6

As the front door bell rang they looked at each other. After a moment or two, Marlowe said, 'It might be a good idea if someone let the girl in.'

'Maria!' Papa Magellan said in a tone that admitted no denial. 'Answer the door.'

Maria went without further argument. They heard the murmur of voices in the hall and then Jenny O'Connor stood hesitating in the doorway. Maria looked over her shoulder, a hostile expression on her face. 'She wants to speak to Hugh,' she said.

Jenny O'Connor smiled and shook her head quickly. 'No, please don't anyone leave. What I have to say concerns you all.'

She was wearing a tailored skirt and a brown suede jacket and her slim legs were encased in the sheerest of nylon stockings. Marlowe was conscious of the same crawling sensation in his stomach and the dryness in throat he had experienced during their first meeting. He swallowed hard and said: 'What did you want to see me about, Miss O'Connor?'

She coloured with embarrassment and dropped her eyes. For a moment she seemed at a loss for words and Papa Magellan with old-fashioned Latin courtliness took her by the arm and led her to a chair. 'Sit down, my dear,' he said. 'You have no enemies here.'

Maria snorted with anger and folded her arms. Her lips were pressed tightly together as if to bottle up her rage. Jenny O'Connor smiled at her. 'Please, Miss Magellan. Don't condemn me until you've heard what I have to say.'

There was silence as they waited for her to carry on. She seemed to experience even greater difficulty in speaking, but quite suddenly, the words poured from her like a torrent. 'I know Mr O'Connor is my uncle and my action in coming here must seem very strange, but I can't stand by and see all this trouble and violence going on without a stop.'

Maria made an impatient sound and Marlowe said gently, 'What do you suggest we do about it, Miss O'Connor?'

She looked up slowly and there was great trouble in her candid blue eyes. 'Mr Magellan must sell,' she said simply.

There was a brief moment of astonished silence and then Maria threw back her head and laughed. 'So this is why you have come to see us,' she said. 'What do you think we are, fools?'

Papa Magellan turned on her angrily. 'Maria, if you cannot keep quiet you must leave the room.' For a second her eyes challenged him and then she turned and rushed out into the corridor, slamming the door behind her. Magellan turned to Jenny and inclined his head. 'I am sorry, Miss O'Connor. You must forgive my daughter. She has worried a great deal about this matter.'

'Why should Mr Magellan sell out now?' Marlowe asked her, his eyes fixed on her face.

'Because if he doesn't my uncle will break him,' she replied. 'Kennedy returned an hour ago. When my uncle heard what you had done he was furious. Insane with rage. I've never seen him so angry.'

'Did he send you here?' Marlowe asked her.

She smiled sadly and shook her head. 'Mr Marlowe, my uncle has very firm ideas about a woman's place. He never allows me to meddle in his business affairs. I love driving and he's humoured me to the extent of allowing me to take out one of the trucks now and then.'

Papa Magellan frowned slightly. 'May I inquire then, what has brought you here this morning?'

She stood up and walked over to the window and stood staring out at the rain. 'I hate to see useless violence,' she said quietly. 'There's been too much already. If this state of affairs goes on there will be more.' She turned quickly and said, 'I know my uncle is in the wrong in this matter, but he has money and power and a large organization. He can put you out of business by using methods which are quite legal.'

Marlowe smiled softly. 'And what if we don't intend to be put out of business?'

'But what else can you do?' There was real concern on her face. 'He has stopped you from dealing with the market. This morning he's blocked off your retail shops outlet by undercutting your prices. All quite legal.' She appeared to hesitate and then went on, 'I must sound like a complete traitor telling you this, but I know that he's started to approach the market gardeners you deal with, Mr Magellan. He can offer better prices than you can. How can you possibly stand up to pressure like this?'

Mac grinned and said impulsively, 'There are more ways of killing a cat than drowning, Miss Jenny. Maybe we've got a trick or two left that might surprise your uncle.'

Marlowe kicked him sharply on the ankle as Jenny O'Connor's face clouded with puzzlement. 'It was good of you to come here,' he said. 'But I'm afraid there's no prospect of us selling out. Your uncle started this affair. He'll have to stick it out to the bitter end now.'

Her shoulders drooped again as they had done when they had last met. She looked completely defeated. 'I seem to have wasted my time.' She raised her head and forced a smile. 'I'm glad to have met you, Mr Magellan. Believe me, if I have any influence on my uncle at all, I'll use it to try and bring this sorry business to an end.'

She nodded to Mac and moved out into the hall. Marlowe went with her. As he opened the door of the Jaguar and handed her in she said, 'I seem to have made rather a fool of myself.'

