by Roy Lewis
‘It’s been bloody chaos here since you left on this damned holiday of yours!’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Karl Spedding was left in charge as my deputy and we discussed matters that needed to be dealt with during the few days I would be out of the office. He’s certainly tidied up in there.’
‘Karl Spedding!’ She almost spat the words. ‘That’s about all he’s done in your absence! We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since a few days after you left!’
‘I don’t understand. Did you give him leave, as well as me?’
She bared her perfect teeth in a humourless grimace. ‘Your deputy saw fit to simply announce, by sending me a handwritten note, for God’s sake, that urgent personal business was calling him away. Apparently he’s gone to Italy. Something to do with his previous position in that damned museum. Loose ends, he mentioned in his note. He left me a note!’ she repeated, outraged. She glared accusingly at Arnold. ‘It’s time you got a grip on your staff, Arnold, and time you also stopped gallivanting around Europe and started doing the job you’re paid to do!’
He waited, silent. There was no point in remonstrating that she had given him permission, albeit reluctantly, to take some leave due to him.
She was staring at him, hostility shining in her eyes but there was something else that was nettling her, and he could guess what it was. ‘Of course,’ she murmured with steel in her tone, ‘it seems your job comes second these days, doesn’t it?’
She knew about it, then. They would have contacted her from London. He remained silent, waiting.
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her long legs and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’ve had a phone call from a certain Mr Hope-Brierley in Whitehall. It seems you have suddenly become a man of consequence, someone everyone wants a piece of. What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Arnold? Why wasn’t I informed earlier of all this nonsense?’
‘What nonsense exactly would that be?’ Arnold enquired.
She kept her temper admirably. ‘I’ve had this call from this pompous idiot in Whitehall who says that he has had discussions with you concerning your proposed membership of a committee in which your friend Carmela Cacciatore is involved.’
Arnold nodded carefully. ‘I met her a few days ago. In Albi, in France.’
‘I know where bloody Albi is,’ Karen snapped. ‘What I don’t know is what do you think you’re playing at? Hope-Brierley seems to think we’d be happy, indeed honoured that you, a member of our team up here should be chosen as a representative of the British Government on this bloody antiques-chasing operation. He seems to think you can simply drop everything here, just like that, and go shooting off to cuddle up with that bloody Cacciatore woman!’
‘It’s not quite like that,’ Arnold ventured. ‘The work they’re doing—’
‘He was talking of a year’s secondment,’ Karen cut him off. ‘I told him there was no way we could agree to that. There’s too much work to do here.’
‘I understand they’d pay my salary,’ Arnold muttered.
‘That’s not the point! We can’t spare you, not just like that and you know it! Especially with Spedding cavorting on the Continent as well!’
‘Spedding’s movements are nothing to do with me,’ Arnold said stiffly. ‘And while I agree things need to be sorted out here, I see no reason why I can’t be released from what is little more than a pen-pushing job as head of the department, and go to do something which would be far more interesting and in line with the kind of skills I have to offer, in view of my experience over years in the field.’
He had never been really able to determine the colour of Karen’s eyes. Now, as they widened in surprise at his effrontery, and she sat there staring at him, they seem to have darkened from what he sometimes thought was a deep hazel-green. ‘Are you telling me you really want to do this damned job? Become a member of this ISAC operation?’
He hesitated, then nodded.
She grimaced. ‘A year’s secondment, it’s just not on, Arnold.’
He remained silent and could almost feel the tension rising in her as the challenge hardened. ‘If you take up this appointment, even if it’s only for a year, I don’t think we could take you back in the department.’
The silence grew around them as their glances locked. A hint of uncertainty on her part was in the air and she was the first to look away when he made no response. She had been bluffing, Arnold guessed, and his silence had called the bluff. At last she sighed, calming down, shuffled some papers around in front of her. ‘All right. I’ve made my position clear enough. I don’t think you should give me an answer right now, and I’ve got other things to do. And there’s a pile of stuff on your desk that Spedding should have dealt with and you need to clear away today. Then …’ She hesitated, glanced up at him and sniffed. ‘You know where I live?’
