Read Online The Hidden Target by Helen MacInnes - Free Book Online
Authors: Helen MacInnes
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says, medically speaking.”
“Ilsa?” That helpful Swedish friend again.
“Ilsa Schlott. She’s a doctor, you know. Tropical diseases. She’s taking a course on them at University College.”
“She could be useful on your world tour.”
“She doesn’t know about that,” Madge said. She turned to Nina. “Won’t she be astounded when we send her a postcard of the Blue Mosque?”
“She’ll start worrying that you didn’t get yellow fever shots, too,” Renwick predicted.
“Oh, she did tell us to get them. But I don’t think it’s necessary,” Nina said. “Or is it?”
“If I knew what places you were visiting—”
“Don’t worry. James will make sure we get these shots if we must have them. I hope we don’t need them, though. They sound ghastly.”
“Is he in charge of you?” Then I hope he is as sensible as Nina said.
“He’s taking care of the details. Visas and that kind of stuff. That’s why we’re meeting him—to have a lot of pictures taken, regulation size. Isn’t it an awful fuss? James knows a photographer who is guaranteed not to make us look like scared rabbits.”
“Then after that,” Madge said, “we’ll pack into the camper— it’s in the garage, right next door to the camera place—and we’ll have a little test drive out to Haarlem for lunch.” She giggled. “Or, as Tony says, he will take us for a spin.”
Nina had a small fit of amusement, too. “One good laugh a day,” she agreed. Then her smile was directed at Renwick. “And you thought we might get bored,” she chided him gently.
He took it with good grace, just wished that with all this merriment and general jollity he wasn’t nagged by his own private doubts. Am I really getting old? he wondered. “Well, in case you break a leg or get run over by a camel, just remember there’s always an American embassy or consulate. They’ll cable your father, and he’ll have you whisked back to Washington in no time. By the way, when I see him, shall I drop a tactful hint where he can send your next allowance?”
Nina considered. “Why not? We’ll be in Istanbul by the beginning of September. Ask him to send it to American Express.”
“It’s called Türk Express in that part of the world.” And if they were reaching Turkey only in September, they’d never be back in London by Christmas; not at that rate of travel.
They had come to the end of the long narrow street, but not long enough for the questions he’d like to ask. Although, Renwick reminded himself, this was really none of his business. The girls were healthy and happy, confident and determined, foot loose and ready to go. He knew that feeling well. “Here is where I turn you over to your friends. Are they visible?” One helluva place to choose for a rendezvous, he thought, looking at Spui, broad and busy with traffic as it met crowded Rokin.
Nina’s eyes searched the other side of Rokin. “They should be near the bridge, just across the street. Yes, there’s James.” She raised an arm to wave, let it drop. “He’s too busy listening to Tony.”
Renwick glanced over at the two men. The one who seemed to be doing all the talking was tall and thin, dark-haired. The listener was of medium height, medium build, brown-haired. Blue jeans, checked shirts. From this distance, that was all that could be seen. Tony finished his speech. James clapped him on the shoulder. Good friends, Renwick judged by the way they laughed. Then they consulted their watches, looked across the street, caught sight of Nina and Madge. They started over, misjudged the traffic, were halted by its sudden swoop.
“Goodbye,” Nina was saying. “This was wonderful, Bob.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “See you in London?” And then, as if surprised by her question, her cheeks coloured and she averted her eyes.
“I’ll see you,” he promised. He shook hands with Madge, and turned away. Somehow, he didn’t feel like meeting the young men now
“Ilsa?” That helpful Swedish friend again.
“Ilsa Schlott. She’s a doctor, you know. Tropical diseases. She’s taking a course on them at University College.”
“She could be useful on your world tour.”
“She doesn’t know about that,” Madge said. She turned to Nina. “Won’t she be astounded when we send her a postcard of the Blue Mosque?”
“She’ll start worrying that you didn’t get yellow fever shots, too,” Renwick predicted.
“Oh, she did tell us to get them. But I don’t think it’s necessary,” Nina said. “Or is it?”
“If I knew what places you were visiting—”
“Don’t worry. James will make sure we get these shots if we must have them. I hope we don’t need them, though. They sound ghastly.”
“Is he in charge of you?” Then I hope he is as sensible as Nina said.
“He’s taking care of the details. Visas and that kind of stuff. That’s why we’re meeting him—to have a lot of pictures taken, regulation size. Isn’t it an awful fuss? James knows a photographer who is guaranteed not to make us look like scared rabbits.”
“Then after that,” Madge said, “we’ll pack into the camper— it’s in the garage, right next door to the camera place—and we’ll have a little test drive out to Haarlem for lunch.” She giggled. “Or, as Tony says, he will take us for a spin.”
Nina had a small fit of amusement, too. “One good laugh a day,” she agreed. Then her smile was directed at Renwick. “And you thought we might get bored,” she chided him gently.
He took it with good grace, just wished that with all this merriment and general jollity he wasn’t nagged by his own private doubts. Am I really getting old? he wondered. “Well, in case you break a leg or get run over by a camel, just remember there’s always an American embassy or consulate. They’ll cable your father, and he’ll have you whisked back to Washington in no time. By the way, when I see him, shall I drop a tactful hint where he can send your next allowance?”
Nina considered. “Why not? We’ll be in Istanbul by the beginning of September. Ask him to send it to American Express.”
“It’s called Türk Express in that part of the world.” And if they were reaching Turkey only in September, they’d never be back in London by Christmas; not at that rate of travel.
They had come to the end of the long narrow street, but not long enough for the questions he’d like to ask. Although, Renwick reminded himself, this was really none of his business. The girls were healthy and happy, confident and determined, foot loose and ready to go. He knew that feeling well. “Here is where I turn you over to your friends. Are they visible?” One helluva place to choose for a rendezvous, he thought, looking at Spui, broad and busy with traffic as it met crowded Rokin.
Nina’s eyes searched the other side of Rokin. “They should be near the bridge, just across the street. Yes, there’s James.” She raised an arm to wave, let it drop. “He’s too busy listening to Tony.”
Renwick glanced over at the two men. The one who seemed to be doing all the talking was tall and thin, dark-haired. The listener was of medium height, medium build, brown-haired. Blue jeans, checked shirts. From this distance, that was all that could be seen. Tony finished his speech. James clapped him on the shoulder. Good friends, Renwick judged by the way they laughed. Then they consulted their watches, looked across the street, caught sight of Nina and Madge. They started over, misjudged the traffic, were halted by its sudden swoop.
“Goodbye,” Nina was saying. “This was wonderful, Bob.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “See you in London?” And then, as if surprised by her question, her cheeks coloured and she averted her eyes.
“I’ll see you,” he promised. He shook hands with Madge, and turned away. Somehow, he didn’t feel like meeting the young men now
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