The restaurant was tucked away in a narrow street off Trafalgar Square. It had been here for years. Its Georgian owner had arrived on a boat from Batumi the week before Queen Victoria died. He had rapidly married an English girl and fathered three sons, all of whom, with much noisy argument, maintained their father’s establishment today, while he, supposedly retired, brooded over their efforts in a back room. Voronov was a regular. There was not really enough call in London for an exclusively Russian restaurant, let alone a Georgian one, so the chef, the youngest son, Josef, offered a wide range of British and European cuisine on the menu. If you wanted steak and chips or steak and kidney pie, you could get it, provided they had the meat. If you wanted something more continental, you could get that too. For a hard core of regulars, there was, however, a comprehensive Russian menu, with Georgian dishes a speciality.
Voronov was early and was drinking his second lemon vodka of the day while happily browsing the Russian menu. It was a little unadventurous, but he really felt like some traditional soup to start. The Muzhuzhi cold soup made from pork legs, ears and tails was always excellent. He had it on Misha’s rather dubious authority that pork tails were good for the sex drive. Not that he had noticed any particular failings in that area recently. His wife had no grounds for complaint and he still had plenty spare for Alexandra, that perfect specimen of young Russian womanhood he had discovered in Harrods at the beginning of the summer, and indeed for other challenges. That’s what today’s lunch was all about.
*
Merlin sat at his desk, removed what he had found in Marylebone from his pocket and placed it in front of him. The object sparkled in the bright sunlight coming through the window. It was a small ingot measuring four inches by two and appeared to be pure gold. Turning it over in his hand he saw that there were different designs engraved on the two larger sides. He reached into a desk drawer and took out his new reading glasses. They didn’t seem to work as well as they did on print and he found the designs a little fuzzy. One engraving appeared to be of a horse and the other, which was a little larger and clearer to him, depicted an eagle wearing a crown.
Sergeant Bridges came into the room.
“Here, Sam, have a look at this.”
Bridges whistled when he picked up the bar. “Gold, isn’t it? Very nice. Worth a bit, I should think.” He took it to the window. “Eagle on one side and unicorn on the other. Wonder what that means?”
“I thought it was just a horse.”
“No, there’s a small horn at the front. Where did you get it?”
Merlin recounted to Bridges his experience of the previous night and his visit of the morning.
“Obviously something fishy going on. What did you say the name on the building was?”
“Grand Duchy and Oriental Trading Company.”
“Want me to check it out?”
“Please, Sergeant. Can you also get in touch with Inspector Goodman downstairs. There’s very little he doesn’t know about coins and bullion. See whether he or his contacts can identify this little item.”
Bridges turned to leave.
“Oh, and Sam, we have a missing person to investigate. I’ll tell you about it when you get back.”
*
Mikhail hurried out of the kitchen with the two plates for table three. It was surprisingly busy for a Monday. He hadn’t managed to get a bite to eat for himself yet today and the spicy fumes rising from the two plates of piping hot lamb stew he was carrying were getting to him. He deposited the plates carefully in front of the regular customers, Russian embassy officials, one civilian and one military, and smiled obsequiously. The man in the uniform, Grishin he thought his name was, nodded stiffly while the civilian ignored him. Mikhail looked up to see Voronov waving at him. Another vodka he supposed as Voronov was still waiting for his guest. As he made his way to the gloomy corner table at the back, which Voronov always favoured, he saw the restaurant door opening and a woman enter. No ordinary woman either. He paused to whistle under his breath. She had very short, very black hair, large pools of eyes and the most kissable lips. She was simply but elegantly dressed. She looked over at him. “Mr Voronov. I’m looking for Mr Voronov’s table.”