This United state

6

At four in the afternoon Tweed was driving his Ford Sierra along a narrow twisting lane approaching Parham. By his side Paula sat keeping quiet. She sensed Tweed was thinking as he drove.

It was almost dark and his headlights shone through the gloom. Overhead dark clouds massed as though preparing for a cloudburst. She noticed he kept glancing in his rear-view mirror. He slowed down at an isolated spot where he could see the lane ahead for some distance, pulled over onto the grass verge, put one hand out of the window he had lowered, gestured for a car behind to stop.

'We have company.'

'Hostile?'

She reached into her shoulder bag and gripped the. 32 Browning. When she looked back as Tweed climbed out she saw Newman's Merc pull in behind them. She got out to join Tweed. In the rear seat behind Newman sat Harry Butler and his partner, Pete Nield.

'Just what is the meaning of this?' Tweed demanded. 'Simple,' replied Newman, still seated behind the wheel. 'We think you need protection.'

'I thought I emphasized before I left Park Crescent that I was coming down here by myself.'

'You've got Paula with you.'

'Paula met Sir Guy Strangeways awhile ago at a dinner in London. They got on well. I think he'll be more relaxed with Paula present. He won't be if he sees you three. He's a bit of a martinet.'

'May I remind you,' Newman told him, 'that when I was bringing Cord Dillon this way we saw the Cadillac with four American thugs drive inside Irongates? Those gentlemen may still be there. Have you forgotten your experience at the Embassy?'

'I have not. Strangeways is English. Now that you're here find a place open in Parham. Go in and have afternoon tea.'

'I don't think you can get afternoon tea in this country these days,' Nield remarked amiably.

Harry Butler and Pete Nield worked well as a team. There was a great contrast between the two men. Butler was short, burly, with broad shoulders, his dark hair roughly brushed, a man who used words as though he regarded them as money. Pete Nield was slim, had fairish hair and a thin moustache. Unlike Butler, wearing a shabby windcheater and a pair of well-worn slacks, Nield took trouble with his appearance. He was clad in a smart grey suit, a pair of shoes from Aquascutum, a raincoat from the same shop. He was never backward in voicing his thoughts.

'You'll find a tea shop in Parham,' Tweed told him. 'Just keep away from Irongates. This will be a quiet visit.'

'Famous last words,' Paula said under her breath.

Returning with her to his car, Tweed drove on. In his rear-view mirror he noted the Merc was still stationary. Paula was furious.

'That's no way to talk to them after what happened this morning. They rescued you from God knows what.'

'And I thanked them when we got back to Park Crescent. Here is the beginning of Parham.'

He guided the car along the old village street, turned into the first, larger square, then into the smaller square with no other exit. There was no sign of life outside the large mansion and the gates were closed. Tweed stopped the car.

'There's a speak-phone in the right-hand pillar. Would you mind letting our host know we've arrived?'

'Of course not,' she snapped.

She got out, still steaming. Tweed was taking risks in a situation which had already proved potentially lethal. It was not only the incident at the American Embassy she had in mind. She was recalling the brutal attempt to murder Cord Dillon in the middle of London. Pressing a button by the side of the speak-phone, she waited. A buzz. Then a commanding voice she recognized. Strangeways.

'Who the hell is it?'

'Paula Grey. I have Mr Tweed with me. We understood you-'

'Enter.'

'The gates are closed.'

'Use your eyes.'

She caught sight of movement. The large gates were opening inwards. She ran to the car, jumped into her seat. Tweed immediately drove forward at a slow pace. Behind them the gates closed, making no sound.

'Hinges must be well oiled,' Tweed remarked.

Their tyres crunched on the gravel surface. High banks of rhododendron bushes masked any view on both sides. Paula was experiencing a feeling of claustrophobia – shut away from the outside world like the approach to a monastery where the monks had an evil reputation. At the end of the gently curving drive crouched the house, an ancient mansion, three storeys high and dormer windows in the mansard roof, round like ports for cannons. The style of the mansion was Gothic, grim, its dark stone bleak. Gargoyles leered down at them below the turrets flanking each end of the house.

'Strangeways himself answered me,' Paula recalled. 'He sounded strange – no pun intended. Like a bear with a sore head. When I sat next to him at that dinner he was charming. Amiable and jokey.'

'Interesting.'

She realized Tweed was only half-listening to her. He was peering up at the right-hand turret. He parked the car at the foot of a wide flight of old stone steps leading up to a balustraded terrace. As he locked the car Tweed again looked up at the turret.

'What a ghastly place to live,' Paula whispered.

