The Girl From Peking

by George B Mair

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Orchids suit you.’

  ‘What do you know of me?’

  He lead her again into the waltz while the orchestra struck up Tales from the Vienna Woods. ‘I saw you in Hong Kong. We had different flights. But I also watched you deal with the press at Delhi, and I wasn’t far away when you were photographed at Orly.’

  She listened. ‘Where in Hong Kong?’

  ‘You have secrets. And I have secrets. But you were very lovely,’ he whispered.

  Her heart raced against his breast and she flashed a sudden smile. ‘What secrets?’

  ‘Yours or mine?’

  ‘Mine. But you still haven’t told my why orchids.’

  ‘Because,’ said Grant deliberately, ‘you are colourful, you are exotic, you are exceptional and twenty-one seems to be just about your age.’

  ‘And that is all?’

  He shook his head. ‘You are dangerous.’

  She had almost forgotten self discipline, and was now dancing with a natural grace which made Grant study her again. And even risk a snub. ‘Like some orchids you could be a creature of prey. And to know you too well could be risky.’

  He felt her slight intake of breath. ‘I’m a widow, a convicted murderess and a deportee from China. So it doesn’t need much imagination to guess that I’m dangerous.’

  Grant swung her into a complicated series of turns at a corner and angled her towards the door. ‘No. You are dangerous because you kill without emotion. I watched you shoot that man near the Opéra and you did it in cold blood.’

  She felt him hold her even more tightly as they weaved through a crowded floor. ‘You mean that you were also there?’

  ‘Naturally. I was studying you to see what would be the best approach.’

  The girl leaned backwards, but Grant could feel her change of mood. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘I am lonely. And I’m very fastidious. Very few women appeal to me but now I think I’ve fallen in love.’

  She continued silent for another five turns, and while Grant involved her in a complicated reverse she collected her wits. ‘You mean that you love me?’

  He was nearing the door and whipped her out of the ballroom on to a balcony. They stopped by a wrought iron railing and stared over the city. ‘Why are we here?’ Tania was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and disapproval. ‘You are taking liberties,’ she snapped, her voice whispering among the potted camellias and drooping greenery, ‘I agreed to a dance. Not a tête-à-tête.’

  He lifted his hands in an unusually Eastern gesture. ‘The papers say that you mix only with “top people”.’

  She nodded. But Grant marked a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Then be content. I am very top indeed.’ The words sounded outrageously conceited, until he remembered that he was dealing with an outrageously conceited woman.

  ‘Top at what?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘My champagne is top. I am top in my profession. I’m interested only in top women. And my flat is unique.’

  ‘So you hope that I’ll come and admire it.’

  He lit one more cigarette which had been imprinted with his own name by department orders. It was one of the more expensive status symbols which were sometimes used to impress. ‘It might amuse you.’

  She touched him gently on the wrist. ‘You are wasting time. I have taken a vow to remain—what do you say?—celibate, until my husband has been at rest for five years.’

  Grant watched a wisp of smoke drift over the flowers. It might, just, be true. ‘So I must wait for another two years and ten months.’ His voice was flat calm, but his knowledge disturbed even her self-composure.

  ‘You seem to know a lot about me.’

  ‘A friend of mine represents a newspaper in the Far East and it so happens that he was on Shanghai waterfront when the Dutchman was shot.’

  Tania’s eyes were hard as flint. She knew Grant inside out and believed that she would sense when he was bluffing. But his contacts were endless and his story might, conceivably, be true.

  ‘My friend was carrying a small camera and took pictures when a woman was arrested by the police.’

  ‘So?’

  Grant had a flair for forcing an advantage. ‘He showed me the photograph, and the woman was certainly not you.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that either two Dutch seamen were shot on the same night by different women. Which is improbable. Or else that you are telling fibs. Which is also improbable.’

  Tania’s mind was racing like a computer. This was a complication which not even Maksud had taken into consideration. ‘I was ill then, and dressed differently. Also pictures taken in the half light are misleading. I think you’re mistaken.’

