1967 - Have This One on Me Page 19

  Girland lay still. It was as if he were bloodless. The journey through the tunnel and the struggle had drained all the strength out of him.

  Malik moved closer. He lifted his heavy boot with the intention of smashing it down on Girland’s upturned face, then he hesitated. Why make a mess on his boot? He turned to look for a stone and found himself facing Mala, dripping wet, covered in oil, her eyes staring, the automatic rifle held firmly in her hands.

  Seeing her wild, desperate expression, Girland cried. ‘Don’t kill him!’

  ‘I’m going to!’ she sobbed.

  ‘Mala!’

  The snap in Girland’s voice stopped her. She backed away as Girland dragged himself to his feet. He joined her and took the rifle from her.

  Malik watched them. He braced himself, expecting Girland would kill him. His shattered hand was beginning to swell, but his stone like face was cold and expressionless as he stared fixedly at the rifle.

  Girland regarded him, then shook his head.

  ‘Relax, Comrade,’ he said. ‘I’m not shooting you. Like me you do a job, and like me you are a sucker to do it. That’s the way it is.’ He pointed to the raft. ‘That’s your best way home. Watch out for the rats. It’s some journey, but I did it ... so can you. Get going.’

  Malik regarded him, his green eyes puzzled.

  ‘I was going to kill you,’ he said. ‘What’s the idea?’

  ‘You take your job too seriously,’ Girland said. ‘Just because you were going to kill me doesn’t mean I have to kill you, does it?’

  Malik paused to consider this, then he again regarded Girland who waved him to the raft.

  ‘Go on ... shove off,’ Girland said.

  Still Malik studied him, then he said, ‘We’ll meet again. When we do, I’ll buy you a drink.’

  Girland knew this was Malik’s way of thanking him and he grinned.

  ‘That’s a date. Wait a moment.’ He turned to Mala. ‘Get his pistol.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘Get his pistol, baby.’

  She hesitated, then ran up the tunnel, found the automatic pistol Malik had thrown away and returned.

  Girland took it from her, then walked to the water’s edge.

  ‘You won’t get far without a gun. The rats don’t like noise,’ and he offered the gun, butt first to Malik.

  Malik made no move. He looked intently at Girland.

  ‘I’ve always thought you were mad,’ he said finally, ‘now I’m sure of it.’

  Girland laughed.

  ‘That makes two of us. No one but mad men would do the work we do.’

  He again offered the gun.

  ‘That gun’s loaded,’ Malik said.

  ‘So what? It wouldn’t be much use if it wasn’t loaded, would it?’

  ‘You are giving me a loaded gun?’ There was a bewildered expression in Malik’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Girland said impatiently. ‘You won’t get through without it. We’re professionals ... and we are both working in this shabby, dirty racket. There comes a time when we can forget the little stinkers at the top who pull the strings ... take it.’ He shoved the gun at Malik who took it.

  Mala watched breathlessly. She wanted to scream. Now this awful blond giant would kill him. She looked frantically around for the automatic rifle.

  Girland turned.

  ‘Don’t get worked up, baby,’ he said and going to her, he put his arm around her shoulders. ‘He and I just happen to be on the wrong side of the Curtain.’ He looked back and waved to Malik who was motionless, the gun hanging his side, watching them. ‘So long, and good luck.’

  Picking up the rucksack, leaving the rifle, his arm still around Mala, he led her to the opening of the tunnel and into the early morning sunshine.

  * * *

  Mavis Paul, Dorey’s secretary, was clipping papers into a file when her office door pushed open and Girland wandered in.

  At the sight of him, she blushed and looked quickly around her desk for a suitable weapon. She had met Girland before and she knew he took liberties.

  Girland looked very handsome. He was wearing a cream lightweight suit, a blood-red tie and reverse calf ankle high boots.

  ‘There you are,’ Girland said and smiled at her, putting his big brown hands on the desk and gazing with rapt attention into her eyes. ‘I’ve been counting the hours. Last night I dreamed of you.’

  Mavis’s fingers closed around a long, heavy ruler.

  ‘Mr. Dorey is waiting for you. Please go straight in.’

  ‘It’s sad that a beautiful girl like you should be so wrapped up with a silly little man like Dorey.’ Girland said sadly. At the same time he was watching the ruler. He had one slap in the face from Mavis and knew she had surprising strength. ‘You and I could have lots of fun together ... how are you fixed? How about the day after tomorrow? A cosy dinner, and then I could show you my electric razor.’

  ‘If you don’t get in there fast. I’ll hit you!’ Mavis said fiercely, pushing back her chair.

  Girland drew back.

  ‘Some other time, perhaps? Well, all right. Sooner or later the inevitable must happen. You’re wasting the best time of your life, baby.’

  ‘Get in there!’ Mavis said, brandishing the ruler.

