Midnight Never Comes

9

Beyond the French windows, the beech trees above the river were cut out of black cardboard against a sky that was streaked a vivid orange above the mountains. Inside, it was warm and comfortable and Asta in a silk dress of apple green, playing the grand piano softly, was somehow a part of the stillness of the evening just before nightfall.

It was a comfortable room, panelled in oak three centuries old and Donner had had the sense to furnish it in character. The soft light came from a tall standard lamp and a log fire crackled on the wide stone hearth.

Donner, Colonel Craig and Jack Murdoch were in evening wear, but Chavasse wore a beautifully tailored suit of dark worsted that somehow gave him an elegance lacking in the others.

The door opened and Stavrou entered with more coffee. He placed it on the table and Ruth Murray said, 'I'll see to that, Stavrou. You can go.'

He departed as silently as he had come and she got to her feet and moved forward, an attractive figure in a deceptively simple black dress.

'Can I offer you some more coffee, Colonel Craig?' she said.

The old man held up a hand. 'No thanks, my dear, not for me.'

'Another brandy, then?' Donner said.

'Hard to say no. It's the best I've tasted in a long, long time, Mr. Donner.'

'Plenty more where that came from,' Donner said and nodded to Murdoch who got up obediently and reached for the decanter.

Colonel Craig held out his glass. 'And the dinner-remarkable, that's the only word for it. No local cook, I'll be bound.'

Donner chuckled, obviously pleased. 'I should say not. My man Stavrou handles that department. He's Greek and when they're good, they're really good.'

And the dinner had been good, Chavasse had to give him that and leaning on the piano, listening to Asta play, he watched the group by the fire casually.

In any group of people anywhere, large or small, Max Donner would have stood out and Murdoch lounging in the corner, idly fondling the ears of the Doberman sprawled beside his chair, wore his evening clothes with the sort of careless ease to be expected from a man of his background and breeding.

He sipped his drink slowly, staring across the rim of his glass at Ruth Murray who sat beside Colonel Craig on the settee. He wants her, Chavasse thought, but he's too scared of Donner to make any kind of approach.

Ruth Murray held out her glass for the fourth time and Murdoch picked up the decanter and filled it for her. Donner moved forward and in a casual gesture that would have been missed by most people, plucked the glass from her hand.

'You don't look much like a bridge man to me, Colonel,' he said. 'How about a game of billiards? Jack and I play most nights.'

'All right, by me,' the old man said, getting to his feet. 'What about you, Paul?'

Chavasse grinned. 'I'm fine where I am. I don't know where you get the energy from. This afternoon just about finished me off.'

'Suit yourself,' Donner said and he and the other two men went out.

Ruth Murray reached for the brandy decanter and filled another glass. She got to her feet and crossed to the piano. 'I hear you were in the wars again this morning, Mr. Chavasse?'

'A slight misunderstanding,' Chavasse said blandly. 'Nothing more.'

She was a little tight and when she leaned on the piano and spoke to Asta her eyes were full of malice.

'Did you enjoy yourself this afternoon?'

'Tremendously,' Asta said and continued to play. 'You should have come with us, Ruth. It was quite an experience.'

'I'm sure it was.'

'Oh, yes, I learned many things.' Asta stopped playing to tick them off on her fingers. 'That you cannot stalk a stag down-wind, even at a thousand yards. That I must never hurry. Never attempt to shoot when I am out of breath. Always shoot low if the target is down-hill.'

She paused with a slight frown and Chavasse cut in, 'And never pull the trigger until you're close enough to see the ears move.'

They both burst out laughing and Ruth Murray straightened and said sourly, 'Very funny, I'm sure.'

She went out and as the door closed behind her, Chavasse said, 'I don't think she likes you very much.'

'Not just me,' Asta said. 'Everyone. You see she loves Max and he doesn't love her. It's as simple as that.' She picked up her wrap and draped it over her shoulders. 'Do you mind if we walk for a while? It's a beautiful evening.'

She slipped her arm into his and they went out through the French windows, crossed the terrace and walked through the velvet darkness towards the trees. He lit a cigarette and they leaned on the small bridge over the river.

After a while, she turned, her face a pale blur in the darkness. 'Tell me something about yourself, Paul.'

'What would you like to know?'

'Oh, the really important things. You and your family-where you come from. You're English and yet you're as French as the Pigalle on a Saturday night. Now there's a paradox if you like.'

And he wanted to tell her, that was the strangest thing of all and leaning on the wooden rail of the bridge there in the darkness, he spoke as he hadn't spoken to any other human being in years.

He told of his father killed fighting for France so long ago that it was barely a memory. Of his mother who lived in retirement on that most delightful of all the Channel Islands, Alderney, and of the family farm in Brittany that his wonderful old tyrant of a grandfather still managed so competently.

When they turned to walk back to the house, she hung on to his arm and sighed. 'Life is nothing without roots, that's true, isn't it?'

'We all need a place to rest our heads from time to time,' he said. 'A place where we can be certain of perfect understanding.'

'I wish to God there was such a place for me,' she said and there was a poignancy in her voice that went straight to his heart.

He paused, turning to look down at her and Donner walked out on to the terrace. 'Oh, there you are. Your uncle's ready to leave, Chavasse.'

