It was not easy to follow the old lady's rambling comments. Modesty said, "In what way was he not well?"

"It was his head, of course. He had fallen down a little cliff near Pic de Zarra and cracked his head. My brother Maurice found him," she looked up over her spectacles, "as Old Alex himself found you... how long is it now? Fifty years later."

"So he was not of the family?"

"Not then, no. But naturally he became so."

Modesty sat very still, a strange suspicion growing within her. She said quietly, "Did he tell you his name, Matilde?"

"Ha! It was impossible not to know that, for he said nothing else through all the early days that I nursed him except his name, Alex something, and a number."

"I see." Now the suspicion was becoming conviction. "Are you the only one left who remembers that time?"

"I suppose so. My two older brothers are dead, my older sister married and moved to Pamiers. My nephew Pierre, who is Maurice's son, was only just born."

"So Alex came, and stayed, and n.o.body since has wondered where he came from?"

Matilde put the carrots aside and began to peel potatoes. "Why should they? For them he has always been here, a part of the farm."

"Yes, of course." Modesty was silent for a few seconds. Then, "Do you remember what he was wearing when your brother brought him home injured?"

The old lady peeled two potatoes without speaking, then put down the knife, wiped her hands on a teatowel and stood up. "Come," she said, and moved towards the stairs. Modesty followed, intrigued yet strangely reluctant, halfwishing she had never asked the first question about Alex. When she hesitated at the door of Matilde's bedroom the old lady beckoned her in, closed the door and moved to a big chest of drawers. Kneeling creakily, she opened the bottom drawer and lifted out several layers of clothes wrapped carefully in tissue paper.

Again she beckoned, and Modesty moved forward to look down into the drawer. Lying at the bottom was a jacket, torn and stained, deliberately stained it seemed, with the b.u.t.tons removed. But it had once been blue and was of military cut. When she looked more closely she could see where the wings insignia had been removed from above the breast pocket.

Matilde looked up. "He was wearing this," she said.

Modesty knelt beside her. "This was during the war? He was an English airman, shot down over France and trying to escape across the border into Spain?"

"Who knows? He remembered nothing."

"But surely you must have-" She broke off, unwilling to complete the question. "Has he never recovered his memory, Matilde? Even in some small way?"

She shook her head slowly. "After some time he began to work with us. Then to speak. It was like a child learning to speak, in French of course. After two years he was one of us." She hesitated, then reached beneath the collar of the jacket and drew out a tape with two small flat discs on it. "I took this from his neck on the day my brother brought him home."

The workworn old hand trembled a little as Modesty took the tape and read what was stamped on the discs. After a few moments she handed it back and said gently, "Did you never show him this? Or the jacket?"

Matilde replaced the discs and ran a palm over the jacket to smooth out a fold. "I hoped he would marry me," she said. "For years I hoped, but he did not wish. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. Now it has long ceased to matter."

Modesty knelt gazing down into the drawer. "Oh, my G.o.d," she thought. "Oh, my G.o.d."

On the eleventh day of her time at the farm Willie Garvin arrived driving a new Range-Rover and with a suitcase of her clothes and shoes. It was around midmorning. Apart from Beatrice and the two young mothers and the three children, all the family was out working. Willie was fluent in French, his accent far better than in the c.o.c.kney English he chose to maintain. Moreover he had a gift for being at home on any level and for being liked by being himself. It had been explained by Modesty that he was neither husband nor partner, simply a close friend of long standing. To Beatrice this was baffling.

"Why are you not married?" she whispered as she stood with Modesty and watched the two young mothers talking eagerly with him, laughing at something he had said. "There is some problem?"

Modesty smiled. "Not really, Beatrice. It's just that we're happy as we are."

"Ha! You English!"

It was an hour before she could get Willie away from the women and children to go with her on the walk she took morning and afternoon now that she was herself again. He was desperate to know what had happened to her, and she told him as they walked to the cave where Old Alex had found her, a kilometre from the farm. When she had finished, and he had seen the cave and the boulder, he leant against the rock wall beside the cavemouth, arms tightly folded, eyes like blue stones, lighting to control the huge fury that possessed him.

She had known it would be so, and that no words could ease his reaction, it would have to run its course. She patted his arm, kissed him lightly on the cheek, then moved away a little and sat on the gra.s.sy slope, looking down towards the wooded valley where Alex and Pierre would be working now. After a minute Willie came to sit beside her, taking her hand and touching the knuckles to his cheek. He was a little pale, and his smile was forced, but the rage had been absorbed and dispersed.

