Crescendo

nything about himself.

It occurred to her that he might be in some sort

of trouble. Was he hiding down here? And from what? Gideon did not look the sort of man who ran from things, but in relaxation she sometimes caught a grimness in his face, a hint of tension which she could not fathom.

'How long are you going to, stay?' she asked suddenly as they drew into a small gravelled car park, and Gideon's hands jerked on the wheel.

She heard the screech of the tyres as he righted the steering and parked. He sat staring at the hedge in front of which the car had come to rest.

'I haven't made up my mind. It all depends.'

'On what?'

He turned the black head and his eyes scrutinised her face as though he searched her own eyes for some expression. 'On a number of things,' he said slowly, and she sensed that whatever he had looked for in her eyes, he had not found. What had he looked for?

She wanted to ask if he were in trouble, but he looked suddenly aloof and she did not quite dare. He got out of the car and came round to help her from her seat.

The bar was small and highly polished and almost empty. An old man in a flat cap sat reading a newspaper in a corner and a pair of young people whispered together at a table. The barman served them with sandwiches and hot sausages. Gideon had lager and Marina had a tall glass of lemonade with a slice of lemon floating in it and ice clinking around against the glass as she carried it. , There were ornate Edwardian mirrors on the walls and when she looked up at them she was sure

she had seen them before. Her brow creased. Had Grandie brought her here? she wondered. Gideon saw her frown and asked quietly: 'What's wrong?'

'Those mirrors,' she said. 'They look familiar.'

He glanced at them, shrugged. 'You see them in a lot of old pubs. Some London theatres, too. They were very popular at one time.'

'Do you like the theatre?' she asked him. 'I've been a few times. Grandie takes me. We go by train and stay the night in London.' It had always been an exciting journey. Marina often felt sick with eagerness the night before. Her face reflected that excitement now, her eyes wide and brilliant, and Gideon watched her with narrowed inspection, reading the quiver of her pink mouth, the little coins of red in her cheeks.

'You're too highly strung,' he said flatly, and she bit her lower lip, admitting it.

She had always been volatile, responsive to feel­ing and circumstance. Grandie said it was one of her gifts, it was what made her music so charged, but it was also one of her curses because she could not control the depth of emotion which could take hold of her.

After they had finished their meal and the drinks, they drove off again and skirted the suburban sprawl of a large town. The car slowed as traffic engulfed it and Gideon grimaced at her.

'It will take us a time to get through this,' he apologised.

She leaned her elbow on the back of the seat be­tween them, smiling at him. 'I don't mind.' She was too happy to mind anything. Her eyes lingered on the hard face and Gideon leaned slowly over to kiss her lightly on the mouth.

As he drew away Marina became conscious of being watched. She looked up, flushed after Gideon's kiss, and saw a long sleek red car just be­hind them. It was being driven by a short balding man, but it was not him who was staring. It was the woman beside him, and although Marina could not quite see her face she was aware that there was hostility in the way the eyes behind the dark sun­glasses were watching her.

Gideon sensed her glancing back and turned his black head. Marina felt the shock run through him. She sat up, staring at him, and Gideon turned to look back at her again. He was white. Marina was not imagining anything this time: Gideon had gone white from the black line of his hair to his straight, tense mouth.

A horn blared. Gideon looked round again and Marina saw the woman wave her hand in an imperi­ous, compelling fashion. At the same moment the red car drew into the kerb and stopped. Gideon stared ahead at the road. His hands gripped the wheel and Marina saw his knuckles pale at the pressure he was exerting. His face was averted from her, but there was no mistaking the way his black brows knit and the muscle jerking in his flat brown cheek.

She could sense that he was turning over a course of action in his mind. The horn blared again and Marina looked quickly at him. 'They want you to slop,' she pointed out. 'They know you, don't they?'

Gideon did not answer. He spun the car into the

kerb and parked some way ahead of the other car, then he opened his door and slid his legs out. Turn­ing his head, he looked at Marina, his face implac­able. 'Stay in the car,' he ordered in a harsh voice.

She opened her mouth and he said it again, even more sharply. 'Stay in the car!'

He walked away very fast, his long lean body stiff and erect. Marina would not look now. She was wounded at the way he had spoken to her, the cold light in the dark eyes. She sat facing the road, but her eyes would not keep away from the driving mirror. In it she saw the woman leave the red car, her movements graceful as she walked round to meet Gideon. She had black hair, as black as his, but brushed sleekly into a high chignon on the back of her head. Marina could not see her face as she walked. The enormous sunglasses hid her eyes, but her mouth was a glossy red and it curved into a smile as she and Gideon met on the pavement.

Marina could not hear what they said, but there was no need for her to hear. She saw the woman fling her arms around Gideon, her hands clasp his face and pull his head down. As their lips met, Marina made herself look away because she was so angry she wanted to leap out of the car and walk away. She was innocent about men, but she was not a child. She recognised the eager sensuality of the woman's body as she kissed Gideon.

She would not look at them again. She laced her fingers together and studied them, waiting for Gideon to come back. The clock on the dashboard ticked and she heard every soft sound it made. Time passed like something with leaden feet. Whatever the woman and Gideon were saying to each other, it was taking a long time. She could not bear it at last. She had to look. They still stood there, the woman talking, her face lifted to his, her hand on his arm, the fingers pressing into him possessively.

Gideon's face was stiff and cold: Marina could see that from this distance. She probed his features, trying to read the feelings behind that hard ex­pression, but whatever they were Gideon was obvi­ously merely waiting for the woman to finish what she was saying. His whole attitude spoke of restless impatience, a desire to go.