Midnight Never Comes

3

Chavasse came awake easily from a deep dreamless sleep, aware at once of pale evening sunlight filtering in through the curtained window. He was alone and he turned to touch the pillow beside him for a moment before throwing back the single sheet which covered him. He padded across to the window and looked out through half-drawn curtains to the green vista of Hyde Park on the other side of Knightsbridge.

It was a beautiful evening, a slight breeze stirring the branches of the trees, sunlight glinting on the waters of the Serpentine in the distance and he turned and moved across to the wardrobe feeling calm and relaxed, alive and whole again.

His eyes sparkled, his head was clear and the slight ache in the pit of his stomach had one cause only-honest hunger. He stood in front of the dressing-table mirror and examined himself in the same slightly incredulous manner that had become something of a habit with him during the past three months. He looked younger, fitter in every way. The angry weal of the knife scar had faded into a thin white line and there was flesh on his bones again.

He could hear the sound of running water from the bathroom and when he opened the door, Su-yin was standing in the glass shower stall, her face turned up in ecstasy, hot water cascading over her shoulders and breasts, steam curling from the warm flesh.

She turned with a gay smile, gasping for breath. 'So you're awake at last.'

'No thanks to you. Why didn't you give me a shake?'

'You looked so peaceful, just like a baby.'

He grinned. 'Want me to scrub your back?'

'Not likely, you've caught me that way before and I'm supposed to be at the restaurant by nine o'clock.'

'But I thought we were having dinner together?'

She shook her head. 'Not tonight, Paul. Don't forget I have a business to run.' She smiled and dismissed him with a wave of one graceful hand. 'I shan't be long. Go and do one of your exercises or something.'

He closed the door and went back into his bedroom. It was cool and rather pleasant with the faint evening sunlight falling across the Indian carpet, bringing the colours vividly to life and the traffic outside sounded muted and unreal as if it was coming from another world.

He could almost hear the silence and stood there for a moment, relaxing completely, remembering the lines of the ancient Taoist verse that Yuan Tao had constantly repeated to him.

'In motion, be like water

At rest, like a mirror

Respond, like the echo

Be subtle as though non-existent.'

The ability to relax completely-this was the most important gift of all, a faculty retained by all other animals except Man. And cultivated, it could be the well-spring of a power that at times could be positively superhuman, for out of the quiet places, created by rigorous discipline and a system of training more than a thousand years old, sprang that intrinsic energy which the Chinese had named ch'i. The life force which in repose gave a man the pliability of a child and in action the explosive power of a tiger.

He sat down on the floor, relaxing completely, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth slowly. He closed his eyes and covered his right ear with his left hand. He varied this after five minutes by covering his left ear with his right hand and after a further five minutes, covered both ears, arms crossed.

The darkness enfolded him like velvet and when he finally opened his eyes and straightened, his mouth was sharply cool, the tongue rigid. He took a long shuddering breath and stared into the shaft of sunlight from the window without blinking. When he got to his feet and walked to the wardrobe, his limbs seemed to be filled with power.

If he had gone to Mallory or anyone else and had spoken of this three months ago after his first meeting with Yuan Tao, they would have smiled pityingly. And yet the result was visible for all to see. A hand that no longer trembled, a clear eye and the kind of strength he would never have believed possible.

He took out an old tracksuit and as he pulled it on, Su-yin came in from the bathroom. She wore slacks and a Spanish shirt in vivid orange tied at the waist. Her dark hair swung loosely to her shoulders, framing the calm, beautiful face.

'You look pleased with yourself,' she said. 'Any special reason?'

He grinned. 'I've spent the afternoon in bed with a supremely beautiful woman and I still feel like Samson. That's reason enough.'

She started to laugh helplessly. 'Oh, Paul, you're quite hopeless. Ring for a taxi, will you? I'm going to be late.'

He phoned the porter quickly, replaced the receiver and moved towards her. 'You're not going until you agree to have dinner with me later. They can't need you all night. We could eat late and catch the midnight show at Twenty-one.'

He pulled her close and she sighed. 'It's quite impossible, I assure you.'

'Then I shan't let you go.'

He swung her up into his arms and carried her across to the bed. There was a brief struggle, punctuated by laughter and then his mouth found hers and they kissed.

