Robert Ludlum - Road To Gandolfo.txt

by The Road To Gandolfo [lit]

  came from a taxi which stopped in Savoy

  Court.

  It was Sloping yet Argumentative, the

  fourth Mrs. MacKenzie Hawkins, the

  lovely lady named Anne. She

  . hurled herself at Sam, encircling his

  neck with her arms pressing her cheek

  and various other parts against him.

  Instantly she withdrew and rather

  awkwardly composed herself. "I'm awful

  sorry. Gosh, that was real forward of

  me. Please forgive me. It was just so

  terrific to see a familiar face."

  "Nothing to apologize for," said Sam,

  remembering that Sloping yet

  Argumentative had appeared to him as the

  most naive, as well as the youngest, of

  the four wives. She had oohed a lot, if

  he recalled correctly. "Are you staying

  at the Savoy?"

  "Yes. I got in last night. I've never

  been to England before, so I spent the

  whole day just walking everywhere. Gosh,

  my feet are yelling at me." She parted

  her very expensive suede coat and

  frowned at the lovely legs very much in

  evidence below her short skirt.

  - "Well, let's get you off them

  quickly. Into the bar, I

  mean."

  "I can't tell yout It's just so marry to

  see someone you knowl"

  114

  "Are you here by yourself?" asked

  Devereaux.

  "Oh yes. Don, he's my husband now is

  so darned busy with his marinas and

  restaurants and all those other things

  that he just said to me last week in

  LA, he said, 'Annie, honey, why don't

  you get your pretty little ass out of

  the way for a while? This is going to

  be a heavy month.' Well, I thought of

  Mexico and Palm Springs and all the

  usual places, and then I figured,

  damn! Annie, you've never been to

  London. So off I flew." She nodded

  brightly to the Savoy doorman and

  continued as Sam gestured her through

  the entrance into the lobby. "Don

  thought I was crazy. I mean, who do I

  know in England? But I think that was

  part of it, you know? I wanted to go

  someplace where there weren't all the

  usual faces. Somewhere really differ-

  ent."

  "I hope I didn't spoil it."

  "How?"

  "Well, you said I was a familiar

  face "

  "Oh, my, no! I said familiar, but I

  didn't mean familiar: I mean, one

  little short afternoon at Ginny's

  isn't that kind of familiar."

  "I see what you mean. The lounge is

  right up those stairs." Sam nodded

  toward the steps on the left that led

  to the Savoy's American Bar. But Anne

  stopped, still holding onto his arm.

  "Major," she began haltingly, "my

  feet are still screaming and my neck

  is sore from looking up and my

  shoulder's aching from this darned

  purse strap. I'd really love to spend

  a little time straightening myself

  out."

  "Oh, sure," replied Devereaux. "I'm

  being thoughtless. And stupid. As a

  matter of fact I was going to do some,

  er, straightening out myself. I left

  my shaving gear in Switzerland." He

  held up the bag from the Strand Chem-

  ists.

  "Well then, that's marvel"

  "I'll call you in about an hour "

  "Why do that? Have you seen the size

  of those johnnies upstairs? Wowl

  They're bigger than some of Don's

  ladies' rooms. In his restaurants, I

  mean. There's plenty of room. And

  those big, groovy towels. I swear

  they're terry cloth sheets!" She

  squeezed his arm and smiled

  ingenuously.

  115

  "Well, it is solution "

  "The only one. Come on, we'll get some

  drinks from room service and really

  relax." They started for the elevator

  n

  "It's very kind of you "

  "Kmd, hell! Ginny told us you called.

  She positively forded it over us. Now

  it's my turn. You were in Geneva?"

  Sam stopped. "I said Switzerland "

  "Isn't that Geneva?"

  Anne's suite was also on the Thames

  side, also on the sixth Hoor, and

  conveniently no more than fifty feet

  down the corridor.from his.

  Su~itze7land. Isn't that Geneva?

  Several thoughts crossed Devereaux's

  mind, but he was entirely too exhausted

  to dwell on them. And, for the first

  time in days, entirely too relaxed to

  let them interfere.

  The rooms were very like his own.