His voice was calm, but he was angry and Chavasse knew it. Asta ran up the steps and placed a hand on his arm. 'You've lost money, Max. I can always tell.'

He laughed in spite of himself, tucking her arm into his, turning to go inside. 'You can read me like a book, damn you. Yes, Colonel Craig turned out to be just about the handiest man with a cue I've seen in many a long day.'

Duncan Craig already had his coat on when they went inside and stood by the fire, a drink in his hands. There was no sign of Murdoch.

'There you are, Paul. Hope you don't mind if we go now. It's been rather a heavy day and I'm not getting any younger unfortunately.'

'That's all right, uncle.' Chavasse turned to Asta and her step-father. 'Perhaps we can return the hospitality before very long.'

'We'll look forward to that,' Asta said.

Donner cut in quickly. 'Anyway, I'm sure Colonel Craig must be tired.' He took the old man's arm. 'I'll see you to your car.'

Chavasse turned at the door to wave and then he was gone and Asta walked to the fireplace and stared down into the dying embers, suddenly tired. She heard the car start up and move away, there was a quick step in the hall and Donner came in.

She turned to face him, smiling brightly. 'I'm tired myself. Colonel Craig was right. It's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed.'

To her surprise, he didn't argue. 'You look as if you could do with about twelve solid hours,' he said and kissed her on the forehead. 'You go to bed. I'll see you in the morning.'

He walked out into the hall with her and watched her mount the great staircase. When she reached the top and looked back, he was already turning away, moving towards the library door.

As he reached it, the front door opened and Murdoch came in. Donner went to meet him and Asta drew back into the shadows. When they spoke, the voices sounded very clear, but strangely remote in the stillness.

'We've got him,' Murdoch said.

Donner glanced up towards the dark landing and moved closer. 'Where is he?'

'Stavrou's taken him in through the back entrance. Where do you want him?'

'The cellar,' Donner said and his voice sounded cold and hard. 'And don't either of you lay a finger on him. He's my meat. I'll join you in a few minutes.'

Asta hurried along the landing, opened the door and went inside. She leaned against it in the darkness for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts and then she snapped on the light and took off her dress and underskirt quickly.

When she let herself out of the room five minutes later, she was wearing ski-pants, a heavy Norwegian sweater and suede chukka boots. She moved cautiously to the head of the stairs, paused and changing her mind, hurried back along the landing.

A door at the far end gave access to the servants' stairs and she went down quickly, pausing outside the kitchen door. It was then that she first became aware of the noise, faintly in the distance, like some animal in pain and she moved along the corridor and opened the door to the cellars.

The noise rose to meet her, the same strange muffled cries mixed in with the sound of blows. And then it ceased. A moment later, she heard voices and moved back into the corridor. There was a broom cupboard on the other side and she went inside quickly, leaving the door slightly ajar.

The cellar door opened and Murdoch came out looking strangely subdued. Stavrou followed and Donner appeared a moment or two later wiping blood from his hands with a handkerchief. Stavrou closed the door and they all walked away.

Asta waited until their footsteps had faded along the corridor before venturing outside. She felt no fear when she opened the cellar door and went down the steps, because in some strange way, she knew that what she found below would resolve once and for all, the fears and doubts of years.

The light was still on and she moved along a broad white-washed passage that turned into another, off-shoots running into the darkness. She had not been prepared for quite such an extensive system and paused, wondering which way to go. And then she saw blood on the floor.

There was a trail of it, bright splashes that led to a large oak door, its key in the lock. She opened it gently, peered into darkness, then fumbled for the light switch.

The man who hung by his wrists from a hook in the ceiling was Fergus Munro, she was able to tell that much, but only just. The blood from his broken body had gathered into a pool beneath his feet and one look at the ghastly eyes, fixed for all eternity, told her that he was dead.

And again she was strangely calm, knowing only that she had to get out of that place, leaving all as she had found it. Get out and go to Paul at Ardmurchan Lodge.

She locked the door quickly, went back along the passage and mounted the steps. All was quiet as she moved past the kitchen, opened the back door and let herself out. She hurried across to the garage and then paused. If she took one of the Land Rovers they would hear her leave. She hesitated and then remembered the old bicycle she had seen Jack Murdoch using about the place. She found it leaning against a bench at the back of the garage and wheeled it outside quickly. A moment later, she was riding away through the darkness.

It was all of five miles to Ardmurchan Lodge, but the road was surprisingly good and the full moon gave her perfect visibility. It was little more than half an hour later that she topped a small rise and looked down at the lodge in the hollow below.

There was a light at the rear where French windows stood open to the terrace and when she rode in through the front gate, she parked the bicycle against a tree and walked round.

As she turned the corner, she drew back sharply into the shadows. Chavasse had moved out on to the terrace wearing a black rubber skin-diving suit, the hood giving him a strangely medieval appearance. There was a rucksack on his back and he carried a large canvas grip in one hand.

Colonel Craig moved out and clapped him on the shoulder. 'Good luck, my boy, and don't try to win the war on your own. All we need is some conclusive proof, remember.'

Chavasse smiled once, turned and moved away across the lawn and the old man went back inside and closed the French windows. Asta waited until he pulled the curtains, cutting off all light and then went after Chavasse, silent on crepe soles.