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Back The Man With No Face
Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Sally nodded. ‘Marie-Ange Piard. Divorced.’ She half-emptied her glass then looked at him seriously. ‘You know, it occurs to me that I know as little about you as you did about me. How about me asking some of the questions for a change? Like, why don’t you tell me something about yourself?’

Bannerman grinned. ‘There’s nothing much to tell.’ He looked up and saw that she was smiling too.

‘Bastard,’ she said.

Bannerman raised an eyebrow and drained his second glass. ‘So I’ve been told.’

Her smile faded slowly and there was a long silence. Then, suddenly self-conscious, she turned her eyes away.

‘Do you want another drink?’ he asked.

‘No.’ She pushed her half-finished glass away from her. ‘I’d like to go home now. It’s late.’

They left the Manhattan and she insisted on taking a tram home on her own. ‘Will I see you again?’ he asked.

She said, ‘Maybe.’ And he watched the tram move off along the tracks, carrying her away into the night.

III

Bannerman rode the Métro over to the east side and found the door of Slater’s apartment off the latch. He went in and closed it quietly behind him. As he walked the length of the hall, he felt the quiet of the house like a presence within it, and found Slater sitting in the dark of the living room. His cigarette end glowed red as he drew on it.

‘She’s asleep,’ Slater said. He seemed very subdued. ‘Your bag’s in your room. Along the hall, the last door on your right.’

Bannerman could barely see his face, but he nodded and felt all the disquiet returning through the gentle whisky haze in his head. ‘I’ll find a hotel on Monday,’ he said.

Slater turned towards him, and his face caught the soft light of streetlamps beyond the window. ‘Okay. Thanks. What will you tell Tait?’ Bannerman said nothing, and Slater waited in the silence. Then he said, ‘I’ve got to go out tomorrow night. A social function. EEC officials, some politicians, folk from NATO. Dull stuff. But you’ve got to keep up your contacts.’ He paused. ‘Well, you know that.’ Then, ‘I suppose you’d better come with us. I don’t want to leave you here.’

‘Us?’ Bannerman cocked a quizzical eyebrow.

Slater shifted uncomfortably. ‘Three years is a long time for a wife to be dead. A man needs a woman.’

*