She drew away with a sigh and looked up at him as he leaned over her. 'You're so different, so very different. Are you happy, Paul?'

'In spades. Thanks to Yuan Tao and you.'

'You have missed him since he returned to Hong Kong?'

'A great deal.'

'And would you miss me as much?'

He stopped smiling and sat up at once, frowning slightly. 'What is it? What's happened?'

'I'm going home, Paul,' she said simply.

'To Hong Kong?'

'That's right. I had a letter from my uncle this morning. My sister and her husband are opening a night club on Repulse Bay. They need me to help things get started.'

'What about the Red Dragon?'

She shrugged. 'It can continue quite adequately under management. I came to England for the experience, Paul, nothing more.'

'And what about me?'

'What are you trying to say? That you are in love with me?'

Chavasse hesitated, staring down at her and she shook her head. 'No, Paul, we've had a lot of fun together, but now it's time for me to go home.'

He took one of her hands and held it tight. 'It's going to take a little getting used to.'

She stood up. 'It'll take me two or three weeks to arrange things. This isn't the end.'

But she was wrong, they were both conscious of that as they went down in the lift and from now on, every meeting, every kiss would be coloured by the fact of her going.

They passed the porter at his desk and moved out through the swing doors. The taxi was waiting at the kerbside and Su-yin paused on top of the steps, a hand on his sleeve.

'No need to come down, Paul.' She kissed him briefly. 'You'll call me?'

'Of course.'

But he wouldn't, not again. He knew that suddenly and she knew it too, he could tell by the way she paused before getting into the taxi, turning to look up at him as if she was aware that it was for the last time, one hand raised in a brief little gesture that carried its own finality.

He was in the shower when the door-bell rang. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and padded across to the front door, leaving damp footprints on the parquet floor.

When he opened the door a maid stood there wearing a blue nylon overall that was obligatory for all female staff. She was young and rather pretty with dark brown hair and hazel eyes.

'Mr. Chavasse, sir?' she said enquiringly, 'I've come to change the bed linen.'

'It's a hell of a funny time for that, isn't it?' Chavasse said.

'It should have been taken care of this afternoon, sir, but I believe you left word that you weren't to be disturbed.'

He grinned suddenly. 'I was forgetting. You're new, aren't you?'

She moved past him into the flat and nodded. 'That's right, sir.'

Chavasse closed the door. 'And what might your name be?'

'Peggy, sir.'

She had a faint Irish accent and smiled, colour staining her cheeks. Chavasse was suddenly aware of his nakedness and grinned. 'Sony, but you caught me in the shower. I'll leave you to it.'

He returned to the bathroom and stepped back into the shower. His stomach was aching for food and he faced the rest of the evening with pleasant anticipation, wondering where to eat, going over the possible choices one after the other in his mind.

He turned off the shower, stepped out of the stall and was at once aware of a strange sound in the living-room. He paused, frowning, then wrapped a towel about his waist and went through quickly.

Peggy was in the act of closing the front door and in the centre of the room stood a large laundry basket on rubber wheels. She turned and catching sight of Chavasse, smiled.

'Oh, there you are, sir.'

Chavasse nodded at the basket. 'What on earth's that thing doing in here?'

'The basket, sir?' She smiled and put a hand on it. 'Oh, the basket's for you, sir.'

The man who stepped in from the bedroom was of medium height and at least fifty with a kindly, wrinkled face. He wore white overalls and carried a Webley with a silencer fitted to the end of the barrel.

'Just lie down on the couch, hands behind your head, sir,' he said briskly.

'For God's sake,' Chavasse said. 'What is this?'

Peggy produced a flat black case from one pocket of her overalls. She opened it, took out a hypodermic and primed it briskly.

'Much better to do as he says, Mr. Chavasse.'

Chavasse took another look at the Webley and lay down on the couch. She came close, bending over him so close that for a moment he was aware of her perfume and then she pulled the towel away with a quick gesture and he felt the needle enter his right buttock.

Whatever it was, it was good, he had to give them that. It had roughly the effect of a rather soft blow from a hammer and he dived into dark waters.

He drifted up from a well of darkness and something exploded inside his head as a hand slapped him across the face. He felt no pain, that was the extraordinary thing. It was as if his body no longer belonged to him. Each sound seemed to come from somewhere in the middle distance and yet he could hear everything with the most astonishing clarity.

