Colin Forbes - The Savage Gorge

'I've been waiting for you for ages,' he began.

'Then you've had a nice long rest.'

'I've got a proposition. Let's sit down for a minute.'

Since there was nowhere else, she joined him on the couch. He immediately moved closer to her. His almond-shaped eyes held hers lovingly. They dis turbed her because she had trouble reading what was behind them.

'I have spent a certain amount of time rejecting propositions,' she told him coldly.

'Oh, God!' He slapped a hand to his forehead. 'Wrong word. I apologize. I want to ask you to have dinner with me tonight, while Mr Tweed is at Hobart House with my father. At Marcantonio's. It's a very exclusive club further up the High Street. Do you fancy caviar and champagne?'

He put his arm round her waist, exerting all his charm. She had to admit to herself he knew how to use it. She turned to look straight at him.

'Do you mind not manhandling me? Remove your arm immediately. And I do not like champagne or caviar. So forget the whole idea and shove off, please.'

His whole personality underwent a change. He jerked away his arm. The smile vanished, replaced by a sneer, his mouth twisted venomously as he jumped up.

'Women don't talk to me like that. I am Lord Bullerton's son.'

'Then go and find one who is not fussy and spends her time with you in your secret flat – until you pack her bags and throw her out.'

As he stormed out into the street Paula stood up and the landlord appeared behind the recently deserted counter. Greeting her politely, he leaned for ward to speak quietly.

'There's a gentleman waiting to see you in the drawing room.'

Paula was curious. Her first thought was it might be Archie MacBlade. She opened the door, stepped in confidently, closed the door. Stopped abruptly.

Someone had used one of the dimmer switches scattered round the walls: the room was in semi- darkness. She moved away from the door, where she would be less visible. All the lights were turned up. A man moved towards her, the only occupant in the room. Neville Guile.

Suppressing her instinct to dash back into the hall, she chose an armchair, sat very erect as he moved slowly towards her. His motion reminded her of Harry's description: he slithered to the armchair.

He no longer wore his disguise. He was dressed in a black suit. Black trousers, a long black jacket, black tie over a white shirt. He was very tall and thin and the black stressed his bloodless cadaverous face, his thin lips curved in a peculiar smile.

Paula had her hands tucked in her jacket pockets as he came close, his hand extended to shake hers. She remained still as a statue.

'You don't often get the chance to shake hands with a billionaire,' he said.

She recalled the cut-glass voice from the few words she'd heard distantly in Finden Square. She couldn't be rude. She took her right hand out of her pocket, grasped his. It was like shaking hands with a fish and he had an unpleasant way of grasping her, sliding his fingers up between hers. Without a smile she freed her hand and waited.

'I am looking for a personal assistant, Miss Grey. I know your universal reputation for incredible efficiency.' Pausing, he dabbed at his lips with a silk handkerchief. 'I would be most happy to pay you eighty thousand a year, plus benefits.'

'Thank you for the offer,' she said quickly, 'but I do have a position I totally enjoy.'

'Just so long as you have Tweed. He could be shot any day.'

'It has been tried before and he is good at surviving.'

'I have never been turned down before.' The cut- glass voice was even sharper, almost with a note of menace.

'There's always a first time.' She laughed gently. 'Might do your ego good.'

'I do wish you had not added that last sentence.' He placed his hands on his knees, prior to standing up. 'Few people have risked insulting me,' he remarked, standing up. 'And I'm not sure they're all still walking the planet…'

On this note his tall dark figure strode to the door. He opened it, disappeared, closed it softly.

Paula heaved a deep breath, decided she needed a long hot bath to wash off his touch.

After her bath Paula found her mind very alert. She assumed it was the result of the unwanted approaches she'd experienced. She was also intrigued by the hidden tunnel on Black Gorse Moor. What was going on up there?

She dressed, wearing two leather jackets, ankle boots. In her backpack she put certain items. She scribbled a note to Tweed, hoping he'd excuse her for not attending the Bullerton dinner but she felt she could sleep the evening and the night through. She wrote his name on an envelope, sealed it. She knew he'd be furious if he knew what she had decided to do.

Walking down the corridor, she paused outside Tweed's suite, pressed her ear against the door. She couldn't hear what was being said but was surprised to gather the conversation was friendly.

In the hall the landlord was absorbed explaining a map to an elegantly dressed woman. Unseen, Paula descended into the garage. No one about, thank heaven. She climbed behind the wheel of the Audi, using her own key. It was only when she emerged into the street that it occurred to her she might be driving into danger.

It was dusk when she parked the Audi in a deep hole in the hedge. She walked into the top of the bowl and saw Hobart House, far below, a blaze of lights. Getting ready for the dinner. She was relieved to see the curtains were closed.

Striding briskly, she descended the slope of the bowl, crossed it well away from the house, began to climb steeply. She sat down for a minute, took out a tough pair of jeans, hauled them on over her daytime pair. She thought she heard a noise as she put on an old pair of motoring gloves. Looking up, she saw briefly the flash of a light. Someone was on the moor. At this hour?

Or had it been her imagination? In the gloaming everything seemed different. Bullerton's residence looked tiny – more like a doll's house. She had lost her sense of direction – she could not find the section which would lead her up to the tunnel. She took a deep breath and the air was cold, which cleared her mind. The only solution was to climb up to the moor and explore, to search for the large round boulder she'd noticed near the entrance.

As she climbed, often on hands and knees, she was protected from the sharp rocky ground by her old jeans. One thing worried her: crawling up over shale, the small pieces started scattering down the slope, making too much noise.

She changed direction, moving gradually to her left, where the ground was more solid, more familiar. She thought she'd heard another noise above her, like a subdued moan. Could there be animals up here? If so, what were they? Reaching down she checked that her Browning was secure in its holster. The feel of the butt gave her fresh confidence.

She began hauling herself up more rapidly over the ground, which was more stable than any so far. She was concentrating so determinedly on grasping tufts of grass, testing their stability before using them as handholds, that she got a shock.

Something spiky brushed her face. She stopped, looked up. It was the beginning of the black gorse. She stretched out a hand and touched something hard, smooth and round. She had located the large boulder near the entrance to the tunnel. She could have cheered.

She stood up, bent her aching knees several times. They still felt strong and limber. Crouching down, she crept slowly along the path, her left hand extended for fear of missing the tunnel entrance. Then she felt something odd. Taking off her glove, she felt with her bare hand a curved surface of smooth metal. She extracted her pencil torch from her backpack – her more powerful torch would show too much light in this wilderness. The brief illumination revealed a large circular lid covering the entrance to the tunnel. Putting on her glove again, she grasped a handle at the lid's top, twisted it slowly. It was well oiled and made not a sound as she removed it. The entrance was revealed. Using her more powerful torch she shone the beam inside it.