Merlin finished his beer and ordered a glass of champagne for himself. “Haven’t had one of these in a long time.”
They clinked glasses again. Silent for a moment, they observed the other customers of the Ritz bar. A group of naval officers in one corner seemed to be laughing non-stop. From the insignia he could see on their jackets, Merlin thought they might be submariners. He shuddered. That was one thing he wouldn’t be able to do – live in a metal tube at the bottom of the ocean for days at a time; bad enough in itself without the worry of being bombed or mined by the opposition. In another corner, two elderly ladies in fur stoles and an abundance of jewellery seemed to be enjoying the stiff Martinis on offer in the establishment.
“Did she like champagne, Frank?”
“Who?”
“Did Alice like champagne?”
Merlin had never really discussed his late wife with Sonia. He had never felt comfortable talking about Alice to anyone. Yet now, all of a sudden, he didn’t mind, not with Sonia, at any rate. “She did indeed. Pol Roger was her favourite. Someone told me that’s Mr Churchill’s favourite tipple too.”
“Was she from a, how do you say it, a good background?”
“Her parents were very comfortable. Lived, or rather, live, as her mother is still alive, in a big pile near Guildford. Her father was a very well-known lawyer. A judge, in fact. Yes, quite an eminent family.”
Sonia’s face clouded. “Not like me then. A poor Polish nobody.”
Merlin placed his hand on hers. “Don’t be silly. I don’t care about your background. I didn’t care about hers and neither did she. She was very down to earth. Had to be, didn’t she, to marry a lowly, clodhopping copper like myself?”
“What does clodhopping mean, Frank?”
“Hmm… never mind.”
Sonia laughed and kissed his cheek. In the distance they could hear the roar of engines. The siren had blown a while ago, but they had been determined not to let Hitler ruin their brief hour or so of pleasure.
“Another one for you, my darling Sonia? Before the place goes up in smoke?”
“Alright then, what is the phrase you use, Frank? If you twist my arm.”
*
After bundling a complaining Sonia into a taxi, Merlin crossed the road and went up Bond Street, heading for his rendezvous with Johnson and Stewart. He turned right into Burlington Gardens and eventually found Stewart and Cole halfway down Savile Row. Cole was pointing his torch into one of the posh tailor shops that lined the street. The tailors’ dummies seemed strangely sinister to Merlin and he shivered. “Where’s Jack Stewart, Inspector?”
Johnson nodded down the street where Merlin could see firemen, illuminated by the towering flames, training their hoses on a burning building. “Stewart’s down there with his men. The place took a hit about an hour ago.”
Merlin could just make out Stewart standing beside one of the hoses supervising the operation. Even at his seventy or so yards’ distance, Merlin could feel the heat generated by the fire.
“Cole and I were just doing some exploring.” A crackle of gunfire sounded in the distance.
“Very good, Peter. Let’s carry on up here. This should be prime looting territory. All these fancy shops, galleries and so on and the Royal Arcade just round the corner.” The policemen wandered up towards the top end of the street. The blackout was well observed in this hub of British tailoring and they came across nothing unusual. There had been no aircraft noise for a while, but, when they reached the corner, they could again hear the whirr and buzz of the Luftwaffe coming in for second helpings.
Johnson looked up. “Here they come again.”
Merlin stopped by the entrance to the Albany. “As the Inspector knows, Constable, the flats here in the Albany, or sets as they are called, are amongst the most exclusive in London. Waiting list as long as your arm. Aristocrats, politicians, writers – plenty of famous ones here. Byron, Gladstone, Macaulay, amongst others.”