He opened his eyes slowly. The room was festooned with giant grey cobwebs that stretched from one wall to the other, and undulated slowly. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, fighting back the panic that rose inside him. When he opened them again, the cobwebs had almost disappeared.

He was lying on a single bed against one wall of a large, square room. A shaded light hung down from the ceiling and curtains were drawn across the window. The only other furniture was a small table and a single chair which stood in the centre of the room.

Peggy, the Irish girl, was deep in conversation with a large man in an ill-fitting blue suit whose snow-white hair was close-cropped to the skull. They were speaking in Russian, and the girl's accent, while not wholly perfect to the trained ear, was still extremely good. The man was obviously Russian born, Georgian from the sound of him. Another man stood at the open door. He was of medium height, but heavily built with fair hair and an impassive face. He wore a neat white jacket of the type affected by medical orderlies in hospitals.

'You're sure he's all right?' the man in the blue suit said. 'Eight hours is a long time.'

'There's nothing to worry about,' the girl said. 'The dose was an exact one. There are individual variations in response, that's all. He could be out for another hour or two.'

'He must receive further sedation for the flight. We don't want any trouble.'

She nodded. 'It'll be taken care of. When will the plane leave?'

'I'm not sure. This damned fog might make things difficult and the pilot can't leave the airport without an official clearance. Whatever happens, his touchdown here can't last for longer than five minutes. We should be ready to go at any time during the next three hours.'

'I'll see to it,' she said.

He went out and she turned and walked across to the bed, immediately aware of Chavasse's fixed stare. She looked down at him calmly. 'So you're awake at last, are you? How do you feel?'

He moistened dry lips and managed a smile. 'Terrible.'

'A little coffee will soon fix that.' She spoke to the man at the door. 'See to it, Karl.'

He went out and the girl sat on the edge of the table and crossed one slim leg over the other. She was wearing a hip-length suede jacket and a neat skirt in Donegal tweed and, in any other circumstances, would have struck him as being extremely attractive.

Chavasse pushed himself up, discovering in the same moment that he was wearing his old tracksuit. Peggy immediately produced a Walther.32 from her pocket and held it in her lap. 'Just relax, Mr. Chavasse.'

'You know, you're good,' Chavasse said. 'Very good. A Dublin accent, suspiciously good Russian and legs to thank God for.'

She grinned. 'Flattery will get you nowhere.'

'One thing does puzzle me. What's a County Cork girl doing mixed up in a thing like this?'

'Wexford,' she said. 'And if you're interested, my father served ten years in an English prison for daring to fight for what he believed in.'

'Oh, no,' Chavasse groaned. 'Not that again.'

At that moment, an unearthly scream sounded from some lower floor and someone started to kick a door repeatedly.

He smiled brightly. 'What is this, a zoo?'

'It depends on your point of view,' she said. 'Most people come here for a rest cure.'

'Who for, their relatives?'

'Something like that. You could scream the place down and nobody would take the slightest notice.'

'Isn't that nice? This plane we're waiting for? Where's it taking me?'

'To visit some old friends of yours. They seem to think you may be able to help them in your retirement.'

'So from your point of view this is a strictly commercial proposition?'

'Exactly.' She got to her feet as Karl came back into the room with a tray. 'I must say I'm glad I was paid in advance. You don't strike me as being much of a bargain, Mr. Chavasse.'

Karl moved back to the door and she poured coffee into a blue mug. 'Would you like cream?'

'No, better make it black.'

She handed the mug to him and turned to Karl. 'You can take the tray away.'

In that single brief moment in which neither of them was looking at him, Chavasse poured his coffee into the space between the edge of the bed and the wall. When the girl turned to face him again, he was holding the empty mug to his mouth.

There was a sudden glint of amusement in her eyes that told him he had been right to be cautious. He pretended to drain the mug and leaned back, shaking his head from side to side as if suddenly drowsy.

As he closed his eyes, she chuckled. 'That's right, Mr. Chavasse. Just drift with the tide.'

Chavasse pushed himself up, allowing the mug to roll off the bed on to the floor, then fell back, head lolling to one side. He was aware of her cautious approach to the bed and schooled himself to take the sudden heavy slap across the face without flinching.

