A Devil is vaiting

FIVE

Later that day, Jack Kelly was on the corner of Park Lane and Curzon Street, walking down toward Shepherd Market, carrying a modest overnight bag. He had never visited this area before, and it fascinated him, the narrow streets, the wide variety of restaurants and shops.

He found Mary s Bower, two narrow windows, each featuring a painting, flanking a Georgian door with a brass knocker, a lovely hand-painted sign above with the name above a drooping mulberry over an empty sofa. He felt sad about that, realizing what the imagery meant, and stepped back into a doorway as it started to rain.

The truth was that he hadn t phoned Legrande, perhaps because of a fear of rejection, and yet he had come, which had to mean something. At that moment, the red velvet curtain behind the painting in the window to the left was pulled back and the Frenchman appeared.

Despite the years, it was undeniably the Henri Legrande who had meant so much in the life of Jack Kelly all those years ago. A little heavier, gray-haired, wearing steel-rimmed spectacles and a green apron. He made an adjustment to the painting on its easel, glanced up, and saw Kelly. He stood there, very still, then disappeared behind the curtain. A moment later, the door opened.

Kelly crossed over, and Legrande said, Jack, is it really you?

As ever was, Henri.

Legrande removed his spectacles, stuffed them into his apron pocket, hugged him, and kissed him on both cheeks. After all these years. Come in at once.

In the Victorian sitting room in the apartment above the shop, Kelly was amazed at the number of photos, not only of Mary but of Mary and Henri. Legrande found him examining them when he came in with champagne.

So she s still with you, Kelly said.

Always has been.

No room for another woman in your life.

Henri thumbed off the champagne cork and paused. Now and then. After all, a man needs a woman, but nothing serious. He raised his glass. To me and to you and all those other young bastards at Camp Fuad, most of whom are probably dead by now.

I can certainly think of a few Provos who are, Kelly told him.

Henri poured him another and they sat down. You were in the news when this peace process went through, Henri said.

There were lists of the prisoners pardoned. So you were serving five life sentences in the Maze Prison? A formidable record.

I never shot anyone who wasn t shooting at me first, Kelly said. We were fighting a war.

So what do you do now, how do you make a living? Henri reached for a second bottle and opened it. Get on with it I want to know it all.

So Kelly did, talking through the drink and while Henri Legrande sat there impassively, smoking one Gauloise after another, taking in everything, including the Talbot saga, which somehow merged seamlessly into the Al Qaeda connection.

There was a long silence when Kelly finished talking, and then Henri Legrande sighed and shook his head. You would appear to be in deep shite here, my friend isn t that what you say in Ulster? The situation seems plain. Either you sort out this General Ferguson and his people or Al Qaeda s merry men will hold you to account, and whatever they decide is bound to be unpleasant.

So what the hell do I do? Kelly asked.

You go and have a long hot shower and sober up. Henri checked his watch. I ve got to close the shop and make some calls, so you sort yourself out and we ll go and have a great dinner somewhere and decide on our next move later tonight. I m going to help you to get you out of this stupid mess you ve gotten yourself into. Who better than your old teacher?

For God s sake, Henri, I turn up out of the blue after all these years. Kelly shook his head. It s not right.

As it happens, it s exactly what I need.

Kelly frowned. What do you mean?

I ve got cancer, my friend, a bad one. I ve got six months at the most. He smiled. So you see, this will be as much for me as it is for you.

He turned and walked through the shop. Kelly stood there for a moment, then picked up his overnight bag and went in search of the spare bedroom.

The Gulfstream had landed, and its passengers were going their separate ways. Ferguson in his Daimler was dropping Harry Miller at his house in Dover Street. Dillon had his Mini Cooper, and Holley an Alfa Romeo Spider.

I m staying at the Dorchester, he said to Sara. Highfield Court is only just up the road, isn t it? I ll drop you off if you d like.

Why not? she said, and got in the Alfa.

Ferguson called: Take a break. We ll meet at noon on Thursday to take one last look at the security plans. That includes the RAF, he added as Parry and Lacey emerged from the Gulfstream.

No peace for the wicked, Squadron Leader Lacey said.

Stop moaning. You could be in Afghanistan, Holley told him.

All right for some people, getting to chauffeur good-looking women, Parry called.

Holley slid behind the wheel. Bloody flyboys.

He drove away, and Sara said, What have you got against pilots?

Not a thing. As it happens, I m one myself.

Is there no end to your talents?

Well, that remains to be seen, doesn t it?

