Free A Devil Is Waiting by Jack Higgins Page B

these years.” Kelly shook his head. “It’s not right.”
     
    “As it happens, it’s exactly what I need.”
     
    Kelly frowned. “What do you mean?”
     
    “I’ve got cancer, my friend, a bad one. I’ve got six months at the most.” He smiled. “So you see, this will be as much for me as it is for you.”
     
    He turned and walked through the shop. Kelly stood there for a moment, then picked up his overnight bag and went in search of the spare bedroom.
     
    T he Gulfstream had landed, and its passengers were going their separate ways. Ferguson in his Daimler was dropping Harry Miller at his house in Dover Street. Dillon had his Mini Cooper, and Holley an Alfa Romeo Spider.
    “I’m staying at the Dorchester,” he said to Sara. “Highfield Court is only just up the road, isn’t it? I’ll drop you off if you’d like.”
     
    “Why not?” she said, and got in the Alfa.
     
    Ferguson called: “Take a break. We’ll meet at noon on Thursday to take one last look at the security plans. That includes the RAF,” he added as Parry and Lacey emerged from the Gulfstream.
     
    “No peace for the wicked,” Squadron Leader Lacey said.
     
    “Stop moaning. You could be in Afghanistan,” Holley told him.
     
    “All right for some people, getting to chauffeur good-looking women,” Parry called.
     
    Holley slid behind the wheel. “Bloody flyboys.”
     
    He drove away, and Sara said, “What have you got against pilots?”
     
    “Not a thing. As it happens, I’m one myself.”
     
    “Is there no end to your talents?”
     
    “Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
     
    Which for the moment shut her up, and he turned out onto the main road and headed for London.
     
    She fiddled with his CD player and immediately found Sinatra belting out “Night and Day.” She joined in for a while, word perfect.
     
    As it finished, Holley said, “You like Cole Porter, then?”
     
    “Love him. It’s not just the music—the lyrics stand up as poetry in their own right.”
     
    She tilted her seat a little and lay back, listening.
     
    Holley said, “Are you feeling reasonably happy about things now? I mean, Ferguson forcing you to join the team?”
     
    She glanced at him sharply. “Are you worried about me?”
     
    “Of course not.”
     
    She smiled. “Oh yes, you are.”
     
    “Worried about the hero of Abusan? Why would I be?”
     
    Instead of annoying her, the remark made her smile, but with a certain complacency. “Poor Daniel,” she said, turned up the volume, and started to hum along with Sinatra.
     
    H e left Park Lane at the Dorchester Hotel and drove along South Audley Street, turning right before Grosvenor Square into Highfield Court. It was a fine mid-Victorian property of four stories, standing back from the road so that there was no parking problem. He drove into the drive, got out of the Alfa, and retrieved her luggage.
    “Why don’t you come in. I’d like you to meet my grandfather.”
     
    She turned, walked to the door, and he followed, suddenly awkward. As she got her key out, he said, “Look, you’ve been away for some time. He’ll be thrilled to see you. I’ll just be intruding.”
     
    She turned to look at him, quite calm. “Daniel, do you have a problem with me?”
     
    For a moment he was speechless, then he said, “Look, Sara, what is this?”
     
    She prodded a finger into his chest. “I’d like you to meet my grandfather because I think you should.”
     
    “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
     
    “You’ll have to work that out for yourself.”
     
    As she turned, the door was opened by a comfortable-looking dark-haired woman who wore horn-rimmed spectacles and a green smock. “So you’re back?” she said. “We wondered when to expect you. You’ve never heard of the telephone? A great invention.”
     
    “Sadie, I love you desperately.” She gave the woman a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I was in Arizona, the other end of the world. Is