without much humour. 'You were only taught one side of the game, my darling.'
'It doesn't sound much like tennis.'
'Oh, there are compensations. For example, do you have any idea how limitless the possibilities are? In that kitchen, for the next three hours or so, until it's tracked?'
I'm not sure I know what you mean.'
'Depending upon who's on the tapes, there'll be a mad scramble writing down words and phrases. Kitchen talk has its own contractions, its own language, really. It will be assumed you've taken your suitcase to a scheduled destination, for reasons of departure, naturally. There'll be quite a bit of confusion.' Alison smiled, her eyes again mischievous, as they had been before he had gone upstairs to pry loose the bugs.
'You mean "Sauce Bearnaise" is really a code for submachine gun? "BLT" stands for "hit the beaches"?'
'Something like that. It's quite possible, you know.'
'I thought that sort of thing only happened in World War Two movies. With Nazis screaming at each other, sending panzer divisions in the wrong directions.' McAuliff looked at his watch. It was 9.15. 'I have a phone call to make, and I want to go over a list of supplies with Ferguson. He's going to - '
He stopped. Alison had reached over, her hand suddenly on his arm. 'Don't turn your head,' she commanded softly, 'But I think your little buggers provoked a reaction. A man just came through the dining room entrance very rapidly, obviously looking for someone.'
'For us?'
'For you, to be precise, I'd say.'
'The kitchen codes didn't fool them very long.'
'Perhaps not. On the other hand, it's quite possible they've been keeping loose tabs on you and were double checking. It's too small a hotel for round-the-clock - '
'Describe him,' interrupted McAuliff. 'As completely as you can. Is he still facing this way?'
'He saw you and stopped. He's apologizing to the man on the reservations book, I think. He's white; he's dressed in light trousers, a dark jacket, and a white - no, a yellow shirt. He's shorter than you by a bit; fairly chunky - '
'What?'
'You know, bulky. And middle-young, thirties, I'd say. His hair is long, not mod, but long. It's dark blond or light brown; it's hard to tell in this candlelight.'
'You've done fine. Now I've got to get to a telephone.'
'Wait till he leaves; he's looking over again,' said Alison, feigning interested, intimate laughter. 'Why don't you leer a little and signal for the check. Very casually, my darling.'
'I feel like I'm in some kind of nursery school. With the prettiest teacher in town.' Alex held up his hand, spotted the waiter, and made the customary scribble in the air. 'I'll take you to your room, then come back downstairs and call.'
'Why? Use the phone in the room. The buggers aren't there.'
Damn! Goddamn! It had happened again; he wasn't prepared. The little things, always the little things. They were the traps. Holcroft said it over and over again... Holcroft. The Savoy. Don't make calls on the Savoy phone.
'I was told to use the pay telephone. They must have their reasons.'
'Who?'
'The Ministry. Latham... the police, of course.'
'Of course. The police.' Alison withdrew her hand from his arm as the waiter presented the bill for Alex to sign. She didn't believe him; she made no pretence of believing him. Why should she? He was a rotten actor; he was caught... But it was preferable to an ill-phrased statement or an awkward response to Westmore Tallon over the phone while Alison watched him. And listened. He had to feel free in his conversation with the arthritic liaison; he could not have one eye, one ear on Alison as he talked. He could not take the chance that the name Chatellerault, or even a hint of the man, was heard. Alison was too quick.
'Has he left yet?'
'As you signed the check. He saw we were leaving.' Her reply was neither angry nor warm, merely neutral.
They walked out of the candlelit dining room, past the cascading arc of green foliage into the lobby, towards the bank of elevators. Neither spoke. The ride up to their floor continued in silence, made bearable by other guests in the small enclosure.
He opened the door and repeated the precautions he had taken the previous evening - minus the scanner. He was in a hurry now; if he remembered, he would bless the room with electronic benediction later. He checked his own room and locked the connecting door from her side. He looked out on the balcony and