Which for the moment shut her up, and he turned out onto the main road and headed for London.

She fiddled with his CD player and immediately found Sinatra belting out Night and Day. She joined in for a while, word perfect.

As it finished, Holley said, You like Cole Porter, then?

Love him. It s not just the music the lyrics stand up as poetry in their own right.

She tilted her seat a little and lay back, listening.

Holley said, Are you feeling reasonably happy about things now? I mean, Ferguson forcing you to join the team?

She glanced at him sharply. Are you worried about me?

Of course not.

She smiled. Oh yes, you are.

Worried about the hero of Abusan? Why would I be?

Instead of annoying her, the remark made her smile, but with a certain complacency. Poor Daniel, she said, turned up the volume, and started to hum along with Sinatra.

He left Park Lane at the Dorchester Hotel and drove along South Audley Street, turning right before Grosvenor Square into Highfield Court. It was a fine mid-Victorian property of four stories, standing back from the road so that there was no parking problem. He drove into the drive, got out of the Alfa, and retrieved her luggage.

Why don t you come in. I d like you to meet my grandfather.

She turned, walked to the door, and he followed, suddenly awkward. As she got her key out, he said, Look, you ve been away for some time. He ll be thrilled to see you. I ll just be intruding.

She turned to look at him, quite calm. Daniel, do you have a problem with me?

For a moment he was speechless, then he said, Look, Sara, what is this?

She prodded a finger into his chest. I d like you to meet my grandfather because I think you should.

And what s that supposed to mean?

You ll have to work that out for yourself.

As she turned, the door was opened by a comfortable-looking dark-haired woman who wore horn-rimmed spectacles and a green smock.

So you re back? she said. We wondered when to expect you. You ve never heard of the telephone? A great invention.

Sadie, I love you desperately. She gave the woman a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. I was in Arizona, the other end of the world. Is Granddad at home?

In the study. But he s going out this evening.

She was examining Holley as she spoke, and Sara said, Mrs. Cohen is our housekeeper, Daniel.

That the woman was running an eye over him made Holley feel foolish, standing there with a bag in each hand. He put them down.

A pleasure, Mrs. Cohen. He held out his hand.

She took it briefly, then turned to Sara. I ll bring you tea.

She moved down a wide corridor, obviously making for the kitchen area. They followed her for a moment, then Sara opened a large mahogany door to the left and led the way in.

The room was a relic from the past, a wonderful Victorian library, walls lined with mahogany paneling or bookshelves, a period fireplace, Turkish carpeting on the floor. Rabbi Nathan Gideon was seated at his desk in a swivel chair and turned around as they entered. He had the look of a scholar and wise man, but with the kind of face that seemed ready to break into a smile at any time. The fringe of gray beard suited him, and his unruly hair topped by a black velvet yarmulke somehow made him look quite dashing. So did the old black velvet smoking jacket he wore.

He flung his arms wide and stood to greet her, removing his reading glasses. My dearest girl, how wonderful to see you.

They hugged for a few moments. I love you so damn much, Granddad, she said fiercely.

Such language, he told her. You re bringing tears to my eyes. He took out a hanky to dab at them. What will your friend think?

That you re a lucky man to have such a beautiful granddaughter, Rabbi. Holley held out his hand. Daniel Holley. Sara and I are colleagues.

Is that so? Nathan Gideon led the way across to the fireplace, where two sofas faced each other across a glass coffee table. He sat down with Sara in one, Daniel facing them. The door opened and Sadie Cohen pushed in a trolley.

Do you also work at the Ministry of Defence, like that nice Major Roper who came to hear my sermon? the rabbi inquired.

Now and then, if I m needed, Holley said.

I m also in the shipping business.

But somehow a colleague of my granddaughter who s a captain in the Intelligence Corps. This I don t understand.

He accepted the cup of tea Sadie handed him, and Sara said,

The thing is, I won t be wearing the uniform much anymore.

Except if you have to go to the Palace to get your Military Cross, Holley said.

The news was received with astonishment, Sadie missing a cup entirely while pouring more tea.

The Military Cross? Nathan Gideon was amazed.

Sara, you never said a word.

I only just heard, she said. And it was totally unexpected. Frank, my sergeant, deserved it more.

I don t think he d agree, Holley told her. It was his account of your actions that night that led to you being put up for the award in the first place. He stood up. Look, sir, you re a sensible man and I get the impression that Mrs. Cohen is pretty smart, too, so please listen. Major Roper, Sara, myself, and a few other people work for a top secret intelligence unit, responsible only to the Prime Minister.

