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Paul Temple and the Madison Case
Francis Durbridge
Paul and Steve plan to relax and take in some fresh sea air on board a luxurious trans-Atlantic liner … that is until they meet the elusive Sam Portland. After the innocent introduction, grave danger lies ahead for the couple.As events unfold, a concoction of murder, blackmail and terror ensues. Life on board the ship requires cruise control as Temple attempts to get to the bottom of the secret behind Sam’s lost years … And just who is Madison?
FRANCIS DURBRIDGE
Paul Temple and the Madison Case
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by
Hodder & Stoughton 1988
Copyright © Francis Durbridge 1988
All rights reserved
Francis Durbridge has asserted his right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Cover image © Shutterstock.com
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008125783
Ebook Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9780008157869
Version: 2015-10-26
Contents
Cover (#u344e4d99-b859-5c1e-a900-a141f6d41ef1)
Title Page (#uffbbb59b-45a4-58af-bedd-cbfd2bfaf3dd)
Copyright (#u098f955f-aa50-5cce-8b2f-500a03e31148)
CHAPTER I: My Name Is Portland, Sam Portland (#uee89b262-3523-5be0-b4bf-cbfae6bc79ec)
CHAPTER II: The Manila (#ud29e1ed5-0a8f-529c-99e5-70dbb2e04be7)
CHAPTER III: Eileen (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER IV: Hubert Greene Entertains (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER V: Concerning Steve (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER VI: Just a Red Herring (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER VII: Four Suspects (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER VIII: Introducing Madison (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also in This Series (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER I (#u66d54fc8-69e3-5bfd-9e52-5d4ebec0b4bb)
My Name is Portland, Sam Portland (#u66d54fc8-69e3-5bfd-9e52-5d4ebec0b4bb)
‘I think I’ll go up on deck for a few minutes, Paul. I’d like to take a last look at the New York skyline.’
‘Isn’t it a bit late, Steve? You said you wanted to change your dress before going down to dinner.’
‘Yes, I know, but it will clear my head a bit.’
‘You’re not feeling off colour already, are you? It’s only ten minutes since we sailed.’
‘No, darling, I’m fine. It’s just that I feel a little sea air will do me good.’
‘Well, take a wrap or something. And for heaven’s sake don’t get lost. Do you know the number of this cabin?’
‘I know we’re on the Signal Deck and isn’t it eight hundred and something?’
‘We’re on the Sports Deck and it’s number 8020.’
Mr and Mrs Paul Temple were on their way back from a stay in New York. They had flown out by Concorde and were returning in more leisurely fashion on the newly refurbished Princess Diana. Temple had been attending the International Conference of Anti-Crime Agencies. As an eminent criminologist as well as an author of world renown, he had been invited to deliver the key-note address. His New York publishers had timed the publication of his new book to coincide with the conference and had offered to pay both his and Steve’s expenses. After a week of lectures and seminars, interspersed with book signings and television interviews, he was looking forward to five days crossing the Atlantic at 29 knots instead of the Mach 2 of Concorde.
Steve had not been telling the complete truth when she said she was feeling fine. She was a bad sailor and whenever she boarded a ship and knew that she had left terra firma she began to feel queasy. Even on this huge liner, the length of three football pitches, she had a sense of being somehow trapped and enclosed.
As always, coming out on deck made things better. She was glad that she had not missed this magical moment. The great liner, dwarfed by the soaring skyscrapers on Manhattan Island, was just passing between the upraised arm of the Statue of Liberty and the twin towers of the World Trade Centre. Already the city was beginning to sparkle as lights were switched on in offices where staff would be working till the small hours. She tried to pick out the Waldorf Astoria in the closely packed muddle of buildings. The hotel had been their home for the last six days.
‘Isn’t that just the most fantastic skyline?’
Steve did not turn round at once. The voice was American but she was not sure whether the remark had been addressed to her. She was adept at dealing with approaches from strangers who could not resist the lure of an attractive woman on her own.
‘The Big Apple. It’s a sight that always brings a lump into my throat.’
Steve turned. The man leaning on the rail beside her was wearing a white suit and a gaily coloured tie. His hair was grey and thinning on top, but she did not put him at much more than fifty. His colour was high but whether from recent sunshine or blood pressure she could not tell. There was an unmistakable air of prosperity about him and she guessed that his corpulent build was a consequence of good living.