  Grant shook his head. ‘No mistake. So why are you lying?’

  She forced an infectious laugh. ‘Dear unknown top-man. Why should I lie?’

  ‘Why was your husband a spy for the Nationalists?’ said Grant. ‘Why, under such circumstances, did the North Vietnamese allow his body to be recovered? Why did Peking allow you to scatter the ashes of a traitor around the walls of China’s capital city? Why did they allow the widow of a traitor to enjoy an extended tour of their country?’

  Tania shrugged her shoulders. ‘Governments don’t blame wives for the behaviour of their husbands.’

  Grant again switched the conversation. ‘So you wouldn’t even care to leave this stuffy lot of diplomats and share a cocktail in my flat. I won’t do anything to upset your conscience. Vows are important.’

  Tania hesitated. It was just possible that he knew more than he had said and that something might come out of a visit. She might even kill him with the little bottle of drops. They caused death ‘from unknown causes’. No evidence had ever been discovered at a post mortem after using them, and she could return to the party after she had dealt with him. Her every instinct said that he knew too much, that it was time for him to go. And she guessed that Maksud would approve if he knew the full circumstances. But first she also knew that she would have to receive permission.

  ‘Very well. But I must powder my nose. So I’ll see you here in twenty minutes.’

  A contact was posted close to the Embassy, and she adjusted her alarm clock behind the closed door of a toilet. She could hear a high pitched whine as it sent out a signal, and exactly seventy seconds later, the whine switched off. She washed, adjusted her make up and returned to the cloakroom for her chinchilla wrap. Precisely fifteen minutes later she took Grant’s arm and asked their host to be excused.

  The man made polite protests, kissed her hand and turned towards Grant. ‘You must have some unusual magic, M’sieur Grant. Madame Monham has never before left a party before the final dance, and her programme is full.’

  Tania bowed. ‘Perhaps I’ll return. It is a small headache and the doctor is an old friend but we met in Delhi recently and he knew me in Hong Kong. You must understand that it is a big thrill to meet a friend when one is in exile.’

  The secretary bowed again. ‘His Excellency is on leave. But I know he will hope to meet you on his return. May I say that you will accept an invitation?’

  Grant studied the girl with admiration. She was playing her cards well. And as she whisked down the long flight of steps to a waiting Mercedes she knew that she was posing for the inevitable press picture which some gossip columnist would be taking for his editor. The flash went as they reached the second bottom step and while he crossed towards the car to open a door. The press man spoke to her and Grant could have sworn that the language was Chinese.

  But she thrust him aside and stepped into the car. Then with tantalising slowness she adjusted her skirt before sitting down. And it was her right foot which went inside first, while she seemed, deliberately, to sit just behind the driver. Which showed that Miss Sidders had been building a mountain out of an ant heap, thought Grant as they turned towards Avenue de Villiers and the flat which was his favourite home.

  She said nothing all the way and s
eemed content to smoke a slender cigar. But once inside she stared at the Afghan and Kashan rugs which were one of his prides and smiled with real admiration. She even kneeled on the floor beside them and ran her fingers over their texture. ‘You have very good taste. These are priceless.’

  He changed his mood. ‘Nothing is priceless,’ he snapped. ‘Not even beautiful women.’

  ‘Then go to Saigon or Tokyo,’ she said softly. ‘They are quite cheap there, even in spite of rising prices after enemy occupation.’

  Her orders were clear. The press man had said little, but it had been enough. No killing. And on no account let Grant sleep with her. Keep him on the hook. Maksud’s radio signal had worked like a charm and it was reassuring to know that even as they spoke a man was posted on the fire-escape outside monitoring every word.

  Grant poured a first glass of champagne and opened the door of his deep freeze. His voice was confident and Tania wondered what card he would play. ‘What was wrong with you in Wuhan? It must have been something quite serious to be out of circulation for a year.’

