The Tide Can't Wait (7 page)

“Not to me you don't,” Portia answered. “I'd hate to dress and I'm much too lazy.” With a casual wave, she left them, not bothering to say good-bye. Barr's glance followed her until she was through the door and out of sight.

“A nice girl,” he said. “And very talented.”

“I liked her from the first moment,” Lenny answered.

Something was coming now, she thought. The introduction, the offer of dinner, everything had been done very smoothly, just as Portia had left them alone together smoothly. Lenny was very clearly aware of the pattern, just as she was aware that although Rob Barr was smiling, his eyes were not. They were on her face, watchful, waiting.

Lenny sat before her window and looked over the bright morning sparkling on the waters of the cove. Mrs. Doddsby had wakened her earlier than she liked—she had read until well past midnight—but the lavish breakfast had mollified her and now she relaxed by the window, finishing her tea and smoking a cigarette.

She had slept hard and well.

What had happened to her? Last night she had sat quite calmly with Rob Barr, sure that he was someone connected with this affair, listening to his casual chatter, and all the time feeling those watchful, waiting eyes on her. She discovered herself as afraid of him as she was of Leon, and yet after dinner she had been able to retire to her room, read a book sedately and then sleep as soundly as a small child.

She sat looking at Portia Sloane's cottage, now and then bending to one side so that she could see the front half of Barr's place. She had watched it last night after lights had come on there. She had seen him leave, lighted by his momentarily opened doorway, disappear into darkness and then appear again, silhouetted against Portia's windows as he crossed in front of them. She could not doubt his involvement, nor Portia's. And yet she now found herself taking a strange pleasure in the whole affair.

Even knowing that there was a deadly core at the center of it all, true danger in the frightening sense of the word, she did not want to change it.

They had picked on her because she was involved with Leon—true. But they had also picked on her because they thought her what she appeared on the surface—a not too unattractive but rather quiet and shy schoolteacher, someone easy to handle. Well, she would show them. They wanted her as a—what was the word?—stooge. Yes, a fall guy.

She was supposed to do the really dangerous work. The Chief had said so. And his men here could slip into her hotel room and give orders—unless Stark really was the Chief's man, nothing made sense—and they could try to protect themselves by not telling her whether Portia Sloane worked for Leon or for them, because the less she knew, the more they thought they could count on her. And then they sent along a man like the one who called himself Rob Barr—he must be their man because she couldn't connect his type with the sort of thing that Leon did….

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Doddsby called, “Miss Corey, there's a young gentleman downstairs said to send his compliments and his name is Price.”

Lenny said, “Damn!” and then louder, “Tell him to wait, Mrs. Doddsby. Tell him to have a pot of tea or something.”

Lenny rose and closed the windows, getting ready to dress. Tommy, of all people. She said, “Damn!” again.

How in heaven's name had he found her? She had felt beastly when, leaving London, she had deliberately instructed the hotel not to tell anyone her forwarding address. It was not that she disliked Tommy—she really liked him a great deal and was very grateful for his having met her—but because of the situation, she felt it would be unfair to involve him in it. And, knowing Tommy, she was sure he would bumble about, either involving himself or causing her to make a hash of her own part.

But now he had shown up again. Probably, she thought, filled with those idiotic ideas of how she should occupy her time—with the aid of Tommy Price.

As she dressed, she tried to concentrate on the real problem. She felt a strong sense of urgency. There was no time to waste. She had to learn more about Portia and about Rob Barr and then she had to contact Leon and do something—maneuver him into a position where he would really tell her something. The procedure was obvious.

But first, she had to do something about Tommy Price.

• • •

Barr was eating breakfast when there was a knock at the back door. Dropping a small gun into the pocket of the robe he wore over shirt and slacks, he went to answer it.

“Yes?”

“Milk delivery, Guv'ner.”

“I didn't order any …” He stopped, stepped forward, and snapped the latch. “Come on in.”