‘I was just trying to make out the Waldorf Astoria. That’s where my husband and I stayed.’
‘Say, you’re English! I just love that accent. How long you been over here?’
‘Only a week. We flew over on Concorde but decided to make a holiday of the return journey.’
‘You’re dead right. No better way to spend five days than in a ship like this.’
The American leant a hand against the rail and stared up at the single red smoke stack. The wisp of pale blue vapour from the three diesel turbines was tugged westwards by the fresh sea breeze.
‘It’s funny,’ Steve said. ‘I can’t see the Empire State Building.’
‘I guess it just slipped behind the World Trade Centre. You’ll see it in a minute. You spend your week in New York?’
‘Most of it. My husband was attending the ICACA conference.’ His expression had not changed at these mentions of a husband.
‘How did you like it?’
‘New York? I liked it enormously.’
‘It’s some city, isn’t it?’ He gave her an infectious grin. ‘You know, I’ve heard a lot of English people say they wouldn’t like to live in New York, but I just can’t imagine why they say that. It’s got everything.’
‘That’s probably why they wouldn’t like to live there.’
‘Yeah?’ His voice had become a little suspicious, wary. ‘That’s too subtle for me.’
‘Is this your first trip to England?’ Steve asked, deciding to keep the conversation on more conventional lines.
‘M’m-m’m, I guess it is.’ He nodded then added seriously, ‘At least I don’t think I’ve been there before.’
‘You don’t think …?’ Steve laughed, taking it as a joke. ‘Don’t you know?’
‘Well, you see, I only …’ He hesitated, then abruptly his manner changed. He held out his hand. ‘Maybe we ought to introduce ourselves. My name is Portland, Sam Portland.’
Steve took the proffered hand, which grasped hers strongly.
‘I’m Mrs Temple.’
‘Was that your husband I saw you with – the tall, tired-looking gentleman?’
‘Yes, that was my husband.’
Sam Portland was looking at her with renewed interest. ‘I’ve read quite a lot about your husband, Mrs Temple, but somehow I never imagined he looked like that.’
‘Confidentially he doesn’t.’ Steve smiled. ‘He’s suffering from an overdose of American hospitality.’
‘Oh, so that’s it,’ Portland said with a conspiratorial chuckle.
‘He’ll look quite different tomorrow.’ Steve assured him.
‘Maybe we’ll all look different tomorrow.’
‘Why, is it going to be rough?’
Hearing Steve’s tone of alarm Portland put his hands up, palm towards her. ‘No, no! Aren’t you a good sailor?’
‘Not very,’ Steve admitted.
‘Well that’s O.K. I’ll fix it,’ Portland promised with a twinkle. ‘I’ll have a word with the Captain. Don’t worry Mrs Temple, it’ll be as smooth as a glass of milk.’ Then he added, as an afterthought, ‘I hope.’
‘Look!’ Steve exclaimed. ‘There’s the Empire State coming into view now.’
As if to salute it, the Princess Diana gave two blasts of her horn. A few seconds later a multiple echo came back across the water from the impressive skyscrapers. Steve shivered and pulled the shawl tighter round her shoulders.
Thanks to the generosity of the American publishers the Temples had one of the special state rooms on the topmost deck of the liner. The suite consisted of a bedroom with bathroom en suite and a luxuriously appointed sitting room with VCR, TV, compact disc and radio plus a direct dial satellite telephone. A door gave access to their private veranda on the starboard side.
Temple was tying his bow tie in the bedroom mirror. Two cocktail glasses, delivered by room service, stood on the low table.
‘I ordered your usual dry Martini, darling. I hope that’s right.’
‘Perfect.’ Steve slid open the door of the long wardrobe where her dresses had been hung. ‘Now, what shall I wear?’
‘What about that Yuki you bought at Bloomingdale’s?’
‘No, I think I’ll keep that for the last night.’
Steve selected a dress, laid it on the bed and began to take off her tights.
‘Paul, have you ever heard of a man called Sam Portland?’
‘Sam Portland? Good lord yes! Why?’
‘He’s on board. I’ve just been having a chat with him.’
‘You’ve heard of Sam Portland. Portland’s Yeast … It’s all over America.’
‘Oh, is that him?’
‘Yes, that’s Mr Portland all right. What’s he like?’
‘I rather liked him, but …’
