Victor placed two plates on the table, along with a pot containing his gastronomic creation. He found some bread in a wooden box on the table, broke a piece off to test its freshness and placed a lump in front of Stratton. ‘Eat,’ he said as he spooned the food onto the plates. ‘This is as good as it gets around here.’
While Victor poured them both more wine Stratton tasted the concoction. ‘Not bad,’ he said.
The scientist shrugged. ‘From a man who enjoys corked wine that’s not much of a compliment.’
Stratton smiled.
Victor could not help liking the Englishman. He held up his mug. ‘Thanks again for the rocket thing. That was a natural act of chivalry. You can’t be all bad.’
The door opened and Stratton reached swiftly for his M4 a few feet away.
Louisa stepped into the cabin. ‘Oh,’ she said, pausing in the doorway. ‘Hello, Victor.’ She closed the door behind her.
‘Louisa,’ he said, greeting her.
She stopped at his back and rested her hands on his shoulders. ‘You’ve had a long day, and a very unfriendly homecoming.’
Victor enjoyed her show of affection. ‘I have cooked some food,’ he said.
Louisa looked into the pot, dipped a finger in and tasted the contents. Her expression showed her approval. ‘I’ll take some for Sebastian.’
‘Be quick before my English friend eats it all.’
‘You are friends already?’ she asked.
‘We have both lived and died today,’ Victor said. ‘I don’t know what that means but we are certainly not enemies.’
Stratton could not take his eyes off Louisa. She was even more beautiful close up. ‘Hi,’ he said, getting to his feet and wiping his hand against his side before offering it. ‘I’m . . .’ he began. But Louisa walked away to the kitchenette and took a jug off the shelf.
‘You’re making quite a collection of people who owe you their lives, Victor,’ she said as she filled the container from the bottle under the stairs. ‘Now you have a mercenary.’
‘I’m not a mercenary,’ Stratton said defensively. He wasn’t actually offended. He was too thick-skinned for that. But he wanted to avoid the word’s negative connotations.
‘Perhaps he just needs to look up the word,’ Louisa said to Victor as she took a bowl from a shelf and spooned some of the food into it. ‘Okay. So what are you if you’re not a mercenary?’ she asked, turning to face Stratton.
‘You wouldn’t call the Fedex man a mercenary.’
‘Why not? He delivers anything to anybody who pays.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Victor said, interrupting Stratton before he could reply. ‘You will never win with her.’
Louisa collected up the food and drink and went to the door.
Stratton opened it for her.
‘You have made an enemy of Hector tonight,’ she said, looking at Victor. ‘That was unwise.’
Victor shrugged. ‘Maybe you can put in a good word for me.’
The thinnest of smiles formed on her lips. ‘The Save the Victor club just keeps on growing.’
‘You can’t have too many members,’ he said, scraping the last contents from his bowl and sucking it off the spoon.
‘See you tomorrow,’ Louisa said. She glanced at Stratton holding the door open for her and although her instincts and breeding required a thank-you she could not bring herself to voice it and walked out without saying another word.
Stratton closed the door and sat back down in his chair.
Victor took a black cheroot from a pocket. ‘There’s a bunk upstairs,’ he said as he lit up. ‘I’ll try and get you out of here before the sun comes up. Hector has spies here. I don’t think he’ll pursue you but it’s best to take the safer option when you can.’
Stratton felt suddenly tired. The thought of lying down sounded very good. He stood, picked up his pack, parachute bag and carbine and walked up the stairs. ‘Thanks for dinner,’ he said.
‘My pleasure,’ Victor replied.
Stratton dumped his pack beside the bunk, unzipped the parachute bag and tipped the contents out onto the floor. He began to unravel the chute, picking out twigs and other debris from the material. Then he hooked the harness around the banister ball at the top of the stairs and walked the suspension lines to the far end of the room, untangling and stretching them out.
Victor came to the top of the stairs to see what he was doing. ‘We don’t have any planes if you’re planning on parachuting out of here.’
‘I’m drying it out.’
‘You are a professional, aren’t you?’ Victor asked, his tone rhetorical.
Stratton looked up at him.The comment was correct, but not