An apparition appeared, nipped inside and shut the door swiftly. It was a small man, not much over five-six, wearing a pair of coveralls that smelled of sour milk and bad cheese and on his head a cloth cap pulled down so far that his ears stuck out sideways. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth and in his hand he carried a rack with four pint bottles of milk. He had a beak of a nose between beady black eyes and a slit of a mouth that barely moved when he talked. This was Johnny Griggs.

“Like my disguise, Guv'ner? Here, ‘ave a bottle of milk for yer tea.”

Barr watched him put the milk in the icebox. “I thought you were in London, working.”

Griggs took his cigarette from the corner of his mouth and dropped it into an ash tray. “Got another cup of that tea, Guv'ner? I
am
working. Johnny on the spot. Fits my nyme, see. ‘Ere, I'll get my own cup.”

Barr shook his head, always fascinated by the ebb and flow of the Griggs accent. Barr went into the living room, Johnny Griggs and a strong effluvia of cheese following him. “Sit down,” Barr said.

He did not ask questions; experience had taught him that Griggs did everything in a hurry except answer questions. He had once explained to Barr that he had known so many policemen he was allergic to questions.

A half-cup of tea and another cigarette disappeared. Then Griggs said, “No point in my watching poor old ‘Elgos no more, Guv.”

Barr felt the familiar churning sensation in his stomach. “Dead?”

“Clean. Eliminated. One shot with a silenced gun. The coppers'll find ‘im when they get around to digging up a certain piece of woods north of London.”

“You saw it?”

“I wasn't ten feet to the side. I watched every bloody spadeful of dirt come up and go back down. Saw it with my own eyes.”

“Who?” Barr asked.

Griggs poured himself the remainder of the tea and helped himself to Barr's box of cigarettes. “You said look for a rugged blond man, didn't you? Yer very words, Guv'ner. And where did ‘Elgos go nipping about London on the tube like he had a tourist's pass? Right into Mayfair, right to our chum's flat, that's where.” He sucked up the tea noisily. “'Elgos knocked our chum up about ten last night. By two this morning, ‘e was planted neat as you'd want.”

Barr felt the churning come again and the adrenalin of excitement took him in long strides about the room. “Who, damn it?”

“Now, don't push a man. I got it all. American name of Price. Tom Price. Only ‘e ayn't American. Just his passport is. ‘E's down ‘ere right now at the Dragon's Head Inn. I was there and saw ‘im tyking tea soft as you please.”

“Here? What the devil is he doing here?”

“Woman, what you think? ‘E asked the old lydy there to go and knock up someone called Lenore Corey. Seems like ‘e's a special chum of ‘ers, the way ‘e talks.”

Barr stood motionless. This was something he hadn't counted on.

• • •

Lenny found Tommy Price standing at the closed bar, drinking a cup of tea and chatting with Doddsby, who was polishing glasses. Tommy set down his teacup and turned as she reached the bottom step.

“Lenny, my love, you look ravishing. And clean, too.”

Lenny had to laugh. Tommy was still Tommy, whether in San Francisco or England. Eluding his outstretched hands, she rose on tiptoe and gave him a brief kiss. It was a wholly spontaneous action; she had not realized that seeing him would make her feel so differently from the way she had only moments before.

“Well,” he said, his pale eyes wide, “when they greet old T. Price with a kiss, it means they're homesick already.”

“I'm just glad to see you. How went business, and why didn't you call me up?”

He grinned wickedly. “Maybe I should stay away twice as long next time. And the business was really that. Besides, there are some things about London one should only do and see alone.”

“Thanks for the consideration,” she said.

His grin remained. “This is the
bon vivant
talking, you know. I am one, by the way. I'm living it up even if Uncle Harry is no longer supporting me directly. Come and have a cup of tea. I can't pry anything stronger out of our good boniface here until opening time.”

Like Portia, he jumped from subject to subject without warning when he rambled, Lenny thought. “Nothing, thanks. I just had breakfast.”

“Then we'll take a walk. Whistle when the pub is open, captain.” Taking her hand, Tommy Price led her to the door and out into the bright sunshine.

“Race you to that driftwood and back.”

