade put on for our benefit,' Tweed completed. `And I find it difficult to believe he hasn't been anywhere near Andover for three months or so. There's a mystery inside that mansion. Let's make one more visit, see Fanshawe. You'll find him a very different kettle of fish…'

  The Last Haven had no gates, and a gravel drive led straight to the house which came immediately into view. Not at all what Tweed was expecting, it was a single- storey residence with a wide frontage. It reminded Tweed of houses he'd seen in Scandinavia with its small slim bricks and steeply pitched roof.

  `It looks very modern,' Paula commented. 'Not a bit like a house in the New Forest…'

  A strong light shone over the wooden front door and behind drawn curtains were more lights. Tweed and Paula had just left the car when the door opened. A heavily built man with a large head and shaggy white hair came out to meet them. In his sixties, Paula guessed, and rather like a favourite uncle. His head was craned forward and he had a broad smile as Tweed went to meet him, introducing Paula.

  `This is a wonderful surprise,' Fanshawe began. 'Tweed, of all people. How are you? Not
chasing kidnappers out in this neck of the woods?'

  Paula nearly jumped. With a tremendous effort she kept her expression neutral. Then she realized Fanshawe must be referring to the cover Tweed used in his fictitious role as Chief Claims Investigator for General amp; Cumbria Assurance. With certain people he knew he gave the impression he was involved in negotiating the release of kidnap victims for an agreed ransom, which explained his frequent trips abroad.

  Tweed showed no reaction at all except pleasure. Again he introduced Paula and Fanshawe obviously took an immediate liking to her.

  `Come in out of the fog.' He guided her inside with an arm round her shoulders. 'Beastly night,' he went on, 'but you'll find it nice and warm inside. The Swedish central heating system works a treat…'

  He was helping her off with her trench coat, hung it on a hook above a slim radiator. Beyond the front door they had walked into a large L-shaped living room with Scandinavian-style furnishings.

  `Swedish?' she asked as he guided her to a long couch. `Yes, I was extremely lucky. To get this place.' He escorted her to a comfortable couch and she sat in a corner. Fanshawe turned to Tweed who had hung his own coat alongside Paula's. 'You take that armchair facing us and then we can be cosy. A glass of sherry will go down rather well, don't you think?'

  `I had too much to drink recently,' Paula said quickly.

  She had observed the bottle Fanshawe was holding under his arm as he collected glasses from a shelf under the round coffee table separating them from Tweed. Cyprus sherry. Glancing round the room she saw no signs of the monied opulence of Leopard's Leap.

  `For you then, Tweed?'

  `No thanks, Willie. I'm driving. You've been here for how long? Incidentally, it was your neighbour, Brigadier Maurice Burgoyne, who suggested we drop in on you.'

  `Stout fellow, Maurice. Won his MC during the Korean War as a young officer…'

  As he chattered on, addressing Tweed, Paula studied her host. His large rounded face had a cherubic look. He had blue eyes under bushy eyebrows and radiated an air of good humour. Yes, like a favourite uncle, she thought again as he eased his bulk beside her and turned to face her.

  `Sorry, I'm neglecting you. Got absorbed in what I was saying. Swedish, you enquired earlier. It was built for a Swede after they'd knocked down an old farmhouse going to seed. I said I was lucky. While I was in the East my father played the stock market, lost our old ancestral estate in Berkshire where I was brought up. This place suits my limited bill perfectly. No maintenance expenses, you see. Window frames are made of a special wood. Never needs painting. You just oil the woodwork occasionally. Do it myself.' He switched his attention to Tweed. 'Never answered your question. I expect you know Sir Gerald Andover, the brain-box, lives two doors away?'

  `Yes, actually we visited him first.'

  `Good chap. He was out in Hong Kong on one of his visits. We were having a drink with the Brig. and I told Gerald my time in the East was drawing to a close. He immediately offered to look for a house for me. Never dreamt he'd come up with a place on his own doorstep. Price was reasonable – some folk thought it an odd house in this part of the world and the Swede wanted to settle in the States. I've been here just over two years. The Brig. arrived about three years ago.'

  `I was surprised to find three old China hands on top of each other,' Tweed commented amiably.

  `So now you know why-'

  He broke off as a door opened. Paula had a glimpse of a modern kitchen and then the door closed automatically.

  A woman entered the room. Tall, slim, and a striking brunette, Paula estimated she'd be in her late twenties. Over her well-moulded breasts she wore a tight-fitting sunflower-patterned blouse with a mandarin collar. Swan-necked, she held herself elegantly as she moved slowly towards them. Her cream pleated skirt stopped above the knees, revealing an excellent pair of legs.

  Fanshawe jumped to his feet. Like some large men, Paula noted, he was agile, swift in his reactions.

  `Do come and meet our guests, Helen,' he greeted her enthusiastically. 'Helen Claybourne, my secretary and general factotum. Keeps the place in order, including myself…'

  After introductions, he pulled up a carver chair for her next to Paula. She was holding a glass of pale liquid and her cool gaze rested on Paula as everyone sat down again. Her cultured voice was as cool as her personality.