  ‘While I’m talking to the old goat.’ Girland said, moving to Dorey’s office door, ‘take stock. Think about what you are missing. You and I could have an experience together that would put L.S.D. off the map.’

  Her face scarlet. Mavis pulled the typewriter to her and began pounding the keys.

  Girland wandered into Dorey’s office, closing the door behind him.

  Dorey sat at his desk. Looking at him seeing his white, drawn face, the dark shadows under his eyes, Girland felt sorry for him, but he didn’t show it.

  ‘Hello there.’ he said, and walked to the visitor’s chair and sat down. ‘How are your ulcers?’

  Dorey said. ‘I could have had you arrested Girland. Right now, you could be in an Austrian prison. I have been lenient with you, but understand this ... I’m not standing any nonsense from you.’

  Girland looked at him, then laughed.

  ‘Dorey ... you really kill me,’ he said. ‘That bluff wouldn’t scare a kid of five. You have your script muddled. You know, as I know, you didn’t dare have me arrested because you knew I would have talked and you would be, by now, out of a job. You like your job. There are times when I have to admit you do it quite well. Every now and then your imagination runs away with you and you drop a clanger. You played me for a sucker and I fell for it. I took your bait and swallowed the hook. You didn’t give a damn what would happen to me.’ He paused and stared soberly at Dorey who looked away, then he opened the gold cigarette box on the desk and helped himself to one of Dorey’s handmade cigarettes. He lit it with the gold lighter.

  ‘You wanted to square accounts with me because I made a sucker out of you on our last operation … fair enough. When I found you had boobed and had planted a genuine top secret document on me I was in two minds what to do. I finally decided I would bring it back to you. It would have been much easier to have torn it up and flushed it down the toilet. I suppose I am a bit of a sucker. You and I have worked together for some time. I have always regarded you as a conscientious dope. For some reason or other, you do a good job. I wouldn’t like to see you lose it because I’m pretty sure your successor could be a bigger dope than you are and that would be a disaster.’ He took from his wallet the dirty, oil-stained envelope with its top secret seal and dropped it on Dorey’s blotter. ‘There it is. I won’t bore you with the details about how I got it out of Prague. It was a rough trip, but I made up my mind you should have it back ... you now have it back.’

  Dorey opened the envelope and examined the crumpled sheets of paper it contained. His face lightened, the sparkle that had been missing from his eyes for the past three days now returned. He slid the papers into a drawer arid turned the key.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.
Sitting back, he stared woodenly at Girland. ‘And now, what are your terms?’

  Girland stubbed out his cigarette.

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Dorey? Are you getting that old? Do you imagine I would have given you those papers if I was going to make a bargain with you?’

  ‘I am not a rich man.’ Dorey said, placing his fingertips together and resting his elbows on the desk. ‘I know what money means to you, Girland. Could we settle this for twenty thousand dollars?’

  Girland looked at him and shook his head.

  ‘So you’re still afraid I’ll talk?’ he said. ‘Listen, you silly old goat, don’t you understand you are the salt in my stew? I can’t imagine life in Paris without you cooking up some trick, make some stupid mistake and coming to me to help you out. Can’t you get that fact into your small, suspicious mind? Paris without you would be like Paris without the Eiffel Tower.’ He got to his feet. ‘Anyway, I’ve had fun, found a girl and even Malik is going to buy me a drink when next we meet.’ He walked to the door, paused and looked at Dorey who was staring at him, his face set, his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses bright. ‘The next time you take me for a sucker, will be the last time ... just remember that.’

  Dorey said quietly, ‘There will be no next time ... and thank you.’

  As Girland opened the door. Dorey said, ‘Wait.’

  Girland lifted his eyebrows.

  ‘Now what?’

  ‘What happened to that thirty thousand dollars?’ Dorey asked, leaning forward. ‘Have you got it?’

  Girland burst out laughing.

  ‘The same old Dorey ... see what I mean? Like the Eiffel Tower ... you never change,’ and he left the office, closing the door.

  Mavis was still typing. She didn’t look up. Girland paused to study her. She was beautifully built and he liked her uptilted nose and the waves in her hair.

  ‘Have you made up your mind, honey?’ he asked, pausing by her desk. ‘How about this date?’

  Without looking at him, without pausing in her typing, she said curtly, ‘That is the way out,’ and she jerked her head towards the outer door.

  ‘Tell me something confidentially,’ Girland said, leaning close to her. Lowering his voice, he asked, ‘Do you prefer girls to boys?’

  As Mavis’s hand slapped across his face, Girland gathered her in his arms. Her warm, yielding lips met his and her arms slid around his broad shoulders.

  Dorey, coming out of his office, paused, stared, hesitated, then silently stepped back and closed the door.

  * * *

  A taxi stopped outside Le Grand Vefour, one of France’s eleven greatest restaurants that hid itself under the shadows of the arches of the Palais Royal.