A step sounded in the doorway and the Russian spoke, sounding a little out of breath as if he had climbed the stairs too quickly. 'Karl told me he was awake.'

'Not any more,' Peggy said. 'He's just had a cup of black coffee laced with chloral hydrate. He'll be out for hours.'

'You're sure he'll be all right? He's of no use to us dead, you know.'

'You worry too much. Personally, I feel like an early breakfast. It's been a long night.'

They moved to the door. It closed and Chavasse heard two bolts rammed home and then a key turned in the lock. He swung his legs to the floor, sat there for a moment and then got to his feet.

The strange thing was that he felt no ill-effects at all except for a fierce hunger that gnawed at his empty belly as he moved to the door and listened. The voices faded away as though the two of them were descending a flight of stairs and then there was silence.

There was little point in wasting time on the door and he moved across to the window and pulled back the curtains. It was of the old-fashioned sash type and heavily barred. Rain drummed against the dirty glass and fifty or sixty feet below, a stone courtyard and outbuildings gleamed palely through the grey dawn. Beyond, rolling parkland was shrouded in a heavy, clinging mist.

He turned away and from somewhere in the depths of the building, a patient cried aloud, drumming on the door of his room and the sound was taken up by another and yet another, ugly and menacing.

The door was out and so was the window which left the floor or the roof. One thing was certain. Whatever he did had to be done quickly. He would certainly get no second chance.

He moved back to the window, crouched down and looked up and could just see a heavy iron gutter which at least proved that the false roof of the house was directly above the room or perhaps an attic. There was only one way of finding out. He dragged the table into the corner by the window, placed the chair on top of it and climbed up carefully.

The plaster of the ceiling was old and covered with a network of fine lines, so soft that when he raised his elbow into it sharply, a large piece fell away, a waterfall of white dust cascading after it. The noise being made by the inmates in the other part of the house was even louder now and Chavasse clawed at the edges of the hole, enlarging it quickly, tearing the wooden lathing away in great pieces. His fist went through and he could see into the false roof, light gleaming between chinks in the slates.

A couple of minutes later he was pulling himself up between two beams to crouch in the half darkness, covered in white dust. The false roof was extensive and obviously covered the whole house, a rabbit warren of strangely shaped eaves and half walls. He moved forward cautiously, walking on the beams and came to a trapdoor which had obviously been designed to give a more conventional access. He opened it carefully and looked down on to a tiny landing and below it, a narrow staircase, obviously leading from servants' quarters or something very much like them.

He dropped down and paused to listen. There was still a considerable disturbance going on elsewhere in the building, but fainter somehow and he started down the stairs quickly, stepping lightly on bare feet.

He paused on the next landing, peering over the rail for a moment before starting down and then a door on his left opened and Karl walked out, his mouth gaping in a wide yawn. In the same moment, he saw Chavasse and his eyes widened in alarm. Chavasse moved in fast, slamming his right fist into the man's stomach, lifting his knee into Karl's unprotected face as he keeled over, sending him backwards into the small room to sprawl across the bed.

He followed him in quickly, closing the door. Karl slid from the bed and rolled on the floor, moaning softly. Chavasse could find no gun on him and a quick search of the dressing-table drawers proved equally unsuccessful. He helped himself to a pair of rubber tennis shoes that were half a size too large for him, laced them up quickly and left.

At the bottom of the stairs he came to a narrow stone-flagged passage. A stale smell of cooking rose to meet him and somewhere to the left he could hear voices and the clatter of pans. He moved to the door at the end of the passage, opened it cautiously and looked out into the courtyard. It was quite deserted in the heavy rain except for an old green jeep parked a few yards away. He climbed inside quickly, pulled out the choke and pressed the starter. The engine turned over at once and a moment later, he was driving away.

Beyond the cobbled yard and the outhouses, a bridge took the road over a small stream, joining what was obviously the main drive very quickly. It was flanked by poplar trees, woodland fading into the grey morning on either side and he drove on, his eyes straining into the mist anxiously. There was a narrow turning to the left that disappeared into the trees and then he rounded a corner and braked suddenly.