  `Mineral water,' she remarked. 'I get so thirsty in this weather. Willie, shouldn't I be serving drinks to Mr Tweed and Miss Grey?'

  'Oh, I pressed them, urged them. But their resistance was implacable.'

  `Perhaps they'll yield to your powers of persuasion later,' Helen suggested, then sipped her own drink.

  Her penetrating grey eyes were still watching Paula, who was reminded of Burgoyne's hypnotic gaze. She found herself mentally contrasting Helen Claybourne with Lee Holmes. Lee would walk into a roomful of men and instantly be the centre of attraction. Helen would pause by the doorway, looking round. And soon all eyes would focus on her. Two most unusual women.

  `Andover struck me as being under strain,' Tweed remarked. 'I gather his daughter Irene is away.'

  `Andover's a good sort.' Willie beamed his cheerful smile, his tone upper crust. 'But he guards his privacy. And now I come to think of it, you're right. Irene is away. Went off on a long holiday somewhere on the Med with her current boy friend. Restless. It's the age – hers and the present day, I mean.'

  `How long has she been gone?' Tweed asked in the same casual tone, his eyes half-closed.

  `Must be three months or more, wouldn't you say, Helen?'

  `Something like that.'

  `About the same time as Andover gave up the chairmanship of INCOMSIN – the International Committee of Strategic Insight? And all his other directorships?'

  Willie pouched his lips. 'Come to think of it, I suppose you're right. Had never occurred to me.'

  `And from what you said a moment ago he'd become a recluse? A hermit?'

  `I'm afraid he has. Helen, entertain our guests for a moment while I make a phone call…'

  He disappeared through another doorway close to the kitchen. Helen Claybourne concentrated her attention on Tweed.

  `I gather from things Willie's mentioned you're involved in a particularly dangerous form of insurance?'

  `Not really. There are rare occasions when negotiations over some tricky situations become a bit tense. Nothing you could call dangerous,' he assured her.

  She looked back to Paula. 'And you're working in the same outfit?'

  `Yes. It's mostly poring over the fine print of policies. Really like any other executive job. What about yourself?'

  `Oh, a pretty quiet life. Keeping this place going. I do get a few trips abroad with Willie. The cherry on the cake…'

  She chatted on until Willie returned. He waved both his large hands as he settled down beside Paula again.

  `Your remark about Andover becoming a recluse triggered me off. I phoned him, was going to ask him to join us. No reply.'

  `I could have saved you the trouble,' Tweed said, standing up. 'He was going out when we left him.'

  `At this time of night? Oh, well, he always was a law unto himself. Must you go so soon?'

  `I'm afraid we must. We're staying at Passford House and I'm expecting a phone call. I see someone is having some building work done. Those bricks on the grass verge further along.'

  'Burgoyne's.' Willie jumped up to fetch their coats. `The Brig. is always having something altered. One of his main interests in life, I suspect. Very pleasant to see you again.' He was helping Paula on with her coat. 'Must keep in closer touch. I come up to town now and then. I'll give you a call before I start out next time. Lunch at Brown's would be nice…'

  Paula said goodnight to Helen who accompanied Willie to the door and opened it for them. Tweed noticed he had two deadlocks. Better security then Andover's.

  They were in the car, with Tweed driving out of the drive and turning right, back for Lymington, when Paula asked the question.
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  `What do you think of them? All three so close.'

  4

  The mobile concrete mixer appeared behind them long before they reached the main road back to Lymington.

  A few minutes earlier Tweed, hands relaxed on the wheel, had enquired what she meant. The moonless night seemed to have become even darker as his headlights splayed over the wall of trees hemming them in. No sign of any other traffic. It was a lonely road to Beaulieu behind them.

  `You get three old China hands,' Paula explained. 'They knew each other in Hong Kong – half-way round the other side of the world. I'm including Andover because he apparently paid frequent visits to Hong Kong. Where do they all end up, for Pete's sake? Next door to each other on the edge of the New Forest. I find it peculiar and almost sinister.'

  `We were told how it came about. Find anything odd in that?'

  `Yes. First, Andover never mentioned that he'd found houses for them. But he was so agitated for obvious reasons there's nothing in that. But Burgoyne said they – he and Willie Fanshawe – had a drink in Hong Kong with Andover and Burgoyne asked Andover if he could find him a property, which he eventually did. Willie told a different story. He distinctly said it was Andover who offered to find him a place.'

  `So you spotted that?'

  `You're impossible!' she burst out with mock anger. `You wanted to see if I'd noticed the inconsistency too.'

  `And have you noticed we have company? One of those huge mobile concrete mixers is closing on our tail.'

  `I was just about to ask you the same question. I've seen it in the wing mirror. Ruddy great orange brute with its huge mixer churning round.'

  `Keeps the cement ready for use. Funny vehicle to be on the road at this time of night.'

  `And if he keeps up that speed he's going to come through our rear window.'

  Which was true, Tweed thought grimly. The orange monster was inches from his Escort, looming over them like a huge Army tank. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator. They swung round a sharp bend far too fast, but for a brief period they left the mixer behind.