Jack Higgins - Chavasse 02 by Year of the Tiger Page B

me. But we can sort all that out later.”
    Ferguson got to his feet. “If that’s all for the moment, we’d better be getting back to Srinagar. I’ve got plenty to arrange before that plane takes off, and you could use the time to catch up on a little sleep, Paul.”
    Chavasse nodded. “That’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” He smiled and shook hands with Joro. “Until this afternoon then.”
    They left him sitting on the grassy bank and walked back through the camp to the car. As they drove away, Ferguson said, “What did you think of him?”
    â€œHe was everything you said he was and then some. I couldn’t have wished for a better companion.”
    â€œI must say that after listening to what he had to say, the whole thing looks as if it might be rather easier than I thought,” Ferguson said. “Of course there’s this woman he mentioned, but she’s probably harmless.”
    â€œProbably,” Chavasse agreed, and sighed.
    There always seemed to be a woman around somewhere, and this one was the unknown quantity with a vengeance. However, time would tell. He eased himself into a comfortable position in the seat, tilted his hat forward and closed his eyes.
5
    Â 
    It had stopped raining and a white band of moonlight sprawled across the bed. Chavasse lay in that half-world between sleeping and waking and stared up through the gloom at the ceiling.
    After a while, he glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. He lay back against the pillow for a moment longer, his body wet with perspiration, and then lifted the blankets aside and slipped out of bed. He quickly dried his body on a towel and dressed, pulling a thick, woollen sweater over his head before opening the window and stepping out onto the terrace.
    The flat-roofed houses of Leh straggled down to the Indus below; the immense walls of the gorge were dark shadows against the sky. It was peaceful and quiet, the only sound a dog barkingsomewhere across the river, his voice a muted bell in the night.
    Chavasse lit a cigarette, his hands cupped against the wind. As he flicked away the match, a bank of cloud rolled away from the moon and the countryside was bathed in a hard white light. The night sky was incredibly beautiful, with stars strung away to the horizon, where the mountain lifted uneasily to meet them.
    He inhaled the freshness of the earth, wet after the rain, and wondered why everything couldn’t be as simple and uncomplicated as this. You only had to stand and look at it and it cost you nothing except a little time and it gave so much.
    And then a small wind touched him coldly on the cheek, sending a wave of greyness through him, reminding him that half an hour’s flying time away through the darkness was the border. The wind called to him as it moaned across the rooftops, and he turned and went inside.
    The hotel was wrapped in quiet and as he went downstairs, a blast of hot, stale air met him from the small hall where an ancient fan creaked uselessly in the ceiling, hardly causing a movement in the atmosphere.
    The Hindu night clerk was asleep at his desk, head propped between his hands, and Chavasse moved softly past him and went into the bar.
    Kerensky sat at a table by the window, a napkin tucked under his chin. He was the only customer, and a waiter hovered nearby and watched withawe as the Pole steadily demolished the large roasted chicken on his plate.
    Chavasse went behind the bar, poured himself a large Scotch and added ice water. As he crossed to where Kerensky sat, the Pole looked up and grinned.
    â€œAh, there you are. I was just going to have you wakened. What about something to eat?”
    Chavasse shook his head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”
    â€œHow do you feel?” Kerensky asked.
    â€œFine.” Chavasse stood at the window and looked out across the terrace into the moonlight. “It’s certainly the right night for