  High ceilings with real moldings;

  marvelous old furniture polished, func-

  tionaWdesks and tables and pictures and

  chairs and a sofa that would do credit

  to Parke-Bernet; mantel clocks and

  lamps that were neither nailed down nor

  with imbedded plastic cards proclaiming

  ownership; tall casement win-, cows,

  flanked by regal drapes, that looked

  out on the river with the lights of

  small boats, the buildings beyond, and

  especially Waterloo Bridge'

  He was in the sitting room, on the

  pillowed sofa, with his shoes off and

  a tall drink in his hand. The London

  Philharmonic was on BBC1, playing a

  Vivaldi concerto, and the warmth from

  a heater filled the room with a

  splendid comfort. Good things came to

  the deserving, thought Sam.

  Anne came out of the bathroom and

  stopped in the frame of the doorway.

  Devereaux's glass was suddenly checked

  on its way to his lips. She was

  dressed if that was the word in a

  translucent sheath that at once left

  little to, yet completely provoked, the

  imagination. Her Sloping yet

  Argumentative breasts swelled to

  blushing points beneath the soft,

  single layer of fabric; her long,-

  light-brown hair fell casually and

  sensually over her shoul116

  ders, framing her extraordinary

  endowments. Her tapered legs were

  outlined under the sheath.

  Without saying a word, she raised

  her hand and beckoned him with her

  finger. He rose from the sofa and

  followed.

  Inside the huge, tiled bathroom, the

  enormous Savoy tub was filled with

  steaming water; several thousand bub-

  bles gave off the scent of roses and

  wet springtime. Anne reached up and

  removed his tie, and then his shirt,

  and then unstrapped his buckle,

  unzipped his trousers and lowered them

  to the floor. He kicked them free

  himself.

  She placed her hands on both sides

  of his waist and pulled down his

  shorts, kneeling as she did so.

  He sat on the edge of the warm tub

  while she pulled off his socks; and

  she held his left arm as he slid over

  the side,
his body disappearing under

  the steaming white bubbles.

  She stood up, undid a yellow bow at

  her neck, and the sheath fell to the

  floor on top of the thick white rug.

  She was utterly magnificent.

  And she got into the tub with Sam.

  "Do you want to go down to dinner?"

  asked the girl from beneath the

  covers.

  "Sure," replied Devereaux from under

  same.

  "Do you know we slept for over three

  hours? It's nearly nine-thirty." She

  stretched; Sam watched. "After we eat,

  let's go to one of those pubs."

  "If you like," said Devereaux, still

  watching her, his head on the pillow.

  She was sitting up now, the sheet had

  fallen to her waist. Sloping yet

  Argumentative were challenging all

  they surveyed.

  "Gosh," Anne spoke softly, a touch

  awkwardly, as she turned and looked

  down at Sam, who could barely see her

  face. "I'm being real forward again."

  "Friendly's a better word. I'm

  friendly, too."

  "You know what Lmean." She bent over

  him and kissed him on both eyes. "You

  may have other plans; things you have

  to do or something."

  "Things I want to do," interrupted

  Devereaux warmly. "All plans are

  completely flexible, subject only to

  whim and pleasure."

  117

  "That sounds sexy as hell."

  "I feel sexy as hell."

  "Thank you."

  "Thank you." Sam reached above and

  beyond her soft lovely back and pulled

  the sheet over them.

  Ten minutes later (it was either ten

  minutes or several hours, thought

  Devereaux) they made the decision:

  They really did need food, preceded,

  of course, by short, smoky drams of

  iced whiskey, which they had in the

  sitting room, on the pillowed couch,

  under two soft, enormous bath towels.

  "I think the word is 'sybaritic.'"

  Sam adjusted the terry cloth over his

  lap. BBC1 was now playing a Noel

  Coward medley and the smoke from their

  cigarettes drifted into the sprays of

  warm orange light from the fireplace.

  Only two lamps were turned on; the

  room was dreamed of in a thousand

  ballads.

  "Sybaritic has a selfish meaning,"

  said the girl. "We share, that's not

  selfish."

  Sam looked at her. Hawkins's fourth

  wife was no idiot. How in hell did he

  do it? Had he done it? "The way we

  share, it's sybaritic, believe me."

  "If you want me to," she answered,

  smiling and putting her glass down on

  the coffee table.

  "It s not important. Why don't we

  dress and go eat.?"

  "All right. I'll just be a few

  seconds." She saw his questioning

  expression. "No, I will. I don't

  dawdle for hours. Mac once said " She

  stopped, embarrassed.

  "It's okay,"-he said gently. 'I'd

  really like to hear."