‘Of course.’
‘Pick me up at seven-thirty. You’re going to take me to dinner and we’re going to talk this through like sensible adults….’
She kept him waiting for a few minutes only when he called at her flat in Gosforth. She told him to pour himself a drink while he finished preparing herself. ‘I’ve arranged for a taxi to pick us up in fifteen minutes,’ she explained, ‘so you’ve time for a quick drink.’
He poured himself a small whisky. She returned to the sitting room five minutes later and asked him to pour the same for her. She looked absolutely beautiful in a white knee-length dress and he was aware that she had clearly taken a deal of trouble over her appearance. ‘Will we be meeting someone else this evening?’ he asked.
She laughed. Her teeth were a perfect white against the deep red of her lips. ‘Not at all. The evening belongs to us, Arnold, just you and me. It’s about time we got together, just the two of us, to talk things over – before you go committing yourself to this bloody ridiculous jaunt in Europe.’
She had chosen the restaurant in Newcastle. It was not one Arnold knew, down near the Side. She had reserved a table in a low-lit corner of the room: the damask tablecloth was laid with precision, and the menu offered was expensive. ‘This is all on me, Arnold,’ she insisted, ‘so don’t look so alarmed.’
If this was intended to be a business meeting she was in no hurry to commence a conversation about the office. She seemed as light-hearted as he had ever seen her; indeed, he thought he had never seen her in such a mood. If there was a certain brittle nervousness in her laughter, a glint of uncertainty in her eyes from time to time he was unable to guess the cause. He found himself relaxing, enjoying the evening, appreciating her company, her wit, her laughter and her physical proximity. They talked of everything and nothing: there was little of consequence. They talked of past problems and indiscretions, and discussed some of the former colleagues who had now left the department. She teased him about one of them, in whom she had detected a certain leaning towards Arnold over the years they had worked together.
It was not until they had finished the meal, and were relaxing over coffee and brandies that her mood changed subtly. She seemed to be watching him in a curious way, and he suspected that she was about to come around to the real reason for their meeting.
‘Do you ever think back to that night at the hotel in Morpeth?’ she asked abruptly.
He was silent for a few moments. He stared at his brandy glass, frowning. It had been several years ago, after riotous demonstrations in the street outside the hotel had unnerved her, and she had asked him to stay with her. It was the only time they had ever become physically close, and the next day she had behaved as though nothing had happened. Slowly, he nodded. ‘Of course. There have been occasions … I always thought you’d dismissed it from your mind, perhaps regretting it had ever occurred.’
Her eyes held his glance. ‘Regret … perhaps. I’m not sure. But dismissal, no, I never dismissed it. I felt very vulnerable that evening. I needed … support. You provided it and … I have to admit I found it an enjoyable experience as well as a supportive one. But as for what I real
ly felt, I’m unable to tell you because I’ve never been able to come to terms with the occasion. We were colleagues, of course, and I was your boss.’ She smiled, almost cynically. ‘You are fully well aware, Arnold, that I use my sex as a weapon. I use it socially and in my work. But I don’t sleep around. And I’m fully aware that has caused certain rumours in the authority over the years … that I’m a lesbian, for instance. That’s mainly because of the advances I’ve turned down from councillors and others….’
He shrugged uneasily, not sure how he should respond. She sipped at her brandy. ‘And now you’re thinking of taking this secondment. You’ll be away for a year. I’ve thought it over, and I don’t feel I can stop you. You’ll be acting as a representative of a government department, it will be a feather in your cap, and I shouldn’t stand in your way. In fact, I’m not going to. I’ve thought it over and I shall be recommending that you obtain an immediate release.’
