The Khufra Run. Jack Higgins

came forward slowly, looking suddenly rather forlorn in that ridiculously large reefer coat and held out her hand again. ‘Forgive me for doubting you, my friend, but I see now that you are a good man in spite of yourself.’

      Speechless and utterly defeated, I climbed in beside her and drove away.

      Lillie’s place was a typical Ibizencan villa. What the locals called a finca, only on a grander scale than most. A great Moorish palace named the Villa Rose built on various levels to fit into the landscape at the end of the point. Castillian arches, iron-grilled windows, the whole so white that in the heat of the day it hurt to look at it.

      A high wall surrounded the entire estate, palms nodding beyond, black against the night sky. The great, iron gates were locked tight. The old gnarled peasant who emerged from the hut, complete with Alsatian on a chain, flashed a torch at us.

      ‘It’s me, Jose,’ I called.

      He nodded without a word and returned to the hut, dragging the dog at his heels. A moment later the gates swung open and I drove through.

      I could smell the lemon grove although I could not see it, the almond trees and palms swayed gently in the slight breeze, their branches dark feathers against the night sky. And everywhere there was the rattle of water. I pulled in beside the fountain at the bottom of the steps which led up to the great oak front door. When I got out Claire Bouvier joined me reluctantly.

      ‘You don’t need to worry,’ I said. ‘Most of the servants come in during the day. At night there’s only an old crone called Isabel who does the cooking and Carlo, the chauffeur.’

      She gazed at me blankly. ‘She needs a chauffeur at night.’

      ‘You know how it is,’ I said. ‘No knowing when she might feel like a ride.’

      I had pulled the chain at the side of the door and it swung open instantly to reveal Isabel, a gaunt old woman who had never ever uttered a word in my presence, though whether this was from some personal dislike of me I’d never been able to discover.

      She wore traditional dress as always. Blue shawl, a tight-fitting black bodice beautifully embroidered in gold, a black apron worn over the long ankle-length skirt. As usual, she didn’t have a thing to say. Not even a flicker of emotion showed on that gnarled old face at the sight of the Bouvier girl, who to Ibizan eyes must have looked eccentric in the extreme.

      ‘Don’t look her full in the face or you’ll turn to stone,’ I told the girl, and I led the way across the wide hall with its beautiful red and white ceramic tiles and mounted a curving staircase to the landing above.

      Glass doors stood open to the night and beyond, most of the garden at that level was taken up by a superb illuminated swimming pool. The faithful Carlo was standing beside a wrought-iron table gazing up at the high diving board, a great ox of a man, shoulders bulging beneath the snow-white jacket.

      ‘The Love Goddess,’ Claire Bouvier whispered as she looked up at the slim figure in the black costume poised on the edge of the board.

      ‘That’s what they call her,’ I said, and as Carlo turned sharply, I raised my voice and cried, ‘Heh, Lillie, come down out of there. You’ve got visitors.’

      She waved, then dived a moment later, flashing down through the yellow light, entering the water with hardly a splash. As she surfaced at the side of the pool, Carlo moved in, bathing wrap at the ready. She slipped into it, eyes sparkling, that wide, wide mouth of hers opening into what must surely have been the most devastating smile of all time.

      ‘Why, Jack, lover. It’s been an age.’ She kissed me, then grabbed an arm reasonably ostentatiously and turned her gaze on Claire Bouvier. ‘I didn’t know we were having a floor show.’

      ‘Meet Miss Claire Bouvier,’ I said. ‘I just saved her from a fate worse than you know what back along the road a piece.’

      ‘How perfectly dreadful for you, darling,’ Lillie said, managing to sound as if she didn’t give a tinker’s damn in hell. ‘You must tell me all about it down to every last rapacious detail. When you reach my age, you can’t afford to miss out on anything. You have a swim or something, lover, I’ll see you later.’

      ‘There’s a thousand of those foul American fags you like in the back of the jeep.’ I said. ‘Plus a case of Bourbon. A present from Turk. Shall I bring them in?’

      ‘Good heavens, no. You might pull something mysterious. Ruin your sex life. Leave it to Carlo. He’s so much stronger than the rest of us.’

      Which was an undeniable fact for I had seen Carlo on occasion, training with weights in the yard by the garage at the back, and stripped he resembled Primo Carnera in his prime. Lillie grabbed the Bouvier girl by the arm and took her inside, Carlo bowed slightly and followed them.

      Which left me very much on my own, so I went along to the changing room, found myself a pair of trunks and had a swim.

      The salon was an exquisite room which had been based on an ancient Moorish design. The floor was of black and white ceramic tiles and the ceiling was blue, vivid against stark white walls. A log fire burned on the open hearth. I was sprawled at my ease in front of it, one of Carlo’s generously large gin and tonics in my hand, when Lillie came back in.

      She really was the most amazing creature I’d ever known. Must have been anywhere up to fifty - had to be to have done the things she had - yet even in the harsh, white heat of the day never seemed to look a day over thirty-five.

      Like now, for instance, dressed in a long, black, transparent creation. As far as I could see, she didn’t have a stitch on underneath and her legs must have been giving Marlene Dietrich a hard time for years.

      She draped herself elegantly across me and kissed me, that mouth of hers opening wide enough to swallow me whole. When the tongue was finally tired of moving around she lay back with a long sigh.

      ‘I’ve missed you, lover. Where’ve you been?’

      ‘Working.’

      Carlo appeared, a drinks tray in his gloved hands and gave her a martini. She took it just as she accepted the light he held out for her cigarette, as casually as if he didn’t really exist. He withdrew silently to a position by the terrace.

      She said, ‘Where was it these hippies had a go at the kid?’

      ‘Near the mill at La Grande.’

      She emptied her glass and paced restlessly across to the fire. ‘The dirty bastards. They should drive them off the island, every last one of them.’

      ‘Don’t tell me you’re frightened?’ I said.

      She was almost angry when she turned on me. ‘What if I am? They’ve done some funny things. Broken into people’s homes. This is a lovely place …’

      ‘With Carlo here?’ I demanded. ‘You’ve got to be joking. He’s the original six-at-one-blow man. I thought that was why you kept him around.’

      She changed completely, her face illuminated by that dazzling smile, the famous Lillie St Claire smile, as she moved across to Carlo.

      ‘That’s right. Of course it is. You wouldn’t let them hurt me, would you, Carlo?’

      Carlo took the hand she held out to him and kissed it gently. From the look on his face I’d say he’d have torn the arms and legs off anyone who even tried.

      She patted his cheek. ‘Bless you, Carlo. Let’s have a movie, shall we? What about The Door to Hell.’

      He moved away as silently as usual. She poured another drink and flung herself into the chair next to me. This was a ritual I’d been through many times before. There was a small projection room at the rear of the salon and Carlo handled things at that end, using the smooth white wall next to the fireplace as a screen.

      As the lights dimmed I said, ‘What about the girl?’

      ‘I