The Power

35

'I need a drink,' said Jennie as she took off her coat, draped it over the back of a nearby chair. 'Brandy.'

'No spirits at the moment,' Tweed advised. 'You are in a state of shock. Try a glass of this Riesling.'

Paula reached across to another empty table, picked up a glass, placed it in front of their guest. Tweed was glad he'd placed Jennie facing him as he poured the wine – she was not looking at Paula, whose expression was full of doubt.

'Can you tell me exactly what happened?' Tweed suggested.

Jennie drank half the contents of her glass, put it down, then almost immediately raised it again, drained it. Tweed refilled it.

'Why were you outside in this fog?' he coaxed.

'I'd been with Gaunt in the BMW. We'd just returned from the Chateau Noir. I asked the Squire to drop me by the shopping parade so I could go into a chemist. It was when I came out that it happened.'

'Go on, you are doing fine,' Tweed encouraged her.

'I came out of the shop and it was eerie. I hadn't realized how dense the fog had become. He was standing with his back to me, holding up something in his left hand. The same black wide-brimmed hat, turned down as I told you so I couldn't see his face. The same long black overcoat. I began to walk towards the Bristol, towards here. I heard him coming after me. I panicked, began to run. Behind me he was moving much faster.'

'How do you know that?' Paula enquired. 'Did you look back?'

'God, no! I was too scared. But there was no other sound in the fog – just the clack of his shoes catching me up. The clacking sound hit the pavement at longer intervals – so I knew he'd increased the length of his stride.'

'Very shrewd of you,' Tweed commented. He sipped at his coffee which the waitress had brought just before their frightened guest appeared. 'Especially as you were so scared.'

'Then I saw the Brasserie. I dived in here, saw you. What a relief.'

'Drink some more wine.' Tweed waited until she had swallowed half her second glass. He topped it up. 'What happened to your pursuer?'

'I've no idea. At least he didn't follow me in here. But then I'd have been all right.' She smiled wanly for the first time. 'You were here.'

'Are you feeling better?' Tweed reached across, took hold of her right hand resting on the table, squeezed it reassuringly. 'You are safe, among friends.'

Newman had remained silent, leaving it to Tweed. He noticed that in the warmth of the Brasserie the vapour drops had melted on Jennie's golden hair, giving her a somewhat bedraggled look. She was still incredibly attractive.

'Would you like something to eat?' Tweed asked her.

'Just some bread. My stomach can't face anything else.'

She took a piece of French bread, piled on it some of the butter Newman had ordered, chewed ravenously, then reached for a second hunk.

That's better,' she announced a minute later. 'Pardon my table manners. I haven't eaten for hours.'

'You said you'd just returned from the Chateau Noir with Gaunt in his BMW,' Tweed began. 'Would you mind telling me what took place? You met Amberg?'

'Yes. That was an experience for Gaunt

She started to tell Tweed in detail everything that had taken place. She recalled almost every word of the conversation between the two men. Gaunt's expression, Amberg's lack of it. Then at the end the warmth of Amberg when he talked to her, the theory she had come up with that the Swiss preferred the company of women. Her descriptions were graphic.

Paula glanced at Tweed. He was leaning forward, totally absorbed by what Jennie was saying. Paula sensed that Tweed was seeing the scene which had been enacted in the Chateau Noir, so strong was his imagination. Newman was also gazing fixedly at their guest. As an ex-foreign correspondent maybe his mind was also inside the Chateau Noir.

'So,' Jennie concluded, 'after the hideous drive back when I thought we'd end up dead, Gaunt – at my request – dropped me outside the shops.'

There was a long silence. Tweed was still staring at her as she drank more wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. He eventually leaned back in his chair.

'You have remarkable powers of observation. So many see but do not observe what they see.'

'Coming from you I'm taking that as a great compliment.'

'Just a statement of fact.'

'I think I've taken up enough of your time – and I could do with a hot shower.' She stood up, looked at Paula and Newman. 'I do hope I haven't spoilt your meal – and thank you for putting up with my maunderings.' She looked at Tweed. 'If we could have a quiet talk sometime at your convenience?'

'I'm in Room 419. It has a sitting area. Come and see me any time you feel like it. So I know it's you beat a little tattoo on the door. Like this.'

He drummed his fingers briefly on the table. Jennie repeated the rhythm. Newman also stood up, collected her coat.

