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.The dark eyes travelled slowly across to Susan and stared at her with a look that, while pretending to be quizzical, was deeply knowing.‘And Mr Mackenzie has a great deal to hide, so I believe.’ Any last doubts she might have had as to his meaning were dispelled by the glint of personal contempt that he couldn’t quite conceal.She looked quickly out of the window before her face crumpled.He knew.The realization was only marginally less shocking than the knowledge that this was no idle disclosure, that at the end of the day this dreadful little man wouldn’t hesitate to make use of it, to betray her in the same way that he was preparing to betray Tony.Chemical-campaigning pop star and agriculture chief’s wife.The papers would have a field day.Tony’s career would never survive it.She leaned her head against the glass.They were in the traffic queue at Alexandra Gate before she felt steady again.‘I could talk to him,’ she offered, gaining strength as she said it.‘Persuade him that publicity wouldn’t be a good idea.’‘Mmm?’ Schenker seemed almost bored.‘And d’you think he’d listen?’‘Yes,’ she said defensively.Then she remembered Nick and his principles and felt a sudden doubt.If it came to a choice between her and his beloved project, how would he decide? Publicity about their affair wouldn’t frighten him at all, she realized bitterly.He wouldn’t care, he would tell her to go to hell, just like he’d told her to go to hell all those years ago.Nothing would frighten him.Nothing except …The answer came to her then.Part of her was shocked and repulsed by the idea, but another part of her reached out for it avidly.There was a sort of justice in it, an awful sort of satisfaction.A last instant of uncertainty, then she said: ‘There’s something he wouldn’t be happy about, something he’d hate the world to know.’She could feel Schenker watching her.‘Oh?’ he said casually.‘And what’s that?’Susan told him and for the first time during that dreadful drive she felt a glimmering of hope.Hillyard whistled as he bounded up the stairs two at a time.In this sort of quiet he reckoned it was less obvious to make a bit of noise than to creep around surreptitiously.As he came up the final flight he switched the tote-bag he was carrying to his left hand and prepared to let himself into the flat, spinning the door keys round his finger as if he owned the place.On the landing he paused for a moment, listening hard, before resuming his whistling, more softly this time.There were footsteps on the stairs, coming down; males gabbling in some foreign language.He was sliding the key into the lock when they turned onto the landing.He took his time before looking round, his lips still pursed into a whistle, and smiled briefly and impersonally at the two swarthy men approaching.They fell silent, eyeing him liberally as they passed.Well, they might not know what to make of him, but he had their mark all right.A pair of queens, and no mistake.He let himself into the flat without looking back.By this time he knew his way around the place so well that he could see at a glance what had changed.The furniture was different – she had moved two chairs round – a dust sheet lay in a tangle on the floor, and a new pile of papers had appeared on the desk.And then there was the ceiling.The fresh plaster was dry in the centre but still damp at the edges where it met the cornice, and a right mess down one of the walls where the water from the tank had got behind the wallpaper and bubbled it away.He went straight to the phone and, careful to weight the rest so it would ring if someone called, unfastened the handset with a screwdriver and eased the halves apart.He looked at the microtransmitter for a moment, remembering the sounds on the tape recording, the clunks as she had unscrewed the fastenings, the creaking of plastic as she had removed the casing, and then the long silence.She must have seen it: she couldn’t have missed it.And if she hadn’t been looking for this, what else could she have been looking for?She had seen it, but she had left it in place.She hadn’t told anybody, she hadn’t called the police.Clever girl.Well, almost.The transmitter was fixed with double-sided tape, and now he pulled it free, and unclipping the tiny alligator clips slid it into his pocket.He put the halves back together and refastened the screws.Then, going to the main telephone socket on the skirting board, he removed the socket plate and replaced it with a new one from his bag, his work interrupted only by a squawk from his walkie-talkie, which gave him a moment’s fright.He checked with Biggs down in the van, but there was nothing brewing; just interference.He had a quick look through the new pile of papers on the desk.Insurance claim forms, magazines.Then the final task.He took some time mulling over the exact location for his little present.He went through her hanging cupboard and bathroom drawers, but lingered longest over the underwear in the top drawer of the chest in the main room.All in all, it would be the most fitting place.He fingered a pair of panties and dangled them in the air, both repelled and fascinated by the thought of catching her bodily scents.Then he ran his hand up inside the chest to make sure there would be no gaps once the drawer was closed again.He pushed the drawer closed except for an opening of about three inches, then went back to the tote-bag.Shuddering with physical excitement, unable to suppress a crow of anticipation, he pulled on a glove and slipped his hand carefully into the holdall.After a moment’s scrabbling, he had his prey.A big beauty who went into the drawer good as gold.Hillyard was all finished and out of the place in eight minutes flat.Chapter 33NICK BUZZED FOR Mrs Alton and looked at the house phone accusingly when it failed to respond.He peered at his watch.Nine.Could it be that late? He looked up and realized it had probably been dark for some time.Rolling his chair clear of the console, he leaned back and stretched, pushing his arms high over his head and giving a long shuddering sigh.Eight, no, nine hours he’d been here.He had completed – what? He leaned forward to count the pages – ten pages of manuscript; maybe five minutes’ finished music.It had come with breathtaking speed.The orchestration was still a bit rough, of course, definitely in need of refinement, but it had begun to develop the sort of texture he was after and he didn’t think he’d be too ashamed to hear it performed in its present form.Since Sunday he had finished one complete section, or, to be more accurate, a movement, though that was rather a grand title for something that was just eight minutes long.It was a lyrical section entitled In a Summer Garden.Next would come Dawnlight [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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