He shook his head and replied gently, 'You could never do that.'

She looked surprised and paused for a moment, her hands resting on the wheel. 'You seem to know a lot about me?'

He nodded and said calmly, 'I'd know a lot more if you'd let me see you tonight. Perhaps we could have a drink and a bite to eat somewhere?'

She stared steadily at him and a slow, grave smile appeared on her face. 'You're a strange man,' she said.

He grinned. 'I get even stranger the longer you know me. Shall I see you tonight?'

She hastily scribbled in a tiny leather diary and tore out the page. 'There's my address,' she said, handing it to him. 'Pick me up at about seven-thirty.' She pressed the starter button and as the superb engine began to tick over, said, 'You'd better go in now. You're getting rather wet.'

He stood with the slip of paper between his fingers and watched the car disappear into the distance and then he turned and went back into the house.

'And what was all that about?' Maria demanded, eyes flashing, when he returned to the living-room.

He grinned and held up the slip of paper. 'The lady's address,' he said. 'I'm taking her out tonight.'

For a moment only there was an expression of complete dismay on her face, but it was quickly replaced by one of fury. 'What exactly do you think you're playing at?' she demanded.

He ignored her and went over to the sideboard and helped himself to brandy. He turned and silently toasted the three of them and tossed it down his throat in one quick gulp. As the warmth moved through him he grinned in satisfaction. 'Yes, I'm going to take the lady out tonight,' he said. 'We'll spend the evening in Barford where I'll be nice and conspicuous.'

Understanding came to Papa Magellan and Mac at the same time. 'You're going to act as a decoy,' the Jamaican said.

As Marlowe nodded, the old man shook his head vigorously. 'It's insane. Barford at night-time will be pretty unhealthy. Monaghan and his thugs must be waiting for a chance to get you in a dark alley.'

Marlowe grinned. 'That's the idea. The whole mob will be concentrating on me, wondering what the hell I'm doing in Barford in the first place. They'll probably spend so much time trying to find an answer, they won't get around to any rough stuff.'

'And is that the only reason you're going?' Maria asked, her eyes fixed on him.

'What other reason could there be?' he told her. For a moment their eyes were locked together and then he turned and said, 'Come on, Mac. We've got to get that truck checked and loaded for your big trip.' Together they left the room and Marlowe was conscious of the girl's eyes burning into him as he went.

She was perfectly right, of course. There was another reason for seeing Jenny O'Connor, and with her woman's intuition Maria had guessed it. As Marlowe alighted from the bus in the main square at Barford that evening he saw himself reflected in a mirror and he shook his head and decided that he would never understand women.

Maria had carefully brushed and pressed the tweed suit he had been given on his release from Wandsworth and his shirt was gleaming white and freshly ironed. The suit didn't look too bad at all, he decided. At least it had been made to measure and fitted in all the right places.

As he walked along the pavement a church clock struck the hour and he checked his watch. It was seven o'clock and Mac was starting for London at eight. It would be dark enough then, Marlowe decided, looking up at the sky.

He had no difficulty in finding her address. It was a gay mews flat in a small courtyard not far from the square. The window boxes were painted bright red and one or two flowers still bloomed in-them. He pressed the bell push and glanced about him as he waited. There was no sign of her car and he listened to the silence from within with a slight frown, wondering whether he had made a mistake.

As he reached in his pocket for the slip of paper he heard a footfall and the door opened. She stood there smiling at him. She was wearing a long red housecoat of heavy silk and her hair gleamed like spun gold. She stood to one side. 'Come in, Mr Marlowe. You're a little early.'

She led the way across an oak-panelled hall and into a beautiful room. Rose carpeting completely covered the floor and cleverly concealed lights tinted the walls the same colour. A large fire flickered in a superb Adam fireplace and rich velvet curtains were drawn across the windows, somehow cutting the room off from the outside world. She motioned him into a large, wing-backed chair and went across to a cocktail cabinet and poured two drinks from a shaker. 'I had these ready mixed,' she said, as she handed him one of the glasses. 'Martinis. I hope you like them.'

Marlowe nodded. 'An old favourite of mine.' He sipped his drink and leaned back in the chair and watched her.

She curled up on a long, high-backed settee that matched his chair, and smiled. 'There isn't any great rush,' she said. 'I've booked dinner at a place I know a few miles out of Barford. Unfortunately, something's gone wrong with the car. The garage have taken it away. It's nothing serious. They promised to have it fixed in an hour.'

He nodded and offered her a cigarette. 'That's too bad.' As he sat back in his chair he smiled and added: 'However, I'm not complaining. This will do very nicely. It's a beautiful room.'