'You don't want to go out into the fog again to find the main entrance. There's a short cut through the restaurant. I'll see you safely to your room.'

That's very kind of you.' She gave him her warmest smile. 'I do still feel a bit shaky.'

Paula waited until they had disappeared. Then she turned to Tweed.

'I don't believe one word she said.'

Tweed sipped some more wine before replying. He put down his glass.

'That really is first-rate Riesling.'

'Translation, you don't agree. You think I'm being catty. Maybe I am.'

'Not like you, so that I don't agree with. Give me your reasons.'

'It's stretching the imagination to breaking point. In Basle she gives you the same story. The famous Shadow Man. We are quite a distance from Basle. Now the Shadow Man turns up here on the edge of the Vosges in Alsace. I don't go for it.'

'Have you forgotten?' he enquired gently. 'An impartial witness in Zurich – Old Nosy – described the Shadow Man leaving the building in the Altstadt where Klara was murdered.'

'But we thought of an explanation for that. Jennie was in the square out of sight, saw him leaving the building – which gave her the idea.'

'What motive could she have for inventing this menace? Also, how could she have known we were in this brasserie?'

'Made it up on the spur of the moment when she came in that door from the fog. No flies on our Jennie. She's got mental reflexes as quick as lightning. I will give her that.'

'Possible. Yes, you could be right. And her motive?'

'She's after the film and the tape. I'm beginning to think they must be very valuable to someone.'

Tweed nodded his agreement. Paula's theory had disturbed him. Women were so often more perceptive than men about their own sex. Paula had produced a very plausible theory.

'Then why the charade – rushing in here as though scared stiff?' he questioned.

'She'd seen you were in here – maybe we didn't see her starting to come in by the short cut. She then goes back into the fog, puts on her act? Why? To get closer to you. She thinks you'll lead her to the film and tape.'

'I can't fault your reasoning,' he admitted.

'Another thing,' Paula went on. 'When she was relating her experience at the Chateau Noir – and I admit I was a little jealous of how well she did it. Supposed to be my forte, that. Sorry, I'm off the track. When she relayed what happened at the chateau, I think something she reported as said – or happened – struck you with great force.'

'It did. I don't want to talk about it until I've had time to mull it over.'

'Bob is taking a long time.' She grinned wryly. 'Maybe he not only saw her safely to her room, but inside it. He's smitten with her.'

'You've underestimated him,' Tweed told her. 'I've seen him do this before – pretend to have fallen for some attractive girl. And all the time he's asking himself, "What's she after?"'

'Shush! Here he is. And with more feminine company…'

Eve Amberg was laughing at something Newman had said as they approached Tweed's table. She had one hand looped inside his arm and used the other to brush away a lock of her titian hair from her face. Paula studied her outfit.

She wore a dark green jersey suit and a low-cut cream blouse. Bet that cost a mint, thought Paula. Newman, who was clearly enjoying himself, made a pantomime of introducing her. Sweeping one arm low, he used the other hand to pull out a chair.

'Look at the jewel I found hiding upstairs,' he joked.

'Hello, Paula,' Eve greeted her, bent and kissed her on the cheek. 'And a big hello to you,' she went on, turning to Tweed, administering a lingering kiss on his left cheek. 'Bob caught me coming out of my room, thank God. I'm an abandoned woman.'

'Sounds exciting,' Tweed chimed in, continuing the game. 'You look like a glass of this excellent Riesling.'

'And he says that!' Eve addressed Paula. 'After I spent half an hour on my make-up. Isn't he just too awful?'

'We can't take him anywhere,' Paula joked back.

'Wish me success.'

Eve raised the glass Tweed had filled, tasted the wine, looked mischievously at Newman.

'At least the man knows his wine. This is delicious. I may be after more.'

'Why abandoned?' Tweed asked.

'The Squire. Again. He drives me here with his latest girl friend, Jennie Blade. Then he ups and offs with her to some unknown destination. For the whole afternoon. Seriously, Tweed, it's good to see you again.'

'Likewise.' Tweed paused. 'What success do we wish you?'

'It's Walter again. Walter Amberg, my dear disliked brother-in-law. I phoned him from here. I was going to take a taxi. The Squire can drop dead, mooning over his Jennie. So what reception do I get when I call Walter? Not this afternoon. Out of the question. Have guests. Some time when he's not so busy. Guests? I didn't believe a word of it. He's avoiding me'. I'll catch him off guard – drive up there without phoning first.'