Arnold nodded. ‘I’m aware you’ve always seen me as something of a thorn in your side so I would have thought you’d be relieved to see the back of me.’
She shook her head and a wayward curl fell over one eye. She pushed it back, thoughtfully. ‘Thorn in the side … not exactly that, Arnold. Rather, you were always the competition for me. Something I could always sharpen my claws on. I’ve always been aware of your strengths and had to match them against mine. I admit it occasionally led me into mistaken positions, caused me to overreact, take up stances that were wrong … simply because I had to come out on top. I had to win. It’s what drove me. The competitive spirit. But I’ve never under-estimated you … and to tell the truth, I’ve needed you. Professionally, and perhaps personally.’
He was astonished, and must have shown it in his face. She smiled. ‘Time to come clean, isn’t it?’
‘Why? How do you mean?’
‘You’re going to leave us for a while. Spedding will do your job, of course – assuming the little rat is coming back at all after his flight to Rome! But somehow, in your absence, things won’t be quite the same.’
There would be no one to figuratively slam against the professional wall in an unreasonable temper, he thought, perhaps a little unjustly. Maybe she read the thought in her eyes. ‘No, I freely admit I will miss you, Arnold. And I’m left with the feeling that maybe you won’t come back, after the end of your secondment.’
‘It’s for a year.’
‘Maybe. We’ll see. Anyway, that’s really the reason behind this tête-à-tête. I’m not out to persuade you to turn down this opportunity. In your position, I would certainly have taken up the offer. Anyway …’ She turned her head, beckoned to the waiter and called for the bill. He came with alacrity. Karen always had that effect on waiters; indeed on men in general. ‘We’ll get a taxi up in Grey Street,’ she said. ‘We can walk up the hill to the cab rank.’
Outside the restaurant they turned into Dog Leap Stairs. It was a clear night, and if they had been in the Northumbrian hills Arnold guessed they would have been able to see a mass of stars; here in the city it was not possible. Surprisingly, she took his arm as they climbed the steep bank. He was aware of the pressure of her breast on his arm. There were taxis waiting outside the Theatre Royal. They sat in silence in the back of the cab as they returned to Gosforth, her thigh pressing lightly against his. She told him to pay off the taxi and escort her into the flat. He followed her silently. She invited him in, offered him a drink, a nightcap, and rather uneasily, he agreed. He wasn’t sure where this was leading and his stomach muscles were knotting.
She sat down, raised her glass in salute. ‘So, here’s to us, the couple that never were.’
‘I’m not quite sure what that means.’
‘We’ve worked well together, albeit somewhat stormily. But there was that one time when we were really ourselves.’ Her voice became suddenly throatier, tense. ‘I suppose, before you disappear to this committee of yours, I want to find out what really is … or could have been … between us.’
The knots in his stomach multiplied; he found it suddenly difficult to breathe. He had long desired Karen, he knew that, but it was a desire he had suppressed, not least after that one occasion in Morpeth. He had kept a tight rein on their relationship, allowing her to dictate its terms. And in a sense he was allowing her to do that again, even now. But he was not about to dispute the matter. Nevertheless, he forced himself to say, ‘You’ve already commented that you use your sex as a weapon. Are you doing it now?’
She laughed, a little uncertainly, and shook her head. ‘No. I thought about it. But this isn’t a matter of trying to persuade you to refuse this committee offer. Rather, it’s a recognition that I need to know something about myself. To discover what I really feel. What I could feel.’
‘You want me to stay the night.’
Her voice was a little unsteady. ‘It’s not an order, Arnold, but there’s a warm breeze blowing, as the song says, and I’d really like to be with you tonight….’
They slept little and spoke even less. Their lovemaking began intensely; later, it became more leisurely, explorative as they both sought to discover what the other desired. At six in the morning she rose and went to the kitchen to make some coffee. He lay in her bed, semi-comatose, trying to gauge his feelings, reviewing the evening before, and still feeling the touch of her body under his, aware of the perfume of her on the pillow, and wondering where the two of them could go from here.