'You have to remember Strangeways spent twenty years in the army as a young man before he went into business. Prior to that he was at a public school. That sort of background does not make you aware of your surroundings. You take no interest in taste or comfort.'

A heavy front door opened as they reached it. Framed in the doorway was Strangeways. Five foot ten tall, well built, his fleshy face was red, his nose like a hawk's, the eyes dark and forbidding, his mouth tight-lipped above an aggressive jaw. Grey-haired, he sported a trim moustache, stood ramrod erect and was wearing a blue business suit.

'You're late,' he rapped out.

'We're on time. Your watch must be wrong,' Tweed said mildly.

'I pride myself on punctuality,' Strangeways barked. 'An old army habit.'

'My watch is an Accurist. Greenwich mean time. Better buy one for yourself,' Tweed rapped back. 'Are we going to stand out here all afternoon in the cold?'

'Of course not. Please do come in.' Their host's manner had mellowed. As he closed the door he lowered his voice. 'My apologies to you both, but my wretched son turned up out of the blue. I'll introduce you, then tell him to push off…'

They followed Strangeways across a large stark hall with woodblock flooring. The only furniture was a large ugly oak chest stood against one wall. No pictures. Strangeways opened a door into a large room, again without a carpet or rugs. Close to the left-hand wall was a plain desk supporting an outsize globe and behind it a map of the world. A heavy oak table occupied the middle of the room and the chairs which surrounded it were hard-backed and looked uncomfortable to Paula. The interior of the house reminded her of a prison.

'This is my son, Rupert,' their host said without enthusiasm.

Sprawled on a couch was a man of about thirty. He wore riding kit with jodhpurs thrust inside gleaming knee-length boots. His right hand held a riding crop which he was tapping against his thigh. His boots were resting on the end of the couch.

'Get those damned boots off the furniture,' Strangeways growled. 'This is a friend of mine with his assistant, Paula.'

Rupert took his time about planting his boots on the floor. He stood up, five feet eight inches tall, a slim man, his jet-black hair neatly trimmed. He had his father's hawkish nose, his dark eyes alert, and a foxy chin, and he surveyed Paula insolently. She bridled inwardly as he slowly took in her legs, higher up her body and then her face.

'Rather like the look of you, Paula. You're not bad.' 'I'm supposed to take that as a compliment?'

'I take my time.'

Tweed had been studying Rupert, who ignored him. Strangeways guided Tweed to a seat at the table. Standing behind him he stood erect, looking embarrassed. He coughed, glanced at Paula.

'I don't quite know how to phrase this. The last thing I want to do is to appear impolite.'

'But you'd prefer it if the two of you, could talk alone,' Paula suggested with a smile.

'My dear, there's a library on your left as you go back into the hall. If you're interested in books it's quite an unusual collection I've built up over the years.'

'I'd be happy to wait there.'

'Not so fast.' He went over to the wall, pressed an old-fashioned bell. 'The housekeeper, Mrs Belloc, can provide you with tea and cakes. Indian, Darjeeling, Earl Grey? And I'd better warn you Mrs Belloc is an odd character. Goes around with a black shawl over her head. A hard worker but it's difficult keeping local servants. They don't like her. Ah, here she is.'

Paula had a shock. When the door opened a short powerfully built woman walked slowly in. The black shawl was worn so it concealed most of her features, exposing only gimlet eyes and a nose like a parrot's. A black dress reached almost to her ankles. There was something sinister about her.

'You wanted me, sir?' she asked, addressing her employer.

Strangeways gave her instructions to serve Paula tea in the library. Mrs Belloc was staring at Tweed while she listened. Then she withdrew without a word.

Rupert opened the door again, bowed in an exaggerated way. He was smiling sardonically. Without a backward glance at the two men in the room, he closed the door and caught up with Paula.

'You don't want to waste your time in the library. Let's go riding. I can give you a gentle nag.'

'I want to see the library. And Mrs Belloc is bringing me tea.'

'Never read a book in my life,' he replied jauntily, following her as she opened the door on her left.

'Might do you good if you did read a few.'

'I seem to get by without them.'

She was already inside a large room, the walls lined with bookcases. A wheeled ladder was attached to one wall so the high shelves could be reached easily. Nondescript coffee tables were scattered round the room near large leather couches which looked as though they'd been there for generations. The room was chilly. She pulled out a book on Alexander the Great and perched at the end of a couch. Rupert joined her.

'You'll end up with that old horror, Mrs Belloc, for company. I'm much more fun.'

'I'm sure you are.'