'Why the reluctance on his part?' enquired Tweed.

'Same reason as I told you before. He doesn't want to hand over my money. But he will, he will, I promise you. Face to face, he's putty in my hands, the little creep.'

'And Gaunt?'

'God knows where he is/ She glanced to her left when someone entered the Brasserie. 'Speak of the devil, here he is. After a drink, of course.'

Gaunt, still clad in his sports jacket and corduroy trousers, had stormed in via the short cut from the hotel. As he arrived his voice boomed out, causing the few locals sitting at other tables to stare.

'I want a double Scotch, garcon! he roared in English. 'Tout le suite. Over at that table.' He looked at Tweed and Newman, turned back to the waiter he'd shouted at. 'No, make that three double Scotches. And get a move on, I'm parched.'

The young waiter, who had smiled every time he passed their table, glared at Gaunt. Newman called out in a loud but polite voice.

'No, waiter, please. Only one double Scotch. Thank you.'

Gaunt marched up to their table. He stood for a moment, surveying the glasses.

'Drinking local plonk? That's just for pansies. A Scotch would put some guts into you.'

Eve was furious. Her greenish eyes gleamed with a venom Paula would never have suspected she was capable of. Her full lips, treated with scarlet lipstick, tightened as Gaunt hauled up a chair, joined them.

'Greg,' she raged, 'you will apologize immediately for using that term about my friends. Or go to hell.'

'I apologize immediately,' Gaunt mimicked as he sat down. 'No offence meant,' he said in a more reasonable tone. 'I take the word back. Unpardonable of me – but I've had a helluva drive up and down the Vosges this afternoon.'

You've also had a skinful already before you came in here, Newman thought. Whisky fumes drifted across the table. But Eve wasn't finished yet. She leaned towards Gaunt.

'And, you ignorant hulk, it's tout de suite. You can't even insult a waiter in correct French.'

'Sorry, sorry, sorry.' Gaunt sounded sincere this time. 'You're quite right, Eve. Again, my apologies to everyone. Had a strange experience this afternoon. Threw me off my balance. That doesn't often happen.'

His mood had changed suddenly. He had spoken the last three sentences in a sober, almost grim tone. Tweed frowned, then spoke to him.

'Care to tell us about it? Get it out of your system?'

'Do you mind if I don't for the moment? Sorry, but I need to mull it over.'

Paula stared at Gaunt in astonishment. He had used almost precisely the same words Tweed had spoken earlier. Moreover, it sounded as though, like Tweed, he was referring to the Chateau Noir.

Gaunt looked up as the waiter placed his drink before him. He had his wallet out in a flash, added a generous tip as he stared at the waiter.

Thank you very much. Your service is really excellent.' He looked round the table. 'Jennie disappeared. I can't find her anywhere.'

'She was sitting at this table a while ago,' Tweed informed him. 'You dropped her off in the fog, apparently.'

'At her own request,' Gaunt barked back defensively.

'She then left us to go to her room to take a shower,' Tweed continued, ignoring Gaunt's rudeness.

'But I hammered on her door before I came in here. There was no reply. Her door was locked. I pressed my ear to it, couldn't hear a shower running. In any case, she'd have wrapped something round her and come to see who it was. Like most women' – he glanced at Paula and Eve – 'present company excepted. Like many women she's always curious. I'd stake my reputation she's not in her room.'

'What reputation is that?' Eve snapped at him.

Tweed rose from the table. Newman and Paula stood up almost at the same time. They'd had enough of Gaunt. Tweed nodded to Eve and Gaunt, led the way out by the short cut and through the restaurant. Paula noticed there were several groups of Americans at different tables, none of whom she liked the look of. Tweed was hurrying into the reception area which had a minute sitting area off to one side. Philip Cardon sat reading a paperback. No one was present behind the reception counter.

'I had an early lunch,' Cardon explained. 'Since then I've sat here keeping an eye open. No less than fifteen Americans have arrived, booked in. Most are stuffing their stomachs in that restaurant.'

'Have you seen Jennie Blade?'

'No.'

So Gaunt was right, Tweed thought grimly. Jennie had disappeared.