Ride a Pale Horse by Helen Macinnes

Author:Helen Macinnes
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781781164396
Publisher: Titan
Published: 2014-01-16T22:54:00+00:00

16

They entered the Imperial by a rear door, Giovanni guiding them through a labyrinth of corridors. “Levinson suggested this,” he told them. “Thought you could do without a grand entrance through the lobby.” Karen nodded gratefully. She hadn’t spoken on the journey back to the hotel—none of them had. She was in shock, Bristow was buried in thought, Giovanni was tactful. She felt chilled, even in the midday heat with the warmth of Peter’s arm around her.

“Where’s Levinson?” Bristow demanded when they had reached Karen’s rooms. “Still with that business-man?” He was bitter and didn’t disguise it.

“A big fish. Levinson hooked him in midstream and is now playing him into the bank. He’ll be netted soon, another hour or so. It took us five months to make the catch.” His explanation ended, Giovanni turned on the TV and chose the most comfortable chair. “I’ll wait here.”

Bristow, at the door of Karen’s bedroom, said sharply, “Not necessary.” Then he added, “Sorry. Thanks for what you’ve done, Giovanni. A great help.” My nerves must be a bit shattered, he thought. Levinson might not have appeared himself, but at least he kept us in mind.

Giovanni settled deeper into the chair. “I’ll wait,” he repeated as Bristow left. A lot of questions to ask, and Levinson would want to hear the answers.

In the bedroom, Karen stood paralysed before the long mirror. “Look at me! Just look!” She gave a shaky laugh. “And you kissed a face like this!”

Bristow caught his own reflection in the glass and shook his head over the picture he, too, presented. “A pretty pair, aren’t we?”

Karen’s laughter was breaking into tears. “You saved my life.”

“You’d have made it out yourself. The exit was near enough.” And was it her gratitude that had let him kiss her?

His brusque reply steadied her. “You chose to sit there. You wouldn’t let me take the chair I was supposed to have. Beside Aliotto.” She shuddered. Her voice weakened. “Those men—those poor men! I don’t remember—not much—not now. Just the noise, the screams. Oh, God, it was hideous.” She began to weep. “Without you, Peter—” She broke off, tried to regain control.

“We’ll clean up,” he said gently, “and then we’ll talk. Have a shower, Karen. Or a bath.” Play it cool, he warned himself. Gratitude was not enough. Yet, in that shattered street, suddenly safe together, he had felt as he drew her close that she, too, knew the swift, overwhelming emotion that had mastered him. But he had been wrong.

She turned away from the mirror. “A shower,” she decided, then stood irresolute.

“Steady enough?”

“Almost normal. Just slow-thinking and freezing.”

He pulled the quilted cover from a bed, dropped it on a chair near the bathroom door. “Wrap yourself in that when you come out of the shower. I’ll find some brandy and leave it on the dressing-table. Okay?”

“Peter—” She looked at him.

“Yes?”

She touched his shoulder, slid her arms around it. Then she reached up and kissed him. “I owe you two,” she said softly, and kissed him again.

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