He turned to Sara inquiringly and she nodded in agreement.

What Daniel says is true, Granddad. But you know you can t say anything about this, right? Neither of you. It s under the Official Secrets Act.

Her grandfather gaped at her in astonishment as Sadie said,

So no more wars, no more Afghanistan?

Sara smiled and then said, Sadie, I d be perfectly happy if I never have to clap eyes on the place again.

So you will be living at home? That s good. Now, you get that tea down you, and I ll see to the trolley when you re finished.

She went out, and Nathan said, I d like to thank you for clearing the air about all this, Daniel. We all know where we stand now, and you can rely on me and Sadie to play our parts. He smiled mischievously. Such as they are.

Holley said, I ll get out of your way, because I know you must have a lot to talk about, and I know you re going out later.

That s true. A big fund-raiser with a speech, unfortunately. But I suspect we ll be seeing each other again.

They shook hands, and Holley followed Sara out to the hall.

He s a rather wonderful man, isn t he?

You could say that. And very special to me after what happened to my parents. His tie had loosened, and she reached up and adjusted it. Thanks for what you told him. It needed doing, and I didn t know how.

The rush of tenderness he felt at that moment was a totally new experience. He said to her, Doing things for you comes easy.

She went back along the corridor to the study. The door of the cloakroom opened and Sadie came out with towels. Still here?

Just leaving.

She nodded and moved closer. She s a lovely girl. Do anything to hurt her

Holley cut her off. I know, you ll kill me, he said cheerfully.

Just remember that.

Seeing Sara returning, she retreated into the cloakroom. Sara opened the front door, turned, and smiled at him. Seven-thirty okay with you?

Do you mean it?

Not too dressy. Somewhere interesting. Don t be late I m hungry.

She pushed him outside, shut the door and leaned against it, smiling as Sadie emerged from the cloakroom. So you re going out on a date with him?

I know what you re going to say. He isn t Jewish.

Why would I say that, and what does it matter as long as it s you having the kids? Sadie told her. As it happens, I like him, so there. She turned and went back to her kitchen.

The moment he was out of the shower, and sober, Jack Kelly lost no time in contacting Owen Rashid, who was delighted with the turn of events.

Legrande is obviously the right man for this, no question. Don t tell him you ve told me about his cancer. I don t think he d like that.

I ll keep that from him, then, Kelly said. But it will make that bastard Abu sit up and take notice. It should keep him off our backs for a while.

Let s make sure of that by getting things moving right away. I ll expect you at my apartment in half an hour. I d like to meet him.

He was immediately impressed with the Frenchman, who was everything he could have wished for. Rashid had been putting on his tie when they arrived, told them to help themselves to a drink, and found them enjoying a whiskey at the table by the open terrace window.

I ve been looking at your record, Henri, and I think you re the man for this job. Do you?

But certainly, Monsieur Rashid, or I wouldn t be here.

Owen reached for the red file and put it on the table. Every scrap of information Al Qaeda has on Ferguson and his people is in there.

The facts in here are all guaranteed, then? Legrande asked.

Yes. Unfortunately, we don t have an internal source in his organization, so we can t tell you what his intentions are.

It would be a miracle if you could with an old fox like Ferguson, Henri said.

Money is no problem, Owen said. Anything you need, you get. My people want him finished once and for all.

It will be my pleasure. Henri shook hands and led the way out.

Jean rang a couple of minutes later. I don t really feel like anything exotic tonight. Would you mind if we just go to that little Italian place at the end of Curzon Street?

Not at all, he said. We might as well walk. Not worth taking the car.

Fifteen minutes later, he was pressing the bell at her front door. She was out in a moment, wearing a French beret and a short navy blue bridge coat. He kissed her on the cheek, and she took his arm.

You look very Parisian tonight, he told her.

Most becoming. How are you?

I had students to see, end-of-term papers to discuss with other staff. Dammit, Owen, I m a painter, an artist, that s what it s all about.

I know that, he said.

This title I have, visiting professor in fine arts, sounds very prestigious, and I suppose it is for some people, but I couldn t care less. The only difference between me and my colleagues is that I m filthy rich. I feel guilty about that.

Don t be silly. I m in the same position when it comes to money. I haven t the slightest intention of feeling guilty about it. What else is new?

Just that Kelly s in town, she said.

You didn t mention he was coming.

I didn t know. It s happening in a hurry. He s needed to see my finance director at the firm about the estate accounts for some time, then he discovered that a man he was involved with in his wild youth, and thought was dead, is running an antiques shop in Shepherd Market.

