The Avenue of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

hard mouth that looked uncomfortable smiling. He wore his aggressiveness like after-shave. It hung in the air when he entered the hall, and she was instantly antagonized.
    â€˜Do come in,’ she said, and it wasn’t a warm invitation. They went into her father’s study. He sat in an armchair, very casually, with his arm draped across the back, and stared at her. It wasn’t flattering.
    â€˜I’ve got a lot of bumf for you,’ he said. ‘I’ve left it in the car.’
    â€˜Then perhaps you’d like to go and get it,’ Davina said. He didn’t move.
    â€˜Do you know Washington well?’ The question caught her unawares.
    â€˜I’ve never been there.’
    â€˜I have. I hated the place.’
    â€˜That’s hardly a good way to start your appointment,’ she said coldly. ‘Major Lomax, I’d be delighted to offer you a drink or anything else you’d like, but I don’t think you should leave confidential papers lying in your car. Would you please get them?’
    He got up very slowly. ‘Mr Lomax, if you don’t mind. I’m a civilian now. If you think your papers are going to be pinched, Miss Graham, right outside your front door, I’ll go and get them. I’d like a whisky and water.’
    He was back very quickly. He dropped the envelope on her lap. She set it aside and then got up to pour him a whisky. She could feel him watching her to see if she poured a mean measure. Irritation made her double the quantity. He half lifted himself out of the chair to take the glass, and gave her his ill-fitting smile. ‘That’s a healthy drop. I haven’t had a drink like that since I left Ireland. Thanks.’
    â€˜When are you going to Washington?’ she asked him. The silence was becoming awkward.
    â€˜At the end of the week. Same flight as you.’
    â€˜You’re going to the embassy, aren’t you?’
    â€˜I’ll be working in the visa section, of all the godawful postings.’
    Davina stood up. ‘Mr Lomax,’ she said. ‘Thank you for bringing me the papers. Now, I’ve got to read them and do some work. Goodnight.’
    He glanced up quickly at her, and she saw an angry gleam in the light eyes. He drained the glass. ‘Thank you for the drink, Miss Graham. I’m sorry if I’ve delayed you.’
    â€˜That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’ She walked out with him. It was past six and quite dark. He turned to her on the doorstep. ‘I’ll meet you in the departure lounge on Friday.’
    â€˜That won’t be necessary, Mr Lomax. I’d rather travel alone.’
    â€˜I don’t think it’s necessary either. But those are my instructions. See you Friday.’ He loped off to his car, banged the door and revved up, scattering gravel as he drove away.
    Davina shut herself up in the study and began to read the long report on Elizabeth Fleming and her husband. It took over two hours to digest it, and by then she had completely forgotten the obnoxious Mr Lomax. The most important file she left till last. It was the length of a long short story – the kind that used to be included in a Maugham collection. It was the novella of a man’s professional life. The man who had hovered in the shadows during her own ordeal by terror in Russia, an influence without a face. The man whose calculated vengeance had caught up with Ivan Sasanov in a quiet residential street in Perth.
    They had taken it for granted they were safe. Or at least she had. Ivan loved his freedom too much to exchange it for guaranteed safety. He knew his own people; he had taken a deliberate risk. But she hadn’t known. She had lived her brief three years of happiness until the blast from the car bomb destroyed everything.
    Igor Tatischev. To English ears it was a tongue-twisting name, soft sounding. Now Borisov. He had changed it when he took