He heard a buzzing sound, insistent. He lay there for a little while, uncertain, then realized it was his mobile phone. He rose, threw back the sheet covering him and rummaged in the pocket of his shirt, extracting the phone that continued to buzz at him like an angry hornet. He grimaced: he would have to change that bloody ring tone.
He pressed the control button.
‘Arnold? At last!’
He frowned. ‘Who is this?’
‘Carmela.’
‘It’s six in the morning!’
‘Later here. Arnold, you have heard from Whitehall? You will be joining us?’
Confused, he hesitated. He looked up. Karen was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, holding a small tray with two cups of coffee. She was naked. He felt a fresh surge in his loins as he took in the perfection of her body, the outlines of her thighs, the swell of her breasts.
‘Arnold? Are you still there? Do you hear me?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m sorry …’ He dragged his eyes away from Karen, and spoke quickly. ‘Yes, I’ve heard, and the answer is yes, but perhaps we can talk about this at some other time. Later today, maybe—’
‘Things have changed, Arnold! It is necessary that you come here immediately. We need you here at once.’
‘I don’t understand.’ His glance flicked back to Karen. She came forward quietly, placed the tray on the bedside table, and then sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him. He could see the long curve of her body, her narrow waist, the swell of her hips. ‘Can I not ring you back later?’ he said almost desperately.
‘Of course. But you need to know. We need to move quickly. Urgently. And you must be here.’
‘Why? What’s it all about?’ he asked, in growing frustration at the urgency in Carmela’s tone.
‘That man Steiner,’ she said. ‘The one we met at his villa….’
Karen had turned her head and was looking at him. Her eyes seemed almost green, her lips were slightly parted.
‘Steiner?’ Arnold murmured almost stupidly.
‘Peter Steiner, yes. He was going to give us information, documents…’
‘What about him?’
‘He is dead, Arnold.’
‘What? How—?’
‘Yesterday morning, he was murdered at his villa on the hill. I need you here, immediately.’
When he killed the call Karen was turning to him, handing him a cup of coffee. There was a glint of resignation in her eyes.
Chapter Three
1
THEY MET IN a private mansion in Montpellier, reputed to be
a house in which the king’s treasurer, Jacques Coeur, had lived in the fifteenth century. It was now owned by the Archaeological Society of Montpellier: the society administrators had carefully preserved the vaulted cellars and polychrome coffered ceilings which adorned some of the rooms dating from that period. On the ground floor was located a medieval room housing a collection of Romanesque sculpture including statuary from the Abbey of Fontaude, capitals from Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert and three ancient mounted inscriptions in Arabic. McMurtaghy was there to meet Carmela and Arnold in a small room at the top of the grand, three-flight staircase climbing to the majestic façade overlooking a courtyard with superimposed colonnades. But they were not there to admire the building. McMurtaghy got right down to business, questioning Arnold closely about the meeting he and Carmela had had with Peter Steiner. Carmela remained silent and watchful, listening closely to every word.
Arnold did not like McMurtaghy. He could not quite put his finger on the reason: perhaps it was the man’s brusque, forceful manner, or the dismissive way in which he seemed to react to Carmela, who was after all the chairperson of the ISAC group. But there was something else in addition: the man seemed to be driven by some inner force, a hard core of experience that Arnold suspected had not been developed in the world of antiquities. He had an occasional crude, almost demanding way of putting questions, and he seemed to regard with an in-built suspicion everything that he was told.
When he completed his interrogation of Arnold he leaned back in his chair, drained the now cool coffee that had been placed in front of him. Arnold glanced at Carmela in the silence which followed.
She frowned slightly. ‘Mr Murtaghy felt that it would be useful if he obtained your views and impressions regarding the interview we conducted with Peter Steiner at his villa.’ Something dark flickered in her eyes. ‘It was as a confirmation of what I had told him.’