A Darker Place Read Online Free PDF Page B

Times and other papers, but in spite of his books and his vigorous anti-Kremlin stance, there was no suspicion that this was a dissident’s death. It seemed the normal kind of mugging, a knife to the chest, the body stripped of everything worth having.
    On the day following his death, Monica Starling and George Dunkley flew back to Heathrow, where Dunkley had a limousine waiting to take them back to Cambridge. She hadn’t breathed a word about what had happened between her and Kurbsky, but Dunkley hadn’t stopped talking about him during the flight. It had obviously affected him deeply. She kissed him on the cheek.
    “Off you go, George. Try and make it for High Table. They’ll all be full of envy when they hear of your exploits.”
    There was no sign of her brother’s official limousine from the Cabinet Office or of Dillon. She wasn’t pleased, and then Billy Salter’s scarlet Alfa Romeo swerved to the curb and he slid from behind the wheel, and Dillon got out of the passenger seat.
    He came around and embraced her, kissing her lightly on the mouth. “My goodness, girl, there’s a sparkle to you. You’ve obviously had a good time.”
    Billy was putting her bags in the trunk. “A hell of a time, from what I heard.”
    “You know?” she said to Dillon. “About my conversation with Kurbsky?”
    “What Roper knows, we all end up knowing.” He ushered her into the backseat of the Alfa and followed her. “Dover Street, Billy.”
    It was the family house in Mayfair where her brother lived. “Is Harry okay?” she asked as they drove away.
    “Nothing to worry about, but he’s been overdoing it, so the doctor has given him his marching orders. He’s gone down to the country to Stokely Hall to stay with Aunt Mary for a while. Anyway, this Kurbsky business has got Ferguson all fired up. He’d like to hear it all from your own fair lips, so we’re going to take you home, wait for you to freshen up, then join Ferguson for dinner at the Reform Club. Seven-thirty, but if we’re late, we’re late.”
    “So go on, tell us all about it,” Billy said over his shoulder.
    “Alexander Kurbsky was one of the most fascinating men I’ve ever met,” she said. “End of story. You’ll have to wait.”
    “Get out of it. You’re just trying to make Dillon jealous.”
    “Just carry on, driver, and watch the road.” She pulled Dillon’s right arm around her and eased into him, smiling.
     
     
    IT WAS A quiet evening at the Reform Club, the restaurant only half full. Ferguson had secured a corner table next to a window, with no one close, which gave them privacy. Ferguson wore the usual Guards tie and pin-striped suit, his age still a closely kept secret, his hair white, face still handsome.
    The surprise was Roper in his wheelchair, wearing a black velvet jacket and a white shirt with a knotted paisley scarf at the neck.
    “Well, this is nice, I must say.” She kissed Roper on the forehead and rumpled his tousled hair. “Are you well?”
    “All the better for seeing you.”
    She wore the Valentino suit from New York, and Ferguson obviously approved. “My word, you must have gone down well at the Pierre.” He kissed her extravagantly on both cheeks.
    “You’re a charmer, Charles. A trifle glib on occasion, but I like it.”
    “And you’ll like the champagne. It’s Dom Pérignon—Dillon can argue about his Krug another time.”
    The wine waiter poured, remembering from previous experiences to supply Billy with ginger ale laced with lime. Ferguson raised his glass and toasted her. “To you, my dear, and to what seems to have been a job well done.” He emptied his glass and motioned the wine waiter to refill it. “Now, for God’s sake, tell us what happened.”
     
     
    WHEN MONICA WAS finished, there were a few moments of silence and it was Billy who spoke first. “What’s he want, and I mean really want? This guy’s got everything, I’d have thought. Fame, money, genuine respect.”
    “But is that