“Very sorry to hear that, sir. The poor man. Only son?”
“Yes, talented medic apparently.” The A.C. turned away to look disapprovingly at one of the prints Merlin had hung, contrary to regulation, on his wall. “I think there may be a brother. Who is that ghastly chap up there?” This was not the first time the A.C. had asked this question.
“Dr Gachet, sir, by Van Gogh.”
“Fellow chopped his ear off, didn’t he? A madman. If you do have to break the rules by hanging pictures in this office, Frank, couldn’t you put up something British – a nice Gainsborough perhaps?”
“I’ll give it some thought, sir. Was there anything else? I’ve got rather a lot of—”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure you have.” The A.C. rose stiffly to his feet. “I saw a Polish acquaintance of mine at the restaurant the other night. Fellow called Tarkowski. Wondered whether he might be able to assist you with your dead flyer case.”
Merlin chuckled. “Oh yes, he can help us alright.”
The A.C. looked bemused. “Should I have a word with him then?”
“No, sir. You can leave that to me.”
*
A line of schoolboys in neat blue uniforms filed noisily beneath Voronov’s study window. He turned to his desk and picked up the telephone. “Have you spoken to them yet?”
“No. They are meant to ring me some time this afternoon.”
“Will they be on the job tonight?”
“That’s what they were planning, Kyril.”
“Hmm.” Voronov leaned back in his chair and looked out of the window again. “If they call, we might be able to cancel their job and organise something for tonight. If they don’t, we’ll have to do it tomorrow, but no later. Is there no way you can contact them yourself, Misha?”
“No. The arrangement is that they call me. They are reliable about it.”
A figure in a gabardine mac walked along the pavement opposite, not for the first time that day.
“Very well. Let me know when they do.” Voronov slammed the phone down and poured himself a brandy from the crystal decanter he had liberated from a bombed house around the corner. He had been followed or watched many times in his life and he had developed a fine intuition for the techniques employed. The moment he had seen the fellow down below, the hairs on his neck had tingled and he knew. The second sighting of the man only confirmed an already established fact. Who was it this time? He should have told Misha to keep an eye out. One of the advantages of his house was that it had a cellar door, which opened onto a small alleyway to the rear of the house, which in turn led on to a mews and then to Eaton Square. He would have Misha investigate whether that exit was known to whoever had decided to keep tabs on what Kyril Voronov was doing.
*
Their reflections smiled back at them from the long mirror behind the bar of the Ritz.
“You are looking very beautiful tonight.”
Sonia blushed and giggled. “Don’t be silly, Frank. I am just in my work clothes.”
“And very lovely work clothes they are.” Merlin raised his beer glass and clinked it against Sonia’s glass of champagne.
“I have never had champagne before, Frank. Are we celebrating something?”
“Being alive, my darling. Being alive.” Before leaving the Yard, Merlin had found out from Johnson that Stewart’s AFS team were covering Piccadilly that night and had arranged to meet him at the end of Savile Row at ten. Perhaps unwisely, he had wandered over to Swan and Edgar and found Sonia just as they were shutting up shop. The Ritz was only a short walk down Piccadilly and Sonia deserved a treat.
“The bubbles are going up my nose.” Sonia giggled again.
“Don’t worry, dear, you’ll get used to it. All women do.”
“Used to what, Frank?”
“Luxury. Champagne. Flowers. Breakfast in bed.”
“Now you are talking. I’ll have scrambled eggs on toast tomorrow morning, if you please.”