"Well, sorting out whoever set this up'll keep me out of mischief for a bit, Princess," he said, still holding her hand. "You got any ideas?"

"Nothing concrete, Willie. Somebody hates me pretty badly, but you could form a club from those people. Most of them you can discount because they're no longer in a position to have me put down. I'd say it's a contract job, but who paid and who took the contract is anybody's guess."

Willie said, "Salamander Four? You cost them fifty grand when you made them cancel that contract for an obscene killing of Steve and Dinah after the Kalivari caper. The money's nothing but they don't like losing face and it's not the first time you've hurt them."

"Salamander's a possible," she agreed, "but I've no idea who they might have contracted to do the job. Could be any one of a dozen groups, there are plenty about these days. They'll be in the Yellow Pages soon."

Willie gazed absently down into the valley. "It's got to be settled, Princess. Will you leave this one to me?"

"No, Willie love, I won't. I agree it has to be settled, but we'll take a lot of care and thought over it. When it's known I survived they'll expect trouble, so let's wait for them to drop their guard a bit. Meantime let's both watch ourselves. n.o.body who knows us is going to put me down without being d.a.m.n sure they have to put you down too." She paused, frowning, then gave a little sigh. "Anyway, there's something else that needs sorting first."

"Something else?" He looked at her curiously. "Here?"

She nodded, troubled. "When we go back for the midday meal you'll meet Old Alex, the man who saved me. He's a lovely character, about seventy-four or five I think, but tough as hickory and with years left in him." She drew a deep breath. "Willie, he's also English, part of a bomber crew I imagine, I don't know the details. They were probably shot down over France around June 1943, and I don't know what happened to the rest of the crew. What 1 do know is that Alex, probably aged twenty or twentyone, was trying to get across the border into Spain when he took a bad fall."

Willie was staring at her incredulously. "Blew 'is memory? All those years back?"

"Yes. He suffered a head injury that brought on total amnesia. The brother of Matilde, that's the old lady you saw at the farm, he found Alex unconscious and brought him home. The boy didn't speak for months, except to give his name and number, but even that soon faded. Matilde nursed him, he picked up French, became one of the family. He's been here ever since. That's the bones of it, Willie."

Willie Garvin shook his head as if to clear it. "G.o.d Almighty," he said softly. "What a story. How d'you find out, Princess?"

She pressed his hand. "Let's start walking back, I'll tell you as we go."

He rose and drew her to her feet. As they began to walk she said, "It's not a family secret. Old Matilde is the only one of her generation left, the only one who was alive when Alex came. It's strange, he still uses an English word or two as a kind of exclamation. The day he found me I thought I heard him say 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!' and I couldn't believe it. But he does say that, and sometimes he says 'wizard prang!' isn't that one of those wartime RAF expressions for something good happening?"

Willie nodded. "Heard it in old latenight war movies. It goes with the handlebar moustaches the RAF used to wear."

"I thought so, but at first I just a.s.sumed he'd been in England for a time with the Free French, perhaps. The family takes no notice of his little interjections. I don't think any of them know or care where Alex came from, apart from Matilde. For them he's always been there, part of the farm. But last Sunday I was alone with Matilde, the others had gone to church, and she spoke of Alex and his b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.ls, so I asked if he'd been in England. That's when it began to emerge, Willie."

She told him of the strange conversation with Matilde, of going to her bedroom and seeing the jacket and discs. "It was an RAF jacket. He'd torn off the b.u.t.tons and wings and the rings on the sleeve, and he'd stained it with G.o.dknowswhat so he could pa.s.s for a peasant at a distance, I suppose. And there was this thing the forces wear round their necks, with discs giving their name, number and religion."

Willie stopped short to look at her. "She'd got 'is ident.i.ty discs?"

"Yes. She let me handle them, and then she showed me a letter he'd been carrying in one of his pockets. She'd never been able to read it, of course. It was from a girl called Elaine."

As they moved on again Willie said, "And she'd never shown 'im the letter?"

"She was eighteen when they found him, and after nursing him she hoped he would marry her one day, but he didn't."

Willie blew out his cheeks in bewilderment. "Well, weirder things 'appen in wartime, I suppose. Anyway, so now you know who this Old Alex really was - really is?"