  Raymond Oliver, owner of this restaurant, tall, bearded, came to welcome Girland as Girland pushed open the glass door and stood aside for Mala to precede him.

  The Maître’s eyes ran over Mala, radiant in a white, simple evening dress and he approved, then he clasped Girland’s hand warmly.

  ‘It is a great pleasure to see you again, mon ami,’ he said. ‘Everything has been arranged. You have Colette’s table.’

  He led the way through the red plush and mirrored room to a table. Mala followed the tall figure, awed and excited. Life in Paris, after her years behind the Iron Curtain, had gone to her head like champagne.

  Settled on the red plush, surrounded by expensively dressed Americans, they listened as Oliver described the menu while Henrique, the veteran wine waiter, placed vodka martinis on the table.

  ‘Monsieur has already ordered,’ Oliver said to Mala. ‘There is toast de crevettes Rothschild, partridge, a little cheese and coupe Empire. There is a Chablis 1959 and a Petrus 1945 for the grouse. Champagne, of course, for the dessert.’

  Mala looked at Girland and put her hand on his.

  ‘It sounds like heaven.’

  ‘It’ll taste like heaven, too,’ Girland said.

  It was some minutes before they were alone. Mala was very conscious she was looking her best. She had spent all the afternoon preparing for the occasion and when she looked at Girland, she could see his admiration.

  Girland had booked a room for her at the Normandy Hotel, near the Palais Royal. When she arrived at the hotel room, she found it full of flowers. She had wept a little because this was happiness she had never known. Girland had called for her in a taxi and now they were in this restaurant. He had promised her the best and most expensive dinner in Paris and although she had faith in him, she hadn’t really believed the time would eventually come when she would be sitting by his side in the quiet and safety of red plush and gilded mirrors.

  It was after they had finished the crevettes Rothschild that Girland told her about Worthington’s will.

  ‘You have only to go to Geneva and to Credit Suisse Bank and tell them who you are to take over his money ... it’s quite a sum ... sixty thousand dollars. It’s all yours.’

  ‘He really left it to me?’ Mala asked, her eyes opening wide.

  ‘Yes.’ Girland sipped the Chablis. He watched her, wondering what was going on in her mind.

  ‘He loved me,’ she said. ‘He was odd ... a man I couldn’t love.’ She fingered the porcelain ashtray made from a cast of Colette’s hand. ‘What am I going to do with all that money ... alone?’

  ‘Ask the bank to invest it for you,’ Girland said. ‘You won’t be alone for long.’

  She hesitated, then said quietly, ‘You wouldn’t come to Geneva with me ... we could be happy together.’

  Girland shook his head.

  ‘No. I’m a loner, baby. I can only thrive on my own.’

  The partridge came, golden brown on its bed of foie gras and toast. The Petrus was poured.

  Girland had a sudden feeling the evening was dying on him. He sensed Mala was close to tears.

  Women! he thought. I wish I hadn’t started something here. I should have known she would fall in love with me.

  Anyway, she has money, she is young and when she gets to Geneva she will find a new life.

  Later, they left the restaurant. It had been a splendid meal, impeccably served, but the mood just wasn’t there. They settled silently in the taxi that took them to the hotel.

  As the taxi pulled up. Mala asked, ‘Are you coming up?’

  Her warm hand closed over his.

  This is the moment to stop, Girland thought. I must be free. I must be fair to her.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow you fly to Geneva and you will become a rich woman.’ He took from his wallet the Air France ticket and dropped it in her lap. ‘Make your own life, baby. You’ll manage. A lovely with your looks and money won’t be lonely for long.’

  He leaned across her and opened the taxi door. ‘Forget about me. I’m no good for any girl.’

  She took the air ticket and pushed it into her bag, then she got out of the taxi. She peered down at him as he looked up at her.

  ‘Thank you for the beautiful dinner,’ she said. ‘When next we meet, I’ll buy you a drink.’

  Girland laughed.

  ‘That’s my girl. So long and good luck.’

  She stared at him for a long moment, then turning, she walked slowly to the entrance of the hotel. Girland watched her, seeing the way she swung her neat little hips, her slim, upright figure very desirable.

  ‘Where to?’ the taxi driver asked, turning to look impatiently at Girland.

  Girland was still watching Mala as she moved through the revolving doors. He remembered the moment in the cave when they had come together. He remembered that exciting little cry as he had entered her.

  He felt a violent surge of desire to have that experience again.

  ‘Where to?’ he said. ‘Why, nowhere,’ and he dropped a ten-franc note into the driver’s hand and getting out of the taxi he hurried into the hotel lobby.

  Mala was getting her key as Girland joined her. She turned and they looked at each other, then smiling happily, she linked her arm in his and led him towards the elev
ator.