Here Comes Charlie M

TWENTY-SEVEN

Edith opened the door without interest, looking dully out into the corridor. Then she saw Charlie and started back. She couldn’t make the words and so she just stood there, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Oh, Charlie … Charlie,’ she said and all the feelings of the previous days overflowed and she burst into tears.

He came into the room, holding his arms out to her and she clung to him so desperately that he could feel her fingers bruising into his back. He held her as tightly, stroking her hair and her shoulders, trying to calm her, but she couldn’t stop, huge sobs racking through her.

Her face muffled into his shoulder, she just kept repeating ‘Charlie, oh, Charlie’ and he felt her groping at him, needing the physical reassurance of his body.

‘It’s all right, Edith,’ he said, soothingly. ‘It’s over. All over.’

She wept on and Charlie let her cry, knowing she had to wash the fear and anxiety out of herself. She’d suffered far more than he had, he realised. But he’d make her forget, eventually. Certainly she’d never suffer again, he determined. Never.

Gently he moved her sideways, so they could both sit on the edge of the bed. The crying was becoming less hysterical, he recognised.

‘Over, Edith,’ he repeated. ‘All over.’

It still seemed a long time before she had recovered sufficiently to pull away from him. Her eyes were red and sore and her nose had run. Lovingly, he dried her face. The breath was still jumping unevenly through her, so that her shoulders kept shaking.

‘Please kiss me,’ she said.

Gently he leaned forward, putting his lips to hers, but when she tried to pull close to him, dragging his mouth towards her in a sudden frenzy, her breath caught again and she had to jerk away, gasping a mixture of laughter and fresh tears.

He put his hands out, holding her face, so she wouldn’t collapse.

‘Stop it,’ he said curtly. ‘Stop it, Edith.’

She bit against the emotion, lips tightly closed.

‘I’m all right now,’ she said, after a while. Still he held her, bringing her forward and lightly kissing her forehead.

‘I love you, Edith,’ he said.

She smiled up at him, remembering the promise.

‘I was so frightened, Charlie,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

He shook his head.

‘They made too many mistakes,’ he said.

‘You were lucky.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed seriously. ‘They reacted exactly as I thought they would.’

‘Let’s hide somewhere, Charlie. Somewhere they will never find us.’

‘We’ll hide,’ he said. ‘They’ll never get this close again.’

‘Charlie.’

‘What?’

‘Make love to me, Charlie. It’s been so long.’

Her breath didn’t catch and they kissed open-mouthed, trying at the same time to pull the clothes away from each other in urgent tugging movements. They couldn’t do it, so they parted briefly, clawing the covering away and then snatched, one for the other, falling back on to the dishevelled bed. The fear that Charlie had kept so tightly controlled surged through him, so that he shuddered as deeply as Edith had done when she’d first seen him and he clung desperately to her, needing the comfort of her body that she’d felt for his earlier. But not sexually, he realised, in sudden, horrified awareness. He crouched over her, flaccid and unresponsive, head buried into her shoulder.

‘I want to, Edith. I really want to.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Help me to do it.’

‘It won’t work, Charlie. Not now.’

‘Please.’

‘Later, Charlie. It will be better later.’

He toppled sideways, head still into her shoulder so that he couldn’t look at her.

‘Oh, God, I’m sorry,’ he said.

She lay, gently stroking his back. Conscious of how cold he was, she tugged the blanket over them. Because of the confused way they were lying, their legs protruded from the bottom.

‘I’m glad,’ she said.

He pulled slightly away, still not looking at her.

‘Glad?’he said.

‘Glad to know you were as scared as me.’

He burrowed into the blanket.

‘I was scared,’ he admitted, quietly. ‘Very scared.’

‘And now it’s over. For both of us,’ she reminded him.

He laughed, an uncertain sound.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘It was supposed to be me, comforting you,’ he said.

She pulled his head closer to her, so that his lips were near her breast.

‘We need each other very much, don’t we, Charlie?’ she said, happily.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘I’m glad you love me, Charlie.’

‘Even though I can’t prove it?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

It was growing warm beneath the blanket.

‘Your trousers are puddled on the floor,’ she said. ‘They’re going to be very creased.’

‘They usually are,’ he said, sleepily.

‘Yes,’ she remembered, ‘they usually are. Don’t ever alter, will you, Charlie?’

He grunted and she felt his breath deepening against her.

‘I love you so much,’ she said softly, knowing he couldn’t hear her. ‘I love you so much.’

She trailed a finger over his cheek, smiling as he twitched at the irritation. It was so good to have him back, she thought. Completely.

It was an hour before he awakened and because he was clinging to her she felt the momentary tightening of his body, until the awareness of where he was registered.

‘Hello again,’ he said, relaxing.

‘Hello.’

‘Forgiven me?’

‘I told you not to be silly.’

He pulled himself close to the warmth of her body.