“On these heels?” Lenny swept a hand down, indicating the green, full cotton skirt that swirled as she took a step, and the matching green pumps she had put on because she liked her legs better in heels. “And who is Uncle Harry?”

“The man who had a favorite nephew,” Tommy said. He grinned down at her. “He kept me in funds, lo, these many years—probably so I wouldn't come and live with him. Then he decided to die—at a ripely satisfactory age—and he left me quantities of stocks and other things that keep giving birth to dividends.”

Lenny shook her head. She could see his imposing Bentley sports coupé parked where Barr's Riley had been last night. Nothing but the best for T. Price, he had always said.

“Tell me what you're doing here.” They both said it together and laughed. Tommy said, “I'll talk if you'll come for a ride with me. On a day like this, the air calls for laughter and cheer, quantities of wine, dancing and singing in the meadow.”

She hesitated, but Tommy's grip on her arm, steering her toward the car, was insistent. Perhaps this would be the quickest way to get rid of Tommy, she told herself.

“I'm a working girl, remember,” she said. She slid into the luxurious interior and waited until he came around and got beneath the wheel. “I have to be serious part of my day.”

“Have to make up for lost time,” he said. He started the car, backed around and went smoothly up the gravel to the village. As they turned, Lenny could see the back of the inn and a bit of the bay between it and the headland that bore the cottages. She thought she recognized Barr coming from his cottage. He was trotting down toward the inn. Then he stopped and shaded his eyes as though looking after them.

The big Bentley turned again, blotting out her view. It snaked silently past the church and onto the open road. Lenny turned to look ahead.

“How in heaven's name did you ever find me?” she demanded. “I left instructions at the hotel not to give out my address.”

“That's the effect old T. Price has on ‘em,” he said with a rueful side glance at her. “But hotels aren't immune to extra cash; at least underpaid clerks aren't. And by convincing a certain one that I was your deserted husband, I got your address here.”

“Tommy—not really!”

“The deserted part is true,” he said with mock-heaviness. “Why did you turn from the fleshpots so soon?”

“There's a little church here,” she said. Somehow, although she had known the question would come, she wasn't quite prepared for it. “And Leon was busy and …”

The car slowed and his head swiveled toward her. “Leon is here?”

She remembered now that she had deliberately not mentioned Leon before. “You didn't know?”

The car picked up speed again. “Hell no, or I'd have looked the old rake up. He was the one you were really looking for at the airport then?”

“No,” she admitted. “You know Leon wouldn't get up that early. I saw him in the evening.”

There was a strain between them. She could feel it in the silence that fell. Tommy broke it. “So things have happened?”

“What do you mean by that?” She said it quickly, too quickly.

“Now don't go getting scratchy with Uncle T., honey. It's just that you don't sound quite the same now when you say ‘Leon.' There's no smoke of passion coming out with the word.”

“Tommy!”

He was not at all gay now. “This is the day I've been waiting for, and I'm bumbling again, as usual.”

She put a hand on his arm. “You're very sweet, Tommy.”

He was grinning again, apparently having thrown aside his brief mood. “Yep, I'm the guy they coined the phrase ‘I love him like a brother' for. But on to more cheerful things. How goes the work?”

That was easier. Lenny leaned back, letting the warm air flow over her, enjoying the leisurely ride that took them now along the coast, now inland through groves of trees, through tiny villages, across rolling stretches of farmland and pasture.

Tommy Price could talk well when he wished, and before she knew it, Lenny found lunchtime had come. Tommy swung the car from the highway; wound down a gravel road and then onto a dirt track that deposited them in a thick forest of beech and oak.

“Robin Hood's hangout,” he said. “A little to the south, but I swear it looks just like it. Come on, fair Maid Marian, and gnaw a haunch of venison with old Friar Tuck.”

Reaching behind the seat, he produced a great hamper that he carried easily in one large hand. She scooped up a car robe and they walked along through a grove of trees to where a rivulet of water was partially dammed by a fallen log, making a small pond. Tommy spread the robe on sun-dappled grass nearby and deposited the hamper in the middle.