Spearfield's Daughter (26 page)

“Thanks for coming, Lord Cruze.”

Cameras were aimed, lights flared; but in tomorrow's papers they would look only like close friends, or employer and employee enjoying the best of labour relations. Jack winked at her, glad for his own sake that she hadn't made public their real relationship. “It's good to have you back with us, Cleo. You're all right?”

She nodded. “Both of us. Me and Tom Border.”

“
Good,” he said, but she noticed he didn't glance at Tom.

Then Roger Brisson came forward. In helmet and combat dress he looked dashing and formidable, a general who had just won a major battle. But Tom Border, standing to one side, still remembered the look on Brisson's face an hour earlier, when he had looked like a general who had surrendered rather than won.

“I must be going, Miss Spearfield. The police are going to escort you and Mr. Border back to Hamburg. It's their business, after all.”

“I'm glad you and your men were on hand, General. Thank your men, please. Especially that man in the tank who blew up the kitchen without hurting me or Mr. Border.” She had a woman's faith in the accuracy of weapons and that of the men who fired them.

“Yes,” said Roger and kept his face straight and sober. “I'm sorry you were subjected to all this. It was meant for General Thorpe and me, but you were the unfortunate substitutes. I don't know how we can compensate, but if there is any way . . .”

A year of your pay will do, plus your dividends, thought Tom. But no one was asking him. He was a
Courier
man, part of the family. But before he left, Roger did come across to him and shake his hand.

“You have a story now, Mr. Border. A big one.”

“May I say that you directed the rescue operation, General?”

“No,” said Roger, face straight again. “That would take credit away from the men responsible. Talk to Sergeant Knudsen.”

“I'll do that, sir. You'd still rather I didn't mention you?”

“Only if you have to, Mr. Border. Good luck. I hope the
Courier
gives you a bonus for what you've been through. It's quite a story.”

“I didn't do it for the story,” said Tom.

Roger knew when he'd said the wrong thing. “No. Well, good luck,” he said again, lost for words.

And he went off once more to the manoeuvres, turning his mind back to fighting the Russians. They were a diversion for generals as well as politicians.

A policeman came up and handed Cleo her handbag. “We found this in the rubble of the kitchen, Fräulein.”

It
was a crocodile-skin bag that Jack had given her. She brushed it free of grit and dust, opened it and took out the purse, compact and crocodile-skin wallet containing her passport and other papers: Jack had given her the compact and wallet. She found the St. Martin sisters' gift, the gold pen, at the bottom of the bag.

“Everything's here,” she said with some surprise.

“They weren't purse pinchers,” said Jack. “They were asking a quarter of a million pounds for you.”

“They undervalued you, sweetheart,” said Sylvester and put his arm round her again.

Going back to Hamburg in the Mercedes 600 that Jack had rented Sylvester and Cleo sat in the rear seat and Jack and Tom in the jump seats. Tom had hung back as everyone had got into the big car, but Cleo turned back and insisted that he ride with them. He sat beside Jack Cruze and could feel the Englishman's antagonism and suspicion as plainly as he had felt the kidnapper's pistol against his head in the other rented Mercedes three days ago. It was Sylvester, the politician, who knew how to melt the ice in an atmosphere.

“You both must be absolutely buggered.”

Cleo pressed his hand, smiled at Jack and Tom. “That's the standard of language in Canberra. They don't allow for any ambiguity.”

Tom said, “Buggered has several meanings where I come from.”

Like performers in a television sketch they all looked at Jack for his line, but he was contributing nothing. He was not dense to the situation, he knew the chatter was nothing more than a life-raft for their emotions. Soon a reaction would set in with Cleo and the American beside him, but he couldn't help them put it off. His own reaction had already occurred.

“Well—” said Sylvester, and for once was lost for further words. But the silence in the car was too stiff and after a while he said, “So the two fellers who kidnapped you are dead. What will they do about the girl?”