‘It’s good to be with you,’ he said.

‘Don’t ever go away again?’

‘Never,’ he said.

‘Can we leave, straight away?’

He shook his head.

‘Get dressed and while we have a celebration meal I’ll tell you what else has to be done.’

‘Shall we eat here?’

‘Too early,’ he decided. ‘Let’s drive somewhere and then take pot luck.’

‘All right,’ she agreed immediately. He was like a schoolboy on the first day of a summer vacation with a five-pound note in his pocket, she thought, rising from the bed and spreading the blanket more fully over him. She knew he was watching her through the bathroom door and turned, smiling.

‘You’re beautiful, Edith,’ he said.

She grew serious, coming to the linking door.

‘It is going to be all right, from now on, isn’t it, Charlie? No more mistakes … no more running?’

‘No more mistakes,’ he guaranteed.

‘I don’t think I could go through it again,’ she said gravely.

‘I promise.’

As if suddenly reminded, Edith stopped, towel in hand, by a travelling bag. It was a large, soft leather case with a shoulder strap and sufficient space to carry anything a person might need on a long journey.

‘You’d better have these,’ she said, passing over the passports she had drawn from the Zürich bank.

She looked at him expectantly, but Charlie just leaned across the bed, putting them into his jacket pocket. Any conversation about new identities would only rekindle her fear, he decided.

‘Hurry,’ he urged her. ‘It’s going to be a great evening.’

Because the car was pointing in that direction, Charlie drove westwards.

‘You know,’ said Edith, ‘for the first time in weeks I feel safe.’

She reached across the tiny car, squeezing his hand.

‘So do I,’said Charlie.

It was an hour after they had left that Braley and the American team despatched by Onslow Smith arrived at the hotel, seeking Ruttgers. The man was still registered, agreed the receptionist. But he’d left the hotel. About an hour before. Why didn’t they wait?

Superintendent Law and the sergeant had risen to go, pausing in the hallway of Willoughby’s apartment.

‘It was good of you to see us at home, sir,’ said the superintendent.

‘You said it was urgent,’ Willoughby reminded them.

‘And you’ve no idea why there should be this strange business about the passport?’

Willoughby spread his hands at the question that had been asked already. He was beginning to perspire, he knew.

‘Absolutely none,’ he said. ‘We don’t actually check on a person’s birth certificate when they become associated with us.’

‘Perhaps you should, sir,’ said Law. ‘You couldn’t suggest where we might locate him?’

Again the underwriter made the gesture of helplessness. Another repeated question.

‘There was an address abroad … Switzerland …’

‘The Zürich police have already checked, on our behalf,’ said Hardiman. ‘There hasn’t been anyone at the apartment for several days.’

‘Then sorry, no,’ said Willoughby. So far, he knew he’d kept the concern from his voice. But it was becoming increasingly difficult.

‘You will tell us, the moment there is any contact, won’t you?’ said Law.

‘Of course,’ Willoughby agreed. ‘And I’d appreciate any news that you might get. I don’t like the thought of my being involved in something that could be questionable.’

‘We will,’ said Law, finally opening the door. He paused, looking back at the underwriter.

‘The moment there is any contact,’ he reiterated.

‘I understand,’ said Willoughby.

‘Well?’ demanded the superintendent, as they settled into the back of the car that had brought them from Brighton.

‘I don’t know,’ said Hardiman, reflectively. ‘According to the checks we asked the Fraud Squad to make, the firm is so straight you could draw lines by it.’

Law nodded.

‘Exactly the sort of screen you’ try to hide behind if you were a villain,’ said Law.

‘Exactly,’ agreed Hardiman. ‘But without the principals being aware of it.’

‘So we’re not much farther forward,’ said the superintendent.

‘What are we going to do?’

Law considered the question.

‘Request a meeting with the Chief Constable and if he’s agreeable, tomorrow call as big a press conference as possible and name our mystery man as someone to help in our inquiries. It will be the only way to bring him out.’

‘The only way,’ concurred Hardiman, dutifully.

John Packer was always ready to move at short notice; regarded it as part of being a professional. He’d been late learning of the Fabergé recovery, getting the first hint from a newspaper poster about a jewel haul and then confirming it from the car radio.

He’d approached the house cautiously, alert for any signs that the police were waiting for him. Satisfied, he hadn’t bothered to turn off the ignition while he collected his share of the Brighton and Mayfair bank robbery money from the concealed floor-mounted safe in the basement and packed a case.

He’d go north, he decided. He wasn’t known in Manchester and it was a big enough place in which to get lost. He was surprised that none of the reports had referred to arrests; he’d have to watch the newspapers closely for the next few days, to establish if he were safe, before attempting a quick flight to the Continent Amsterdam, he decided. Nice people in Amsterdam.

What had happened to the man with the star-shaped scar? he wondered. He must have been nicked, Pity. He’d been bloody good. Odd. But still good.