'Please yourself, then,' he said acidly. 'Bury your nose in a crummy book. You don't know what you're missing. We could shoot a few birds instead of riding.'

'That idea doesn't appeal to me.'

'Playing hard to get.' He stood up. 'Have it your own way.'

It was a relief to Paula when he left the room, closing the door behind him. Something caught her eye. She looked at a side window, jumped up, ran into the mullioned bay. Outside was Harry Butler, one finger to his lips. Behind him a trim lawn stretched away to a hedge and beyond it was a field. Wrestling with the old security catch, she pushed open a casement window.

'What on earth are you doing out there?'

'Prowling. And keeping an eye on Tweed. Newman's orders. Got over the side wall with a telescopic ladder he carries in the boot of his car.'

'Get out of sight! Quick! The housekeeper is bringing me tea…'

'I'll have a cuppa,' said Butler and was gone.

She was struggling to close the window, had just managed it, when she heard a sound. She hadn't heard the door open but now she heard the sound she had heard when Mrs Belloc entered the other room earlier. The rustle of the stiff black material she wore as a dress. Paula froze.

'Wouldn't have anything to do with him if I were you,' a harsh voice advised.

For a tense moment she thought the housekeeper was referring to Butler. Then, in the field beyond the hedge, she saw Rupert riding a large stallion. He reined in his mount suddenly. It bucked, reared into the air. Rupert stayed in the saddle, waved his whip at her as his steed's forelegs dropped to the ground.

'Showing off, as usual,' Mrs Belloc complained.

Paula turned round and the squat hooded woman was laying on a table a sparkling silver tray containing the tea. The tray looked genuine and Paula guessed it was an heirloom. It was difficult to imagine Strangeways bothering to purchase the tray.

'Milk and sugar in your tea?'

'Just milk, please. This is very kind of you. And the cakes look scrumptious.'

Mrs Belloc showed no inclination to leave as Paula sat down.

She had closed the door when she came into the library and now she stood close to Paula as she perched on the couch and sampled the tea. Her large, ugly hands were clasped across her middle, her penetrating eyes fixed on Paula.

'This tea is perfect,' said Paula. 'Thank you.'

'Rupert goes to the Continent a lot. Takes one of his fancy ladies with him. He's had a harem of floozies. No, that's not quite right. They're a snooty type, well educated, with not a hint of a brain.'

'Really?'

'He likes the casinos over there. Gambles heavily. Must cost him a packet.'

'I expect he can afford it.'

'Don't know he can. When his mother died she left him some kind of regular allowance. Wouldn't have thought it ran to the sort of life he lives.'

'I see.'

Paula ate one of the cakes. She was being careful not to say much. She didn't like gossip. Above all she didn't want to say anything which might be repeated to Rupert's father.

'He likes shooting. Pheasants. Boasts about it. He's always saying one bullet, one bird. I'd better leave you now. I'm going up to the turret.'

'What's up there?'

'Gives me a good view of what Rupert is up to. You mind my words. Give Rupert a clear berth.'

On this note she ambled slowly to the door, left the library, closing the door behind her. Paula selected another cake. As she consumed it her mind whirled with thoughts. She was also wondering how Tweed was getting on with his host.

'How about a double Scotch?' Strangeways had suggested as soon as they were alone.

'No, thank you. I'm driving.'

He watched Strangeways walk briskly to a cabinet against a wall. Taking out a glass and a bottle of expensive whisky, his host poured a generous drink. As the bottle touched the rim of the glass it rattled. He drank half the contents, returned to the table, sat facing Tweed.

'That's better. I needed it.'

'You're worried about something?'

'Tweed, you know I've spent a long time in the States. By now I know America. I know a lot of the top people. I know the way they're thinking. Incidentally, I'm having dinner with Jefferson Morgenstern in town this evening.'

'Is he worried?'

'I think so. Look at it from their point of view. Globally. They feel encircled. Across the Pacific they have China facing them. That's a distance, but not in these days of inter-continental ballistic missiles. They think the Russians are going to ally themselves with the Chinese.

That's looking west from where they sit. Now take Europe and the Middle East. Iran, to mention only one Muslim state, is building a nuclear arsenal. If it combined with Turkey – which could soon become a Muslim state again – they might over-run Europe. Turkey, as you know, is close to having 'a population of a hundred and fifty million. Bigger than any nation in Western Europe.'

'Iran is a long way from America,' Tweed pointed out, glancing at the wall map of the world facing him.

'London is roughly half the distance Beijing is from San Francisco – and they're worried about Beijing.'

'Why mention London?'

'It's much closer to the East Coast of America.' 'Why is that relevant?'