Some twenty yards in front of him, the way was barred by iron gates, a steel mesh fence running into the mist on either side of it. The man who lounged beside the sentry box wore a peaked cap and semi-military uniform in dark blue, a black oilskin coat draped over his shoulders. He looked up quickly, flicking his cigarette away as the jeep braked to a halt. Chavasse hesitated, debating his chances of ramming the gate and then the man took an automatic rifle out of the sentry box and cocked it quickly.

As he raised it to his shoulders, Chavasse reversed round the corner quickly and from the direction of the house, the strange, unearthly wailing of a siren echoed through the morning in a dying fall.

He turned into the side track that he had noticed earlier and drove through trees as quickly as he dared, wheels bumping over the deep ruts and then the track simply petered out into a footpath, the undergrowth closing in on either side. He switched off the engine, jumped out and plunged into the trees running in the general direction of the fence.

He was soaked to the skin before he had gone twenty yards but didn't slacken his headlong course, one arm raised before him to protect his face from the flailing branches. He came out of the trees and paused on the edge of a strip of open parkland, the fence no more than ten yards away.

It was perhaps fifteen feet in height and angled over sharply at the top, but presented no particular problem to any reasonably active man, which was strange-and stranger still was the absence of even a single strand of barbed wire along the upper edge.

He picked up a large branch, moved forward and touched the fence gingerly. There was an immediate flash, a puff of blue smoke and the end of the branch burst into flame. He dropped it with a curse and somewhere behind him the hollow baying of a dog sounded on the morning air.

At least the heavy rain would kill his scent which solved one problem and he turned back into the wood and moved rapidly through the trees in the direction of the house. In the distance he could hear voices and the sound of a car on the main drive, but the siren had stopped.

He emerged on to a narrow path and ran along it quickly, swerving suddenly as the outbuildings at the back of the house loomed out of the mist. He crossed the small stream on foot, wading knee-deep, scrambled up the bank on the far side and peered round the corner of an old stable into the courtyard. There was no sign of life and he hurried across, opened the back door and went inside.

As he went back up the stairs he could still hear voices from the kitchen and the clatter of pans as someone prepared breakfast. Karl's door was closed. He stood listening outside for a moment, then turned the knob carefully and moved inside in one smooth movement.

Karl lay on the bed and Peggy leaned over him wiping blood from his face with a damp flannel. She turned with a frown and in the same moment threw the flannel at him, her hand diving into the pocket of her suede jacket.

Chavasse was too quick for her. As her hand came out, he grabbed for the wrist, twisting it so cruelly that she screamed with pain, dropping the Walther to the floor. He picked it up and backed away and she stood there, nursing her wrist, strangely calm.

'You didn't get very far, did you?'

'Unfortunately not,' Chavasse said. 'The man on the gate had an automatic rifle and the fence was hot enough to fry eggs on. There are other ways, however.'

'Such as?'

He pulled her close, his fingers hooking into her arm so that she winced. 'You and I are going to take a little walk. I'd like you to introduce me to that friend of yours, the agitated gentleman who's supposed to be in charge round here. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement.'

She opened her mouth as if to protest and then seemed to change her mind. 'It won't get you very far.'

'I wouldn't be too sure about that,' Chavasse told her and he held open the door with a slight, mocking bow.

She led the way up the stairs to the next landing and turned along a narrow corridor which finally emerged on to a great circular landing beneath a domed roof, what was obviously the entrance hall of the house below them.

He peered over cautiously as someone crossed the black and white tiled floor below and disappeared. 'Where to now?' he whispered.

'The next landing,' she said and they started down the curving Regency staircase.

It was so quiet that he could hear the ticking of a grandfather clock standing in a corner and when they paused outside the door she indicated, he could hear nothing.

'Open it,' he said. 'Very, very quietly and remember I'm right behind you.'

The door swung in smoothly without a sound and he gave her a slight push forward. The walls of the room were lined with books, logs burning brightly in an Adam fireplace to the left.

The man who stood at the open window listening to the sounds of the chase in the park beyond, seemed strangely familiar. For a moment, Chavasse thought he was going mad and then a door clicked open on his right.

An amused, familiar voice said, 'Good morning, Paul,' and he swung to find Jean Frazer standing there, a tray in her hands.

Chavasse glanced back at the window and Graham Mallory turned and smiled. 'Ah, there you are, Paul. Well, this is famous. You really must allow me to congratulate you.'