The Hidden Target Read Online Free PDF Page B

challenge ahead of him. No time for dinner, but that was of little account—the assignment was all that mattered. I’ll begin carefully, he decided, take things slowly, coolly. Yes, that was the angle needed for a first encounter.

3
    The encounter went as planned. Except for the first five minutes after Kiley had arrived at Wigmore Hall. In the lobby, like most, of the crowd who had gathered there, he walked slowly around, putting in time before he went searching for his seat. His eyes, travelling over the small groups, the couples with pink and glassy faces, the standers and the strollers, were in quest of two blonde girls. They’d be easy to find—look-alikes who probably thought it amusing to carry the effect still further by matching clothes. He couldn’t see them, had a sharp attack of worry over a no-show possibility, tried to reassure himself: either they were already seated in the concert hall or they were late.
    There were a few blondes, mostly faded, but all attached to intellectual types with long grey hair and glasses. Was this what Bach did to you? (He was well out of luck in the music tonight: a chamber concert, of all damn things; not one trumpet or drum to keep him awake.) There was a drift of people, a thinning of the crowd near the staircase. Standing to one side of it, keeping out of the traffic’s way, was a solitary blonde, not at all flustered by waiting alone. Her light-gold hair was shoulder length, brushed smooth, falling free. Medium height. Excellent figure. That he could see from this distance, and a perfect profile. He continued his stroll, passed in front of her.
    She turned her head to look at him, observed his glance. Their eyes met. And held. Dazzling blue eyes, brilliant against the honey tan of her skin, edged by curves of dark lashes. Involuntarily he caught his breath, his pace slowed, hesitated, almost halted. Then he came to his senses and walked on. He was still stunned by that moment when everything had seemed to stop, a strange weird moment that now angered him. What the hell had come over him?
    It was then he saw the second girl with shoulder-length fair hair, hurrying from the cloakroom, busy fumbling with the low shoulder line of her blouse. “It would happen, wouldn’t it?” she was asking as she joined her blue-eyed friend. “These darned shoulder straps...” He halted this time, watched them ascend the stairs, deep in talk. He didn’t need the sound of their American voices to know who they were. He followed slowly.
    His seat was on the aisle. He slipped into it, paying the two girls little attention. Nina O’Connell was next to him. He read the programme, then kept his eyes directly ahead. She was sitting as still as he was, each sensing the nearness of the other, each ignoring it. He was actually grateful when the music began.
    At the intermission, he let the girls out first, as if he were undecided whether to stay or to leave. His foot edged out just enough as Madge Westerman passed him so that her heel came down on his toe.
    “Oh, I’m sorry! Please—”
    “That’s okay,” he told her. “I’ll live.” Brown eyes looked contrite as he gave a reassuring smile. Enough for now, he told himself, and waited until they were well ahead of him before he followed. He didn’t join them in the foyer, just studied the crowd in his role as tourist, looking (he hoped) both remote and lonely. He succeeded.
    “Don’t you think we should take pity on him?” Madge Westerman asked.
    “Why should we?”
    “Well—he’s an American, and alone in London.”
    “So are a hundred other men.”
    “I must have hurt him. My heel came down—”
    “Not your night, it seems.”
    “I ought to make a proper apology.” I really don’t go around tramping on other people’s feet, Madge thought.
    “Don’t worry. He will be over any time now to collect it. I know that type.” Handsome and self-contained, although I did shake him for one brief moment, Nina decided. And I was