She nodded and got up to replenish his drink. 'I like beautiful things,' she said. 'They make me feel good. Life can be so drab.'

'The trouble is they all cost money,' he said as she came back with his drink.

She smiled. 'Oh, I don't know. Some things are still pretty inexpensive.' She flicked a switch by the fireplace and plunged the room into half darkness. 'Firelight for instance.' She settled back on the settee. 'It's one of the few things that haven't changed.'

Marlowe was puzzled. 'Changed?' he said.

'From the old days.' She pillowed her head on one arm like a little girl and turned towards the fire and her eyes glinted, amber and gold. 'When I was a little girl I can remember having tea with my father in his study at four o'clock on Autumn afternoons. It was a special treat, something to look forward to. It was a wonderful room, lined with books and there was always an immense fire. The maid used to bring in tea and hot muffins on a tray and my father would let me be hostess.' She chuckled. 'I loved handling the silver teapot and the beautiful china cups. There was a special intimacy about it with the dead leaves falling outside the long window and the shadows moving from the corners of the room.' She shivered and there was an utter desolation in her voice. Marlowe didn't speak and for a moment there was silence and then she said briskly, 'But that was a long time ago. Before the flood.'

Marlowe frowned. There was something he didn't understand here. 'What happened?' he said.

She shrugged. 'My father lost his money. He got mixed up in some financial swindle.' She hesitated and said briefly, 'He blew his brains out.'

'I'm sorry,' Marlowe told her. 'That was a rough break.'

She smiled and shrugged. 'The only trouble about being born into money is that you find it impossible to do without it. It means one has to look for a solution and sometimes it may be rather unpleasant.'

The picture was becoming a little clearer. 'And you found your solution?'

She smiled wistfully. 'Solutions are usually hard to come by. How old do you think I am, Mr Marlowe?'

He shrugged. 'It's hard to say. Eighteen - nineteen.'

She laughed. 'I'm twenty-eight next month. When I was seventeen I married a wealthy man because I wanted security. He gave me ten years of hell. He was unfaithful, a drunkard and when the mood was on him, he wasn't above knocking me around. I put up with him because I didn't have the courage to go out and face life on my own. When he died in a car crash last year I thought I was free. Unfortunately he left nothing but debts.'

'And that's when O'Connor stepped in?' Marlowe said.

She nodded. 'That's right. He was my father's half-brother. I knew very little about him. I believe there was some scandal when he was young and he had to leave home. He got in touch with me six months ago and offered to provide for me.'

'And you accepted,' Marlowe said.

She shrugged. 'Why not? I'm weak.' She indicated the room with a gesture of one hand. 'He's good to me. In some queer way of his own he's proud of me. He likes people to know that I'm his niece. I suppose he's looking for a veneer of respectability now that he's rich.'

'Are you happy?' Marlowe asked her.

She smiled sadly. 'Isn't it the Bible which tells us we must pay for our weaknesses, Mr Marlowe?' She laughed in a strange way and reached for a cigarette from a silver box on a small table beside her. 'I have everything I want. Everything. It's just that I get so lonely at times. So damned lonely.'

For a long moment they stared at each other and the terrible dryness clutched at Marlowe's throat again. As the firelight flared up, illuminating her face, he saw tears glisten in her eyes and then the cigarette fell from her fingers and her face crumpled up like a child's. 'So lonely,' she repeated. 'So damned lonely.'

Marlowe got to his feet, a terrible vital force rushing through him. There was a great roaring in his ears and as he stumbled forward, her arms reached out and pulled him down. Her mouth fastened hungrily on his and she moaned his name once. As his hands moved over her she gave a cry of ecstasy and her fingers clawed at him like a tigress as the fury swelled to envelop the both of them.

The room was almost in darkness and the few remaining embers glowed fitfully in the grate. She stirred and moved her head against his shoulder. 'We'll have to be going,' he told her. 'It's past eight. That dinner you ordered will be spoilt.'

She turned her softness into him and slipped an arm round his neck. 'There's no rush,' she said. 'The garage haven't phoned about the car yet.'

Marlowe reached for a cigarette and lit it from the silver table lighter that went with the box. As he blew smoke out in a long streamer to the dark ceiling she picked at his shirt with her fingers and said, 'Are you really going to go on defying my uncle?'

'I don't see why not,' he said.

'But you don't stand a chance,' she told him. She slipped an arm around his neck and kissed him. 'I don't want you to get hurt.'

He grinned, his teeth gleaming in the darkness. She struggled up beside him and said, 'What's so funny?'

