‘I had to get some sleep. Yesterday was a bit wearing.’ He sat down and picked up the ashtray to inspect its underside.
Diana laughed. ‘No bugs – I checked.’
He put it down. ‘Where’s Lyn?’
‘Out.’ At his raised eyebrows she elaborated slightly. ‘Sightseeing.’
A waiter came up. ‘Mittö otatte?’
‘A olutta, olkaa hyvä,’ said Denison. He looked at Diana. ‘And you?’
‘Nothing for me,’ she said. ‘Your Finnish is improving.’
‘Only enough to order the necessities of life. Has Carey come to any conclusions about yesterday?’
‘Carey isn’t here,’ she said. ‘I’m to tell you to sit tight until he comes back.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone to Sweden.’
‘Sweden!’ His eyes were blank. ‘Why has he gone there?’
‘He didn’t tell me.’ She stood up and picked up her book. ‘Now that I’ve passed on the word I’ll get about my business.’ Her lips quirked. ‘Don’t take any wooden saunas.’
‘Never again,’ he said fervently. He bit his lip. ‘But they might take another crack at me.’
‘Not to worry,’ she said. ‘You’re under Ian Armstrong’s eye, and he’s well named. He’s sitting at the bar now. Don’t acknowledge him – and don’t move so fast he can’t keep up with you.’
She went away as the waiter came up with his beer. He drank it moodily and ordered another bottle. Over at the bar Armstrong was making a single beer stretch a long way. Why Sweden? What could possibly have happened there to drag Carey away? No answer came.
He was half-way through the second bottle when Lyn entered the bar. She sat at his table and looked at his beer. ‘You look dissipated.’
He grinned at her. ‘I feel dissipated. I was up late.’
‘So I’m told,’ she said unsmilingly. ‘I heard a strange story this morning – about you.’
He regarded her warily and decided to riposte. ‘And I’ve heard something pretty odd about you. Why did you quarrel with Diana?’
Pink spots came into her cheeks. ‘So she told you.’
‘She didn’t say anything about it,’ said Denison truthfully.
Lyn flared up. ‘Then who did if she didn’t? We were alone.’ She tugged viciously at the strap of her bag and looked down at the table. ‘It doesn’t feel nice to be ashamed of one’s own father. I never really believed anything Mother said about you, but now I can see she was telling the truth.’
‘Calm down,’ he said. ‘Have a drink. What will you have? A Coca-Cola?’
Her chin came up. ‘A dry Martini.’
He signalled to the waiter, suppressing a smile, and gave the order. When the waiter had gone, she said, ‘It was disgusting of you.’
‘What’s so disgusting about Diana Hansen?’
‘You know what I mean. I’ve heard the jet set gets up to some queer things but, my God, I didn’t expect it of you. Not my own father.’ Her eyes were unnaturally bright.
‘No, I don’t know what you mean. What am I supposed to have done?’ he asked plaintively.
A hurt look came into her eyes. ‘I know you went out with that woman last night because she told me so. And I know how you came back, too. You must have been disgustingly drunk to do that. Did she have any clothes on? No wonder they had to send for the police.’
‘Oh, my God!’ said Denison, appalled. ‘Lyn, it wasn’t like that.’
‘Then why is everyone talking about it? I heard it at breakfast this morning. There were some Americans at the next table – you ought to have heard them. It was … dirty!’ She broke into tears.
Denison hastily looked about the bar and then put his hand on Lyn’s. ‘It wasn’t like that; I’ll tell you.’
So he told her, leaving out everything important which would only complicate the issue. He was interrupted once by the waiter bringing the Martini, and then he bore in again to finish his story.
She dabbed at her eyes with a small handkerchief and sniffed. ‘A likely tale!’
‘If you don’t believe me, would you believe the police?’ he said exasperatedly. ‘They’ve been on my neck all morning.’
‘Then why did Diana tell me you were going out with her?’
‘It was the best thing she could have done,’ said Denison. ‘She didn’t want you worried. And about your quarrel – I heard a bit of it on the tape.’ He explained about that, and said, ‘The police have the tape now.’
Lyn was horrified. ‘You mean everyone is listening to that quarrel?’
‘Everyone except me,’ said Denison drily. ‘Have your Martini.’
Something else occurred to her. ‘But you might have been hurt – he might have killed you!’
‘But he didn’t – and all’s well.’
‘Who could it have been?’
‘I suppose I’m a fairly important man in some respects,’ said Denison tiredly. ‘I told you yesterday that I don’t babble about my work. Someone wanted information and took direct action.’
She straightened her shoulders and looked at him with shining eyes. ‘And didn’t get it.’
He brutally chopped the props from under the hero worship. ‘As for Diana Hansen, there’s nothing in it – not the way you think. But even if there were it’s got nothing to do with you. You’re behaving more like an affronted wife than a daughter.’
The glow died. Lyn hunched her shoulders a little and looked down at the Martini glass. Suddenly she picked it up and drained the contents at a swallow. It took her breath away and she choked a little before putting down the empty glass. Denison grinned. ‘Does that make you feel better?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘No harm done. Let’s go for a walk.’ He signalled to the waiter and paid the bill and, as he got up from the table, he glanced over at the bar and saw Armstrong doing the same. It was comforting to have a bodyguard.
They left the bar and went into the lobby. As they approached the entrance a porter came in loaded with baggage, and a burly figure followed. ‘Hey, Lucy; look who’s here,’ boomed a voice. ‘It’s Harry Meyrick.’
