Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

Danny said, "No, I'm a friend, and I'm afraid she can't take a call just now. Would you like me to give her a message?"

"Thank you. My name is Tarrant and I'm invited to Modesty's cottage in Benildon next weekend. There's something I'd like to ask her if she'd be so kind as to call me."

Danny started to speak, then broke off as she came from the bathroom, still damp, a towel round her waist. "Hang on," he said, "she's here now so I'll hand you over." He gave her the phone and said quietly, "Tarrant."

"Thanks, Danny." She sat on the bed, naked to the waist, the towel rucked to her thighs. "Hallo, Sir Gerald, I hope nothing's cropped up to prevent your visit."

"No, no, I'm very much looking forward to seeing your country retreat. I simply wanted a word of advice as to the best route from London when I drive down next Friday. It'll be early afternoon, I prefer countryside to motorways, and I recall your telling me of an attractive drive you normally use if you're in no hurry."

She said, "Yes, if you've a pen ready I'll give you the route I'll be using myself when I go down today."

As she went on speaking Danny Chavasse buttoned his collar and put on a tie, watching her, remembering the days when he had worked for her in The Network. Their relationship had been very different then, for like her other lieutenants he had not only admired her but had also been somewhat in awe of her for her extraordinary achievement in creating that organisation and controlling the men who served it.

They were hard, dangerous men, yet to them her word was law, for her reputation was unique and they were proud to have the cachet of serving Modesty Blaise. In those days there had been times when The Network was beset by powerful and murderous opposition, yet by her combat skills and unconventional methods she had ensured that what she had created never suffered defeat. Danny Chavasse had not been one of her warriors, nor one of her various technicians. He was a key man in her intelligence section and his function was unique, for Danny had a rare gift. He could, when he chose, be almost irresistible to a woman.

Danny was thirtytwo, of no more than pleasant appearance, easy of manner and slightly slow in speech. There was nothing obvious about his gift, neither was there a shred of insincerity in it, for he had a huge affection for and empathy with all women of any age, and when he focused this feeling upon one of them it was to her as if she constituted his whole world. This was no less than true at the time. Modesty Blaise had used him to get information from women for Network operations, women in high positions and women attached to men of power in politics, industry or crime, for such men were prone to confide in their women.

It was towards the end of Danny's fourth year with The Network that she had sent him on a job to seduce a woman called Jeanne Fournier at a hotel in the Canaries. He was to leave for Lanzarote in three days, and instructions as to the information she required would be awaiting him there. He had flown to the island, settled in at the hotel, and contrived an encounter with the woman, but she was not Jeanne Fournier. She was Modesty Blaise, all authority stripped away, stressed, frightened, vulnerable, and she had said, "I'm the job, Danny."

Because it was his gift to understand women, he had perceived her need, and it was only later in the month they spent together there that he learned of the Achilles heel she had hidden from the world, not a flaw in her power but in her womanhood. Two rapes in her early teens when she was wandering the Middle East had left her emotionally crippled in a vital area. She did not fear men, or hate them, but shrank from contact with them yet was torn by normal longing and bitterly aware of the unhealed wound within her.

It was the greatest challenge Danny had ever faced, and the one whose success gave him the greatest pleasure. Eight days passed before he felt the moment had come when they could sleep together, but from then on her cure was startling to him. He knew this would mean the end of his Network days, for the new relationship would be unworkable, but he had no regrets. And once she had wound up The Network and retired, he had been an occasional and very welcome guest of hers. He was well aware that there were two or three other men who were equally welcome, but this was pleasing to him, for he knew that it was his gift to her and to them. He had made her complete.

Danny came back from his reverie to realise that she had finished the phonecall and was towelling herself dry, watching him with amusement in the midnight blue eyes. "Where were you, Danny?" she asked.

He laughed. "Back a few years, mainly in Lanzarote."

She dropped the towel and came to him, standing before him and linking her hands behind his neck. "I wish I could repay you."

He held her gently by the waist. "You're my friend. I've shared your bed most joyously for the last couple of weeks and I'm a grateful recipient of a handsome Network pension. I'm very well repaid."

She shook her head. "I just mean… something as important as what you did for me. A change-your-life sort of something, except you don't need your life changed."

"I'll tell you what. If I ever find myself tied to railway lines with an express thundering down on me I'll send for you."

She began to laugh, then looked at him strangely. "I had a funny feeling when you said that. Look, take care of yourself, will you, Danny?"

He smiled. "You're a fine one to talk."

"I know, but… things happen. Do you really have to fly to America on Wednesday? You're welcome to stay on for a while."

"The great secret is never to outstay your welcome. Anyway, I'm between jobs at the moment, so I plan to mix with some stinking rich people who might provide one. There's a billionaire called Paxero who's gathering a bunch of equally rich mates for a cruise on his yacht out of Miami shortly. What's more, I've been asked by a Fleet Street friend to write an inside piece on the cruise, so that fits in nicely."

"You've been invited by this billionaire?"

"Not yet, but I've seen the list of passengers, and Julie Boscombe, the microchip tycoon's daughter, is on it, so I thought I'd try to go as her boyfriend."

"Julie Boscombe? When did you meet her?"

"I haven't yet, and I've only got three weeks before the cruise, so I really do have to get over there and stumble across her path."

She stared, then burst into laughter and hugged him. "Oh Danny, she'll love you. Wait a minute." She let him go and moved to her dressingtable, taking a small leather pouch from one of the drawers, then returning to put it in his hands. "It's a thankyou present, but for God's sake don't let Julie Boscombe see it."

She moved away and began to put on pants and bra. Danny opened the pressstud of the pouch. From within it a most beautiful watch, a Breguet, slid into the palm of his hand. He drew in a long slow breath and flicked open the back, a thin disc of gold. The inside was inscribed To Danny from Modesty.

At six that evening as Modesty was driving through the village of Netherstreet with Danny beside her, he said, "Is Tarrant the Intelligence chap you did that Gabriel job for last year?"

She nodded. "Yes, he's the one."

"You should stay away from people like that, you know. They can get you killed."

"He's a nice man with a nasty job, and I owed him, Danny."

"For what?"

"Willie's life."

"I see. That's different."

"Yes, but we're not making a habit of it. If he asks me again I'll say no. Okay?"

"Okay, I'll shut up. I'm quite happy to sit here dreaming about your legs." He laughed suddenly. "Do you know there was a time when I didn't dare let myself register that you'd got legs?"