"Yes, I know," she said reluctantly. "He may be ent.i.tled to a different name now, but when he was trying to escape through the Pyrenees in 1943 he was the Honourable Alexander Sayle. I think that means he was the son of a peer. A lord or an earl, maybe."

"Oh, Jesus!" They walked on in silence for a few moments, then he said, "What are you going to do about it, Princess?"

She sighed and took his arm. "I wish I knew, Willie. I wish to G.o.d I knew."

Twenty-four hours later Willie Garvin said, "Could you run us down to the village, Pierre? I can phone for a car from there."

The farmer stared. They were standing outside the farmhouse, a little apart from where Modesty was saying her goodbyes to the family. "A car? But you have this, Willie, the beautiful Range-Rover."

"Ah, well, I'm leaving that. We thought it might be useful round the farm."

Pierre blinked, then frowned. "We do not want payment for the little we have done. It has been our pleasure to have such a welcome guest."

Willie put a hand on his shoulder. "I know that," he said very quietly, "but it's not payment, Pierre, she's just saying thank you. So am I. Alex saved Modesty's life, and all the riches of Versailles mean nothing to me beside that. Please don't turn us down, Pierre. It's not from the pocket, it's from the heart."

Pierre stood in thought, running a hand over the Range-Rover's wing. Then he smiled. "Old Alex will love this," he said.

"More tea?"

"If you please." Sir Gerald Tarrant pa.s.sed his cup. He had left his office in Whitehall where he headed a Special Intelligence Group and was sitting with Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin in the big drawingroom of the Hyde Park penthouse that was her home. Three days had gone by since her return with Willie. She had telephoned Tarrant at once, for her regard for him was almost filial, but he had not seen her till now, and was relieved to find her looking fit and well after the appalling ordeal Willie had described to him.

She was wearing a summer dress in pale yellow, and her hair was up, exposing the lovely column of her neck. Tarrant noted that Willie's eyes rested on her, not watching, just gazing with dreamy content. It was, Tarrant felt, a rewarding occupation. Sometimes, alone, he was swept with shame at the memory of other ordeals she had endured of which he had been the cause, and one of which he had been the occasion, when he had watched, helpless, as she fought unarmed and naked in the great crystal cave to save him from death. Those searing moments would live in colour for him for the rest of his life.

Yet whenever he saw her the shame was washed away by the smiling affection with which she always greeted him.

As he took his cup from her he said, "Would you like me to run over my report again?"

She shook her head and gave him a somewhat rueful look. "No, I think we've got it. The Honourable Alexander Sayle was the elder of the two sons of Viscount Sayle of Casterlaw, now deceased. In late May 1943 he was captain of a Halifax bomber that failed to return from a mission. The crew baled out over France and were taken prisoner. They reported later that the aircraft had been badly damaged. Alexander, as captain, presumably baled out after the crew had gone, but he was never captured and never heard of again. He was first reported missing, and later missing believed killed."

She looked down at her tea, prodding the slice of lemon in it. "Alexander's brother Mark, younger by four years, inherited the t.i.tle twenty-five years ago. He is married with children and grandchildren, and occupies the family manor house in Kent. He is renowned for his charitable work, and well respected in the city and in the country." She stopped and looked a question at Willie, who nodded.

"That's it, Princess."

She turned to Tarrant. "So?"

"So what are you going to do about this obscene attempt to kill you slowly? I understand you made no report to the French police."

She shook her head impatiently. "Don't change the subject. We're watching our backs and we'll deal with it ourselves. What could the police do anyway? What I want now is your advice on what I should do about Old Alex. Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't thanked you for digging out all these details. I'm very grateful."

"Not at all. May I say I've never before known you to seek advice as to what you should do in given circ.u.mstances."

She gave a small laugh. "Most of the decisions I've had to make were pretty basic. This one isn't."

"I can see that, which is why I'm hedging. But since you press me I think you should make the survival of Alexander Sayle known to his family."

Willie said, "Alexander Sayle doesn't exist any more, Sir G. He's someone else now. Has been for fifty years." He looked at Modesty. "But I still think you can't just leave things, Princess. I know it's going to be a traumatic 'appening, but for G.o.d's sake, Lord Sayle's got a right to know. Old Alex is his brother."