“They've taken her to some prison hospital.” Jack at last made his contribution, but his voice was awkward and a little harsh. He had two rivals in this car and that had never happened to him before, not for the affections of a woman.

“
Do they have the death sentence in Germany?” Cleo looked at Tom.

He shrugged. “I don't know. Right now I don't care.” He had never hated anyone until he met the girl who had tried to kill him and Cleo. “She deserves everything she gets.”

“That's right,” said Jack, but didn't look at him. Instead he looked at Cleo, wondering what he would have done if he had found her dead.

Cleo gazed at the two men who loved her, then turned to her father: his was the easiest love to bear. “Let's go straight back to London.”

“That would be nice, sweetheart. Unfortunately, you can't. The police want to interview you. I think you should have a good rest, see the coppers late this afternoon, then we'll have dinner tonight. We'll go back to London first thing tomorrow. That okay, Jack?”

“A good idea,” said Jack, but he wondered how soon he was going to have Cleo to himself.

“You'll have to excuse me,” said Tom. “I've got to file my story as soon as we get back to Hamburg. I'll see the cops after that, then I have to go down to Paris, to our bureau there. I'll take a rain-check on the dinner.” He looked at Cleo.

“I wish you'd stay,” she said, avoiding looking at Jack.

“Another time,” he said, and she heard the echo of her own voice. “I promise.”

The car drew up outside the Vier Jahreszeiten and Tom said goodbye to Sylvester and Jack with the stiff formality of a diplomat at a failed summit meeting. Then he said to Cleo, “How do you feel?”

“No swagger, none at all.”

“You'll get it back.”

Police had got out of the escorting cars; newspaper reporters and television cameramen had appeared like magicians' assistants, though without a puff of melodramatic smoke. A senior police officer spoke to Jack Cruze, naming a time when he wanted to see Cleo and Tom.

While Jack's attention was distracted, Cleo pressed Tom's hand and whispered, “Yes, another time. Call me.”

“Sure,” he said, but took his hand out of hers and gave it to Sylvester. “Take care of her, Mr. Spearfield.”

“I will,” said Sylvester, but already knew how difficult it was going to be.

Jack
came back into the small circle, hesitated, then put out his hand to Tom. “Good luck, Mr. Border. I hope they give your story the spread it deserves.”

“See they do the same for Cleo in the
Examiner
?” He couldn't bring himself to say
m'Lord
or
Your Lordship.
It wasn't just that he was an American. He was a rival in love.

He left them at once and went up into the hotel, as if he were the only one staying there and they were dropping him off. Cleo posed for more pictures, including some by the
Scope
cameramen, she was hugged and kissed and welcomed back by Roy Holden, then she and her father and Jack Cruze went up into the hotel. The manager himself took them up to their suites.

“I've moved you and Senator Spearfield, Lord Cruze. You now have three adjoining suites looking out on the lake. I'll put someone in the corridor to see that you are not disturbed.”

Cleo said, “Roy Holden will probably want to come up—”

“No,” said Jack with authority. “Nobody comes up.”

“That's right,” said Sylvester, but he realized he had no authority here, not even with his daughter.

The manager left and the three of them were alone. Cleo decided she was not going to sleep on the situation; it would be worse than a spiked mattress. Better that it was faced now than later. “You know about me and Jack, Dad?”

“Yes.”

It struck her that both men looked uncomfortable. Either she was too tired or she didn't care—she wasn't sure which—but for the present she felt no discomfort at all now that the subject was out into the open.

“Well, you'd have known sooner or later. I was going to tell you when you came to London.”

“I'd rather have found out that way.” He noticed that she did not ask if he approved—he guessed his disapproval was plain enough. “But you get some rest now. I'll see you at dinner.”

He kissed her and left, without another word to Jack. The latter had stood like a callow young suitor who had been told by a much older man that he was no longer welcome in his house. But when the door closed behind Sylvester he moved quickly to Cleo, took her in his arms and held her so tightly that she had difficulty in breathing. She didn't protest, aware of the emotion she could feel trembling inside him. But
she
wondered that there was no tremor in herself.

