John Gardner - Never send flowers

`James, couldn't we stay here for the night? Put it off until morning?" A weak smile briefly lighting her eyes, and her intentions quite positive. `It's so nice here, no ghosts. We could comfort each other." The pause lasted for almost thirty seconds.

`We could just as well comfort each other in Interlaken, Fredericka, if that's what you have in mind." `Yes, but.

`But it's best to face things like this head on.

You say the hotel's expecting us. We should go.

Really we should." She looked away, then back at him with a wan smile, reaching across the low table, allowing the tips of her fingers to touch the back of his hand.

Then she nodded gravely and slowly picked up her shoulder bag, ready to leave.

As they pulled out of the car park, Bond caught a glimpse of another car's headlights come on. It was one of those almost subliminal experiences: he was aware of the car starting up, and preparing to pull out, a few slots to their right and behind them.

In the sodium lamps illuminating the car park he thought it was a red VW, but would not have put money on it. When they reached the turn-off back to route six, he thought he saw the same car again, too close for any comfort, though maybe too close to be a professional.

While not dismissing the possibility of a tail, he put it on the back burner of his mind. No experienced watcher would use a red car, nor would he so blatantly call attention to himself by staying so near.

Less than an hour later, they pulled up in front of the imposing Hotel Victoria-Jungfrau-a building which still retains the splendour of the British Victorian architectural influence on so many large Swiss hotels. There had been no sign of the red car once they had got fully under way.

Inside, there was the usual gravity over the formal registration: a neat, unsmiling dark-haired under-manager, whose little plastic nameplate revealed her to be Marietta Bruch, watched them as though intent on taking their fingerprints. She then went through the passport routine before saying that she was so sorry about what she actually called `the untimely demise of your relative' Then: `You have, I believe, papers from the police?" Fredericka smiled, digging into her large shoulder bag, carefully keeping it below the level of the reception desk so that nobody could glimpse the pistol. `Yes, I have them, don't I, darling?" She beamed, giving Bond a quick, raised eyebrow.

`Well, I gave them to you, but I've known things go missing from that handbag before now." He turned away, giving the porter a hint of a wink.

The porter regarded him as though he had just ordered malt vinegar with Dover sole.

She pulled out the official documents, passing them across to the redoubtable Fraulein Bruch who inspected them closely, as though looking for possible bacteria. `These seem to be in order,' she finally pronounced. `Would you like to see first your cousin's room, before you go to your own? Or do you wish to settle in?" It was all too obvious that the hotel wanted them to check Laura March's room as soon as possible.

`The police have already given permission for the room to be cleared once you have been through her items." Marietta Bruch gave them a bleak smile, behind which Bond detected the not unnatural desire of the hotel management to get the murdered girl's effects out of the way, and have the room free to rent. `We have ample storage space for her cases, if you wish to make ~... `Yes,' Bond sounded decisive. Yes, we understand, and I think it would be best if we looked through her things now. It will be easier for us also. And we will, of course, ask you to keep her cases until matters have been arranged." Fraulein Bruch gave a sharp, official nod, then asked, `Mrs March's husband?

When she arrived this time, she said he was ill and wouldn't be joining her. I hope it's not serious. She said it wasn't." `Then she didn't tell you the truth. Mrs March's husband died several months ago,' Bond lied.

`Oh!" Fmulein Bruch looked genuinely shocked for the first time.

Then again, `Oh! They were such a devoted couple. Perhaps that's why...?" The thought trailed off as she picked a key from the rack.

`Perhaps you would like to come with me?" She came around to their side of the reception desk, back on form, curtly instructing a porter to take Mr and Mrs Bond's cases to 614. She put a great deal of stress on the Mrs Bond, as though clearly saying that she did not believe a word of it.

Laura March had opted for an obviously cheap and cheerful room.

`It is not one of our luxury accommodations." Unteffuhrer Bruch as Bond now thought of her-broke the seals and turned the key in the lock.

`She made the reservation at short notice, and said one of our cheaper rooms would be convenient." Inside it was a basic hotel: a narrow bed with a side table and telephone, one built-in wardrobe, a chair, a small writing table, and a closet-sized bathroom into which were crammed all the usual conveniences.

The under-manager nodded to them, said that when they were finished, if they came back to reception she would have them escorted to their room, which, `is one of our more luxurious suites'The smile clicked on and off, fast as a neon sign, and she backed out.

Bond did the bathroom, noting that there had not really been enough room for Laura to spread out her make-up and toiletries; she had just managed to get most of them into a mirrored cupboard above the hand basin. Her preference seemed to be Lancome, and he noted a small plastic container of pills, medically prescribed with the address of a chemist in Knightsbridge on the label. The police had probably removed a couple for analysis. He slipped the whole container into his pocket and squeezed out to find Fredericka going through the clothes hanging in the wardrobe.

`Nothing remarkable." She flicked through the garments. `One basic black, for evenings, one white, one grey suit-that's nice ` peering at the label `ah, Marks and Spencer. That is fairly cheap stuff, but good value, I think. Two pants suits, spare pair of jeans.

Shoes. Nothing." `Go through the pockets." It came out as an order.

`No, James, you go through the pockets. I'll deal with the accessories." There were three small drawers running down the right hand side of the wardrobe, and as Bond started to feel and fumble through any pockets in the hanging garments, Fredericka began opening the drawers, the bottom one first, like any good burglar.

`Nothing in any of the pockets." He completed the jeans as, she opened the top drawer.

Fredericka's hands disappeared into lace and silk. `She was a good customer of Victoria's Secret. Look, James. Pretty,' lifting several pieces of highly feminine underwear for him to see.

He nodded. `That mean anything to you?" `That she was sexually active, or had been until she came here.

`Really?" `Girls buy underwear like this for men to see and remove. I also make purchases from Victoria's Secret, though it hasn't done me any good recently." `Then Laura could've been in the same boat." `I think not. This stuff is . . . Well, it's blatant, and it conforms to a pattern. She had a friend who liked certain things. I, on the other hand, just take a good guess. Still hasn't done me much good." `That could change, Fredericka. Who knows what might happen in the good Swiss air." He had moved over to the small writing table and began to look through the hotel folder which contained brochures, stationery and ... `Good grief. I can't believe the cops didn't find this." He pulled out two sheets of hotel writing paper folded in half. A letter, signed by Laura. She had large, bold handwriting. Very large, for she said little and managed to take up one and a half sheets of paper, with great loops and little circles used for dotting the `i' `What is it?" Fredericka was at his shoulder. He could smell her scent and the delicious musk of her hair.