"In fact," Tarrant said gently, "Old Alex is Lord Sayle, and his younger brother is simply the Honourable Mark Sayle."

Modesty said, "I don't care about all that. I care only about Old Alex."

Tarrant nodded. "And with good reason, for although in truth it was your own abilities that saved you, he was the man who heard and responded. You fear what effect revelation may have upon him, but should you therefore deny him knowledge of his own birthright?"

She sat gazing into s.p.a.ce for perhaps a minute, then sighed and looked at Tarrant. "No, I can't deny that knowledge, either to him or to his family. But you have to keep my name out of the newspapers. You can tell his brother in confidence, because he may want to talk to me, but as far as the media's concerned Alex saved an unknown woman who was injured near a remote farm in the Pyrenees, and this revelation... emerged. Dress it up any way you like."

Tarrant sat up straight. "I'm to dress it up? You expect me to break this to the Sayle family?"

Willie said, "Who else? You've got the clout to make 'em listen to what seems a barmy story, and anyway you owe the Princess. Jesus, she's left skin and blood all over the place pulling chestnuts out of the fire for you."

Tarrant winced. "Don't remind me." He looked at Modesty. "All right, my dear, I'll do what I can. But even with Willie's a.s.sessment of my clout it won't be easy to convince Sayle that the brother he's believed dead for fifty years is still alive."

Modesty opened the handbag beside her and took something from it. She rose, moved to Tarrant's chair and bent to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," she said. "You're not a bad old gentleman really, and you won't have any trouble. Just show Lord Sayle these." She dropped the ident.i.ty discs into his hand.

Tarrant stared down at them, then looked up. "You were able to bring them back with you?"

"Yes. Because Matilde gave them to me. I think she believes he's ent.i.tled to know of his birthright at last."

Professor Stephen Collier said, "Well you certainly managed to hit the headlines without actually getting your name in the papers. Have you seen him since his brother brought him home?"

"Once," said Modesty. "Apparently he kept asking for me, and I went down to Sayle Manor to see him. They were all being very kind, but he looked so... so out of place with his nice suit and a clean shave instead of stubble."

Three weeks had pa.s.sed since Tarrant's visit. Steve and Dinah Collier, closest of all friends to Modesty and Willie, were with them in the penthouse roof garden on a late afternoon of a warm day. Their gla.s.ses were almost empty and Modesty's houseboy, Weng, had just brought a fresh jug of fruit juice and another of meursault and soda.

"Was the old chap unhappy?" Collier asked.

Modesty shrugged. "I don't know. I was so afraid he'd be angry with me, feel betrayed, but he was so pleased to see me and he seemed as... as jolly as ever. But I'm not sure he wasn't putting on a show for me."

Dinah turned her sightless eyes towards where Modesty sat beside her and said, "Look, honey, you have to stop fretting. You did what you had to do, and it's something for the Sayle family to work out now. You can argue points on this for hours and get nowhere. I know, because old Collier there kept me awake for about three hours the other night with his 'on the one hand this, and on the other hand that'."

Collier grinned and flickered an eyelid at Willie. "I'd been secretly reading an article in Cosmopolitan about making the matrimonial bed more exciting, and I thought that a stimulating discussion of moral issues would be a surefire success. Unfortunately all I got from my beloved was some neanderthal grunts culminating in a threat to tie my leg in a knot if I didn't shut up. I think it was my leg."

Dinah gasped. "He just makes it up, Modesty! He's a terrible liar! That's not how I shut him up in the end."

"My darling," said Collier, "you don't imagine these two experienced people ever believe me, do you? Now let's move on to this cave business." He looked at Modesty. "You're in a rut, you know. You got a knockout needle in your bottom only last year, and now you've done it again with a dart. I trust it was the other cheek?"

"I'm sorry, Steve, I can't remember."

"You must try harder, darling. Balance is all. I suggest a small cross tattooed on the puncture next time."

"He's jabbering like that because he's likely to explode any moment," said Dinah. "You watch."

"Yes, I b.l.o.o.d.y well am," said Collier, his lean intelligent face suddenly taut with anger. "Do you know who those cave b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were, Modesty? And if so, then what? Or even if not, then what?"

"We don't as yet know who they were," said Modesty. "As to 'then what?' I'm not making any announcements even to you, in fact especially to you, Steve. You'll only go all bitter and bad-tempered about taking risks and so on. We never take risks we don't have to."