'That last remark of yours,' he told her. 'You see, I think it's your uncle who's going to end up getting hurt.' He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch and said, 'Round about now Mac must be just leaving for London.'

She switched on a standard lamp and there was incredulity on her face. 'But why is he going to London?'

Marlowe shrugged. 'To sell a truckload of produce at the greatest market in the world, Covent Garden. Even your uncle doesn't cut much ice there.'

For a moment she looked dubious and then she smiled and hugged him. 'Oh, I think it's a wonderful idea. I hope it works for you.' She stood up and stretched and looked at herself in the mirror. She gave a little shriek. 'My goodness, what a sight I look. I must go and change.' She smiled and rumpled his hair. 'Straighten your tie like a good boy and have another drink while I'm getting ready.' As she walked to the door she added, 'I'll phone the garage and see what the delay is.'

Marlowe helped himself to another Martini and listened to the muffled sound of her voice as she used the telephone in the hall. A moment later she opened the door and said, 'They'll deliver it within fifteen minutes. I shan't be long.' She closed the door again and Marlowe picked up a magazine and idly browsed through it.

After a moment or two he tossed it to one side and considered the events of the evening. He didn't try to pretend to himself that he was in love with Jenny O'Connor. There was no need. It was a peculiar type of relationship he had experienced only once before in his life: a tremendous chemistry which gave rise to a physical craving that had to be satisfied.

He checked his watch again. It was almost nine o'clock. By now Mac should be fairly started. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling and tried to calculate the time the Jamaican would arrive in London. Probably about three in the morning. They should see him back by lunchtime easily. One thing was certain. The plan had to succeed. If it didn't it would put Magellan out of business. Of that there was no doubt.

The door clicked open and she entered the room. She was wearing a black, sleeveless knitted dress that was completely form fitting. She smiled and held out a fur coat and he draped it across her shoulders. 'I'm beginning to wonder if I can afford you,' he told her.

She smiled and led the way towards the front door. 'Don't worry about that. I've got plenty of money.'

For a moment some essential core of male pride caused him to feel resentful and then he smiled. After all, why not? It was O'Connor's money. A car horn sounded outside and when she opened the door they found a white-overalled mechanic standing beside the Jaguar. 'You shouldn't have any trouble with it now, Miss O'Connor,' he said cheerfully.

'Thanks, Jerry,' she told him. She turned to Marlowe. 'You can drive if you like.' He handed her in and then went around to the other side and climbed behind the wheel.

The big car handled like a dream; when they reached the main road leading out of Barford, Marlowe accelerated until the needle lifted towards eighty. 'It's a lovely car,' he told her.

She smiled. 'The best. Haven't you ever wanted a car like this?'

For a brief moment he hovered on the brink of telling her about his past. About the days when he'd driven a car like this all the time. When he'd had money and clothes and women. Everything a man could ever want and yet he didn't tell her these things. He didn't tell her because he suddenly realized that things like that had lost their importance. A car was a car, it had an engine and four wheels and it got you from place to place. Was it really so important to have one that cost two thousand pounds?

He cursed silently. If he went on thinking things like that he was going to spoil the evening. Deliberately he pushed them back into some dark corner of his mind and turned into the car park of the road house which they had now reached. As they walked towards the entrance, he forced his mind to concentrate on enjoying the rest of the evening.

It was eleven o'clock when he turned the car into the courtyard outside Jenny O'Connor's flat and stopped the engine. For a moment they sat in silence and then she said, 'I really enjoyed myself. You dance exceptionally well for such a big man.'

He shrugged. 'Give the credit to those Martinis. I wasn't with you half the time.'

She chuckled. 'Coming in for a night-cap?' She placed a warm hand on his arm and something stirred inside him. After all, why not? He opened the door and started to get out.

A fist lifted into his face and some inexplicable reflex action caused him to duck so that the blow glanced off his cheek. He slammed the door outwards and it thudded against some solid body as he hurled himself forward, ice cold rage surging through him.

A foot tripped him and he hurtled to the cobbles, instinctively putting his hands to his face and rolling away to avoid the swinging kicks. A foot caught him in the side, another grazed his face and then he was on his feet again. Jenny O'Connor hadn't screamed once. For a moment, a terrible suspicion surged through him that perhaps she had played him false and then her front door opened. Light flooded in a golden shaft across the courtyard.

'Inside, Hugh! Inside!' she cried.