  ‘A form of rheumatism. They said rheumatic fever.’

  ‘And you are still under treatment?’

  He noted a second of hesitation. ‘I take four tablets daily. They gave me enough to last for three months and then suggested a check up in either Paris or Vienna.’

  ‘Heart problems?’

  ‘Damage to a valve.’

  ‘Then let me reassure you,’ smiled Grant as he handed over her glass. ‘No man or woman with any sort of heart condition could have danced as you did tonight without being breathless. Your heart must be in the same superb condition as the rest of you.’

  ‘And what do you know about the rest of me?’ The girl was again wary.

  ‘Just what I say. The doctor in Hong Kong is also very top, not fully top yet, but very top for his age, and he reports that you were then in splendid condition. Heart and everything else smack on. Just a bit worried. Which is why he suggested a change of scene.’

  The girl looked at him with frank astonishment. ‘You mean that you persuaded a doctor to give away confidences about his patients?’

  Grant shook his head. ‘I was staying with him at the time and when I asked in the morning where he had been during the night his reply was quite blunt.’

  He knew that she would rise. And she did. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he had been called out to see a stupid bitch who thought someone might kill her. Unquote. But he added that she had a chassis like Venus and that he wished all his patients were as fit as she had been.’

  ‘He mentioned no names?’

  ‘None.’ Grant gulped down an oyster. ‘Professional etiquette is still pretty well ingrained into even the younger medicos. They don’t talk, but I later discovered from the papers that it was you who had called him. So take comfort. Your heart is fine.’ He again sipped the champagne. ‘And I hope you may say the same about this. I always prefer Veuve Clicquot. It reminds me of one of the few women I have ever really loved.’

  Tania couldn’t refuse the bait. ‘May I ask her name?’

  ‘Sure. She was my secretary for over two years. Jacqueline de Massacré. But I doubt if you could ever have met her.’ He turned to a cabinet and opened a door. ‘Her photograph,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been able to part with it.’

  And as Tania stared at it, almost unbelieving, Grant tried again to compare the two women. But they were different as fire from water. ‘You loved her?’ The girl had become suddenly quiet.

  Grant nodded. ‘Yes. In a special sort of way.’

  ‘And she left you?’

  ‘During trouble. You see,’ he added softly, ‘it turned out that she was a spy. Now, as I told you. I am quite “top” and she was within seconds of shooting me. There was only one possible way of escape, a trick device which fired a powerful acid. So I used it, and it gave me enough time to save my own life.’

  Tania’s voice was flat calm. ‘What happened to the girl?’

  Grant still loathed himself for having used that acid against Jacqueline and could not force himself to answer. Her future had worried him. He had cared for her in a deep, affectionate way which, although different from his love for Maya Koren, still rated Jacqueline high in his thoughts. They had laughed too much to be real enemies. They had loved too much ever to hate one another. And if it had been necessary to kill each knew that it would only be because they had been caught up in a web of political intrigue against which they could do nothing. Sometimes Grant had even felt that he would rather have died than destroy a beauty which had been remarkable by any standards.

  But he worried even more about the shock it must have been to her personality. Because Jacqueline had been a narcissist. She loved herself. She adored her body and could caress it with an affection greater than that shown by any lover. Indeed she had once even admitted that to Grant during a session when there had been no holds barred, but which had ended by her saying that he had been almost perfect, almost as sensitive to her needs as she had been herself.

  Tania’s eyes were blank with surprise and her lips pouted with sadness. They were victims of circumstances. And this time he would die. Not that evening. But one day when Maksud had finished with him. Though one part of her heart warmed as she heard him speak and watched his face softening into a gentleness which she felt was genuine.

  And then the wanting-ness which was never far from her mind suddenly made her tingle with lust. She rose to touch him and her face lit with desire. Until she remembered the watching guard outside . . . and that Satanic microphone which was taping every sound. ‘I must go.’ Her voice was final. ‘I shall keep my vows. My husband was husband, father, friend and lover.’