At last he let her go, though he kept his hands on her arms as he stood back from her. His eyes were glistening and he looked older than she had ever seen him look, old and exhausted. “The money was supposed to be picked up at seven-thirty this morning. When they didn't put in an appearance, I—” He let her go, took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes, “I felt like it was the end of everything. Then the police came and told us you were out there at that farm . . .”

Suddenly she, too, was exhausted. “Tell me about it at dinner, Jack. I'm worn out.”

“Of course.” He kissed her again, gently this time, holding her as if he thought she might crumble in his hand. “Sleep as long as you like. The police can wait.”

When he had gone she undressed and got into bed. She looked around the big room, comparing the luxury of it with the bedroom she had shared with Tom the past three days. Another time, she thought. She was crying when she fell asleep, not for the immediate past but for the future. Tom wouldn't call, she was sure of that.

II

She, Sylvester and Jack went back to London next day in the
Examiner's
plane. She had been interviewed by the police and told that she would be required to come back to Germany as a material witness when Rosa Fuchs was brought to trial; she had promised she would do so, but already she knew she would be looking for some way to avoid it when the time came. Now the danger was over, now that she and Tom had come out of it unharmed, she had no feelings at all towards the surviving kidnapper. She did not hate Rosa Fuchs nor did she feel any pity for her. Psychologists wrote that often a love-hate relationship grew between prisoners and their kidnappers; but that hadn't happened with her. Let the law take its course: she just wished she did not have to be a part of it.

The night before they left for home she had had dinner with her father and Jack and each of the men had done his best to keep the mood light, to shield her from the friction between them. She could see the strain in both of them and she knew it was not just a hangover from her kidnapping; but she didn't raise the subject of herself and Jack again, just divided her attention equally between him and Sylvester. She acted out her role as a journalist, saying she had to get all the facts for the story Quentin Massey-Folkes would be
waiting
for on her return to London. It was a role easier to play, for the couple of hours of the dinner, than daughter or mistress.

“The money was left in a suitcase in a locker at the main railway station,” Jack said. “It was an obvious place and the police had it staked out. But they were going to pick it up in the morning rush hour and the chap who phoned us told us that if their pick-up man was followed and arrested, you and Border would be—well, you know what they would have done. They were that sort.”

“The girl would have killed us,” said Cleo. “I don't know about Kurt Hauser—we didn't know him. The other one, Gerd Silber, I don't think he would have touched us. Were the police going to follow the pick-up man?”

“Yes,” said Sylvester, “but we talked them out of it. They were pretty reluctant, but I can see their point. There comes a time when you have to say no to these sort of ransom demands, I mean when they're terrorists like this lot. Only thing is, when it's someone of your own who's been kidnapped you don't care about law and order and justice and all that.”

“Did they ask the
New York Courier
for extra money for Tom? I'd just like to know if Mrs. Roux was as generous as you were for me, Jack.”

“She rang me and said she would put up half the money. I told her we'd talk about it after the event.”

“In the event, we saved you a quarter of a million quid. We'll let him pay for dinner, Dad.”

It was the only time during dinner when they all smiled at each other.

They went back to London and Sylvester moved in to stay with Cleo in her flat. He looked around at the furnishings, saw that they were much more luxurious than anything in the house back in Coogee; then he walked to the big window and looked out at Green Park, now a green and gold park in the autumn sunlight. She waited for him to say something.

At last he said, “You've got a beautiful view.”

“What does that mean? That that's all I've got?” She went and stood beside him, but they were looking at each other now rather than at the view. “What upsets you so much, Dad? That Jack's so rich or that he's so much older than me? Do you think I'm just a gold-digger?”

“I haven't heard that word since I was a kid. Are you?” Then she saw the pain in his face at his
own
remark. He turned away to look out of the window again. “I didn't mean that, sweetheart.”