'If an enormous Muslim power took over Britain, America would be an isolated fortress, menaced on both coasts.'

'Why do they think that would happen?' Tweed enquired.

'Because they think this European Union idea is a shambles. Umpteen nations, speaking different languages, with different histories, many secretly hating each other. They quote the old Austro-Hungarian Empire – also a. goulash of nationalities – which collapsed at the end of the First World War. More recently, they point to Yugoslavia. Again a mix of races with their own languages, religions. Tito dies and the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.

'So?'

'They foresee a scenario whereby an overwhelming Muslim force could conquer Western Europe. Supposing a federated Europe was attacked. Imagine the indecision in Brussels. They'd still be working out what to do when the Muslims crossed the Rhine. There'd be a large element arguing that any life would be better than death.'

'So what do the Americans propose to do about it?'

'They have a plan. I do know that. Morgenstern, remember, was born in Europe. Was in Europe until he was a young man and went to the States.'

'It's his plan?'

'I don't know. But he carries tremendous influence in Washington.'

'What is the plan?' Tweed asked point blank.

'I don't know. They never forget I'm English.' Strangeways finished off his drink. 'So they don't confide in me.'

'But you seem to know a lot.'

'I simply know how they're thinking. What about you? Have you a clue as to what is going on?'

'Nothing, really,' Tweed replied evasively.

'I do know they think very highly of you, Tweed,' Strangeways said casually.

Strangeways was looking at the wall as he said this. His right hand was playing with his empty glass. For a moment Tweed detected a hint of shiftiness in his host, something he had never seen before.

'Why me?' he asked.

'They respect your global outlook. Your achievements in the past. Above all, you're not a politician. Morgenstern once described you as having the brain of a statesman.'

'Nice of him. Do you agree with what is happening?'

'Damn it, I can't make up my mind. The world is changing day by day. There's no precedent for the present grim situation.'

'Why did you ask me down here, Guy? If I may call you that?'

'Of course you may. I felt a strong need for a sounding board. To get your reaction. I'm going to have another drink.'

'I hope you don't mind – ' Tweed checked his watch – 'but I'll have to be going soon.'

He looked round the chilly uncomfortable room. Yes, it all came from a boarding-school upbringing. There was an atmosphere in the room he didn't like, a restlessness which he felt sure originated in his host. He also felt alarmed and couldn't put his finger on the reason for this sensation.

'Sorry, Tweed,' Strangeways said, returning with his refilled glass. 'I've been pouring out my anxieties to you. Not like me.'

'Why do you think the Prime Minister was assassinated?' Tweed asked suddenly.

Strangeways was sitting down. He froze. The liquid in his glass shook. Then he stood up, his expression grim.

'That was a nasty business.' He drank more whisky. 'But I'm detaining you.'

He accompanied Tweed into the forbidding hall, went over and opened the library door. Paula was immersed in her book. She looked up and smiled.

'I've really enjoyed the peace and quiet in here.' 'Rupert hasn't been bothering you, has he?'

'Heavens, no.'

She spoke over her shoulder as she carefully replaced the volume where she had found it. Strangeways watched her action with approval.

'You know something,' he told her, 'you're the first visitor who hasn't taken out a book and then left it on one of the couches. Tweed is leaving now…'

The three of them were walking across the hall when the front door was hurled open. Rupert entered, slapping his crop against his thigh. He stared hard at Tweed.

'Don't know you.'

'No, you don't,' Tweed replied abruptly.

'But I must say goodbye to the alluring Paula.'

'Go straight upstairs to your room,' Strangeways snapped.

'Your wish is my command.'

Rupert began running up a wide curving staircase to the left of the doorway Tweed and his father had just left. As he ran he twirled his riding crop in a way which reminded Paula of an American girl leading a parade before a sports match, manipulating her symbolic stick. He's athletic, she thought. Then Rupert threw the crop into the air, caught it with one hand as it fell behind his back. And quick reflexes, she said to herself.

'I'll give you a buzz,' he called down to Paula. 'We'll have dinner in London.'

She didn't reply, Strangeways tightened his mouth and then his son was gone. The doorway where Rupert had entered was still open. Paula thanked their host as they left and Tweed turned on the terrace.

'Enjoy your dinner with Morgenstern,' he said.

Strangeways said nothing, merely nodded before closing the door. At the bottom of the steps Tweed paused with Paula, glanced up at the right-hand turret before getting behind the wheel of his car.

'Someone is watching us.'

'I know. Mrs Belloc, seeing us off the premises. I'm glad we are going. Something creepy about that place.'