By his wild youth do we mean his IRA days? Owen asked. You did tell me all about that, remember.

Yes, the friend is French, as I understand it. Anyway, I ve told Jack that under the circumstances he might as well make a bit of a holiday out of it. He s staying at this chap s place for a few days.

Well, there you are, then, Owen said, and a moment later, they reached the restaurant.

They sat in a corner booth, had a bottle of cheap red wine, and shared some lasagna and crunchy bread that was warm from the oven.

Over cognac he said, Kelly s IRA activity must have been a problem for you, with your son being an officer in the British Army. But when you had me over, it was heartwarming to discover the great affection the people in Kilmartin have for you.

You mean with their being IRA to the core and me a Protestant? All at once, she felt like unburdening herself.

I knew my son served in the SAS and I kept quiet about it. Kelly found out and lied for me, so that the villagers have never known of my guilt. They never knew that my wild son s madness resulted in his Al Qaeda connection, nor that he took his own life. She put a hand on his. So there you are lies, deceit, and enough wickedness to choke on.

None of this was new to him, but hearing it from her own mouth moved him deeply. He had been so sure that he had served merely as a substitute for the son she had lost so tragically, but realized now that the truth was rather different.

He paid the bill, and they walked up Curzon Street in silence, arm in arm. When they reached the house, she rummaged in her purse to find her key and he took it from her.

Let me, he said, and opened the door.

She turned to face him, trying to smile but in obvious distress.

So sorry, Owen, to unload all that garbage and guilt on you like that. I get so damn lonely. She was close to tears.

Just look at me, chairman of Talbot International, the woman who s got everything and nothing.

What nonsense. You ve got me, haven t you? He kissed her lightly on the mouth. That s better, isn t it?

As if not quite believing what he had done, she glanced up at him in astonishment and then smiled. Yes, it is, actually. Would you by any chance fancy a coffee before you go?

I thought you d never ask, he said, then stepped inside and closed the door.

On leaving Owen Rashid s apartment, Henri Legrande and Jack Kelly had returned to the antiques shop, where the Frenchman started to work his way through the file Rashid had given him. Leafing through it, he was immediately aware of the most recent addition, and he read it quickly.

Look what we have here, he said to Kelly.

Captain Sara Gideon just joined Ferguson s staff from the Intelligence Corps.

A nice-looking woman, Kelly said, examining Sara s photograph.

There s a damn sight more to her than good looks, Henri told him. Her military record is remarkable, and I know her grandfather by reputation, Rabbi Nathan Gideon. Very popular with the interfaith movement. Preaches all over the place, even in Christian churches. He s good I ve heard him.

So where would he fit in?

When she s not serving abroad, she lives with him. Since she was a passenger on that Gulfstream of Ferguson s that just got in from New York, I think we can assume she s with him now.

Do you want to take a look?

Why not? I ll need to check where all Ferguson s people live, but she ll do for a start. We ll take my car.

Twenty minutes later, he was behind the wheel of his small and battered Citro n van, Kelly beside him, observing Highfield Court, when the Alfa Romeo Spider turned into the drive.

Now, there s a nice car, Kelly said, and then Holley got out and approached the front door. It s Daniel Holley. I know the bastard well. Sean Dillon s friend. Top Provos in their day, but damn traitors now.

The door opened and Sara Gideon appeared, Sadie behind her. She looked very striking, the red hair contrasting vividly with a bomber jacket, shirt, and loose leggings in black raw silk.

Sadie said, Don t let it go to your head, but you look fantastic.

Well, he s not looking too bad himself, is he? Sara nodded to Daniel, standing by the Alfa in a leather flying jacket and jeans.

For an older guy, Sadie told her.

Don t be boring. Sara kissed her on the cheek. Go and check us out on your tarot cards or something. She went down the steps and said to Holley,

You re looking very sharp. Love the jacket.

I told you I was a pilot. He handed her into the Alfa and slid behind the wheel. For someone who said not too dressy, you look amazing.

Thank you, Daniel, but the other thing I stipulated was somewhere interesting, so what s it to be?

You ve got to meet Harry and Billy Salter sometime, so I thought we d combine business with pleasure and visit the Dark Man down on Cable Wharf at Wapping. That s Harry s pub.

Well, that sounds fun, she said as they drove away.

The Citro n went after them, and Kelly said, What are we going to do?

Who knows? Henri told him. We ll just hang in there and see where they go.