  "Well, he once said that if you try

  to change the outside too much, you

  can't help but mix up the inside. And

  you shouldn't do that unless there's

  a goddamned good reason. Or if you

  really don't like yourself" She swung

  her legs out from under her and rose

  from the couch, holding the towel

  around her body. "One, I don't see any

  reason; and two, I kind of like me.

  Mac taught me that, too. I like us."

  "So do I," said Devereaux. "When

  you're finished, we'll go down to my

  room and I'll change."

  "Good. I'll button your shirt and

  tie your tie." She grinned and dashed

  through the foyer door into the bed-

  room. Devereaux got up naked, throwing

  the long towel 118

  over his shoulder, and went to the

  side table where the bar was set up in

  a silver tray. He poured q small

  quantity of Scotch and thought about

  Mac Hawkins's barroom philosophy.

  Change the outside too much you mix

  up the inside. . It wasn't bad, all

  things considered.

  The tiny white light shone between

  the red and green bulbs on the small

  panel beside Devereaux's door. Sam and

  the girl saw it simultaneously as they

  walked down the corridor and

  approached his suite. It was the sign

  that a message was at the front desk

  for the guest. Devereaux swore under

  his breath.

  Goddamn it! Geneva had not been

  erased that quickly. Or so completely,

  either. The least Hawkins could do was

  to let him get a decent night's sleep!

  "One of those lights was on for me

  this afternoon," said Anne. "I came

  back to change my shoes and found it;

  it means you have a phone call."

  "Or a message."

  "Mine was a call. From Don in Santa

  Monica. I finally got him back; you

  know, it was only eight o'clock in the

  morning in California."

  "Nice of him to get up and phone."

  "Not so. My husband owns two things

  in Santa Monica: a restaurant and a

  girl. The restaurant's not open at

  eight in the morning; forgive my

  bitchiness. I think Don just wanted to

  make sure I was really seven thousand

  miles away." Anne smiled up at him

  naively. He was not sure how to

  respond' all things considered.

  "Seems like a lot of trouble for,

  well, for checking up." Sam.snapped on

  the light switch in his foyer. Beyond,

  the sitting room lamps were on, as he

  had left them five hours ago.

  "My husband suffers from a mental

  illness peculiar to cheap strayers. As

  a lawyer, I'm sure you're familiar

  with it. He's paranoid about getting

  caught. Not morally, you understand;

  when he's juiced up, he flaunts that

  part. Just financially; he's scared to

  death some court will make him pay big

  if I opt for out."

  They walked into his sitting room;

  he wanted to say something but, again,

  all things considered he was not 119

  sure what it should be. He chose the

  safest. "I think the man's out of his

  mind." $'

  "You're sweet, but you didn't have

  to say it. On the other hand, I

  suppose it's the safest thing you

  could say

  "Let's find another subject," he

  interrupted quickly indicating the

  couch and the coffee table with the

  Savoysupplied newspapers on it. ' Sit

  down and I'll be with you in a minute.

  I haven't forgotten: You button the

  shirt and tie the tie." Sam started

  for the bedroom door.

  "Aren't you going to call the desk?"

  "It can wait," he answered from the

  bedroom. 1 have no intention of

  letting anything inte
rfere with a

  quiet dinner. Or for that matter,

  showing you a pub or two, if they're

  still open when we're finished."

  You really should find out who's

  trying to reach you. It could be

  important."

  "You're important," shouted Sam,

  removing a tan double-knit suit from

  the awkward hanger in his suitcase.

  "It could be something vital," said

  the girl from the sitting room.

  'You're vital," he replied,

  selecting a red-striped shirt from the

  next layer of clothes.

  I can't ever not answer a phone, or

  check for messages, or call back even

  a name I never heard of; that's being

  too casual."

  "You're not a lawyer. Ever tried to

  get a lawyer the day after you've

  hired him? His secretary is trained to

  lie with the conviction of Aimee

  Semple McPherson."

  "Why?" Anne was now standing in the

  bedroom doorway.

  "Well, he's got your money; he's

  scrounging around for another fee.

  What the hell, your case probably

  entails an exchange of letters with

  the opposing attorney, other

  explanations notwithstanding. He

  doesn't want complications."

  Anne approached him as he slipped on

  the red-striped shirt. She

  nonchalantly began buttoning it.

  'You're a very cool Clyde. Here you

  are in strange country "

  "Not so strange," he broke in,

  smiling. "I've been here before. I'm

  your tour guide, remember?"