In the shaft of light, Blacky Monaghan and his two friends stood revealed. One of them was holding a length of iron railing in both hands and he suddenly darted forward and swung for Marlowe's head. Marlowe ducked and the bar rang against the stone wall behind him. He lifted his foot savagely into the man's crutch. The bar rattled against the cobbles and the man gave a terrible, choking cry and sank to the ground.

Monaghan stood back and wiped a hand across his brow. From the sound of him he'd been drinking. 'That won't do you much good, you bastard,' he snarled. He spoke to his remaining ally without taking his eyes off Marlowe. 'Go get him, Paddy. Slice him up good.'

Paddy took his hand out of his right pocket and slowly opened an old-fashioned bone-handled razor. He started towards Marlowe, his hand extended. Marlowe waited until he was only three or four feet away, then he dropped to one knee, picked up the iron bar his first assailant had dropped and smashed it across Paddy's right arm. The bone snapped like a dry twig. Paddy slipped to the cobbles in a dead faint, his face contorted into a mask of agony.

As Marlowe started to get up from his knee, Monaghan came in with a rush and kicked him in the side, lifting him over and backwards against the wall. The Irishman moved in fast, his foot raised to stamp down on the unprotected face. Marlowe grabbed the foot and twisted and Monaghan fell heavily across him. For several moments they rolled over and over across the cobbles tearing at each other's throats and then, as they crashed into the far wall, Marlowe pulled himself on top. He slammed his fist solidly against the Irishman's jaw twice, and Monaghan's head rolled to one side and he lay still.

Marlowe scrambled to his feet and leaned against the wall for a moment. After a while he turned and walked towards the door. Jenny was standing there looking at him, a strange expression in her eyes. 'My God, can't anyone get the better of you?' she said.

He ignored the remark and pushed her inside. 'You didn't phone the police did you?' She shook her head and he nodded. 'Good! Let me have a double brandy. When I've gone, phone your uncle and tell him what's happened. He'll have to come round to pick his boys up himself.'

She quickly poured brandy and handed him the glass. 'Are they all right?' she said, uncertainty in her voice.

He shrugged. 'That kind are always all right. If you mean have I killed any of them, the answer is no. Your uncle will have to get a doctor though, and the kind of doctor who handles cases like this doesn't come cheap.'

'Blacky Monaghan will kill you next time,' she said with conviction.

Marlowe shrugged and straightened his tie. 'A lot of people have tried to kill me,' he told her. 'I'm still here.'

'Your face is an awful mess,' she said. 'You'd better come into the bathroom and I'll fix it.'

He managed a grin. 'No thanks. O'Connor might have somebody waiting in there for me as well.' He leaned over and brushed her cheek. 'It's been nice, angel, but the party's over for now. I'd better get out of here. Give me five minutes and then phone him.'

As he passed through the courtyard, Paddy was beginning to moan and the third man sobbed steadily like a small child. Marlowe moved rapidly along the dark street. He was lucky. As he emerged into the square, a taxi crossed in front of him and he flagged it down.

He lay back against the upholstered seat and closed his eyes. He was tired, very tired and his body was a mass of bruises. Each time he breathed in, his chest hurt where Monaghan's boot had landed and he wondered if anything was broken. When he considered what had happened he realized that he had been expecting it all night. After all, Monaghan had given him fair warning. He and his friends must have planned the whole thing very carefully.

Marlowe twisted his face into a tired smile. At least he'd kept them busy for the evening while Mac was taking the stuff south. His plan had worked beautifully and he'd got to know Jenny O'Connor very well indeed. Taking it all in all, it had been a profitable evening, kicks and bruises notwithstanding.

He got out of the taxi at the gate and paid the man. For a moment he stood in the darkness listening to the sound of the engine dying away in the distance and then he turned and walked across the yard to the front door.

There was a light on in the kitchen, showing faintly through the crack under the door, and he groped his way towards it and turned the knob. Maria was sitting in an old rocking chair by the kitchen fire crying steadily. She raised a tear-stained face and gave a gasp of horror. 'Oh, Hugh, what have they done to you?'

In a moment she was across the room and in his arms. He held her close as sobs shook her small body and gently smoothed her hair. 'What is it, angel?' he said. 'There's nothing to worry about. They've only chipped the edges a little.'

She raised her face, swollen and puffed up with weeping and said brokenly, 'Mac telephoned through from a little place near Peterborough. He went into a roadside cafe for a cup of tea and when he came out someone had stolen the truck.' She shook her head helplessly from side to side. 'Don't you see what this means, Hugh? We're finished. There's nothing more we can do.'

As her body was shaken with fresh sobs Marlowe held her close and stared bitterly into space. He decided that if O'Connor had been in the room at that moment he would have killed him with his bare hands.