  He followed her to the bedroom and Tania knew that they were now out of range of the pick up. She calculated the risk. Her job came first. But Grant had dented her defences. She walked slowly towards him and her fingers ran lightly down his cheeks before folding her arms around his neck. ‘I could love you, m’sieur. And you are the first man who has roused me since my own man died. Give me a little time. But please don’t disturb me. I won’t forget. And if I can sway my conscience I’ll phone you.’

  Her professionalism had risen to the surface and she knew that she had surprised him into being a fraction off guard. ‘Why are you “top”? I had never heard of you until this evening.’

  Grant was prickling with expectation. He was frustrated and tired. He was even disappointed in himself and she had judged his reaction with deadly accuracy. ‘My work is secret,’ he said abruptly. ‘But it’s my job to be faceless and it is my profession to be unknown except to women like you who are also rebels, and understanding.’

  ‘But why?’ she persisted.

  He pulled himself together. For a moment he had become almost indiscreet. ‘Because I’m a civil servant. One of these unknown gnomes who are never mentioned until they are decorated by Government in their fifties and become knights during their sixties.’

  It was as good an excuse as he could offer on the spur of the moment, and he saw her relax.

  ‘Yet a man of your experience has fallen in love with a woman about whom he knows nothing.’

  He nodded. ‘And wants you more than anything.’

  Tania knew Grant to be the ultimate actor, but she risked a last question. ‘What am I worth?’

  He measured every word. ‘I hate my work. I would give up everything to share your life. I loathe the discipline of my job and I would rather be free under you.’

  Tania suddenly smiled. ‘How did you know that I too am very top? It is my favourite position . . . anywhere.’

  Grant held her closely, and for the first time in four years thoughts of Maya faded from his mind. But his professionalism held out to the last. ‘Ask your price,’ he whispered.

  She eased herself into her wrap and held out a hand. ‘We’ll meet again. Perhaps we are really en rapport. Perhaps! But I warn you that the price will be high.’

 
; He opened the door and escorted her to the elevator. ‘Au’voir et bonne chance! But remember I’ll be waiting.’

  And then he returned to the room, opened a wardrobe door and switched off the tape. Admiral Cooper had insisted on a record of the conversation. While on the balcony a young man slipped down the fire-escape. He was well content and Maksud would be pleased. The girl had played her cards well. But tomorrow would bring the big night. The Élysée Palace with every top diplomat in Paris! It would be Tania’s chance, and her invitation had come through. But the girl didn’t know everything, and Maksud had one big surprise up his sleeve. In a day or two they would know if it had worked.

  Chapter Six – ‘Men are like wine’

  Tania returned direct to the Ritz. She expected a phone call before dawn and knew that already her cover in Paris would be in direct contact with Peking. She bathed, lay for half an hour in a foam bath and called for a night cap of thin Chinese tea to wash away the sour taste of too much alcohol mixed with smoke.

  Grant had changed.

  He seemed more relaxed. But he was also more dangerous, because he seemed to have developed a confidence in himself which was new. His movements were more restrained and he spoke with a greater economy of words. Everything about the man was withdrawn, yet suggested efficiency. She also guessed that the department would have briefed him to speak to her about Jacqueline, because after all that was bound to have been the first woman ADSAD would think of whenever China was mentioned. The link between any girl from Peking and Tania Monham must, early, have tied up in some departmental mind or other, but she knew, with that sensitive instinct which was almost as well developed as Grant’s, that he had been completely fooled.

  Another thought crossed her mind. He had loved Jacqueline. Why else would he have kept her photograph? And he had spoken as though he regretted that acid business.

  But she also knew enough about him to believe that he had meant what he said about women. Maya Koren, his Russian mistress, was still tops. And David had always been fastidious. A woman had to be unusual before he showed interest, so in a way it was a compliment if he really had fallen in love with her.