“How are your men holding up?”
“Very well, all things considered. They’ve been brilliant. I have to bawl them out sometimes, but the sense of camaraderie is wonderful – some young lads, some older men showing guts and resilience in hair-raising circumstances they could never have imagined before this war. Helps to give me belief and confidence that we’re going to lick those Nazi bastards. Anyway, enough of me and mine, what are you up to? And how’s the luscious Sonia?”
“She’s fine. Refusing my advice that she get out of London into the country, of course. Her brother’s on the scene. A pilot in one of the Polish squadrons. Seems a nice chap.”
“Well, I’ll bet he’s a busy boy at the moment. Working on anything interesting?”
“A couple of things. I’m just about to start looking for one of Sonia’s compatriots. A pilot in her brother’s squadron who’s gone missing. And Gatehouse has also involved me in sorting out a response to looting.”
“Looting?”
“Apparently there have been significant outbreaks of looting since the bombing started in August. Quite surprising levels of activity in the suburbs and now in the last few days in central London. Have you come across anything?”
“Not really. We’ve been too busy concentrating on the fires themselves rather than the aftermath. I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest. I suppose it’s just human nature, the worst of it, but human nature all the same. I can’t think that any of my men would be capable even if the opportunity arose. I’ll keep more of an eye out from now, if I can. So how has the A.C. involved you?”
“Typical Whitehall. The levels of looting are frightening them. There’s no civil defence contingency plan. The A.C. was put on the spot in some meeting and did as he usually does in such circumstances, turned to me, after, of course, bawling me out quite unjustifiably for not anticipating and planning for such a problem myself.”
“So what’s being done?”
“There’s to be a committee. I’ve got my Inspector Johnson to sit on it. They are meeting on Wednesday. Apparently there’s going to be someone from your lot in it. Have you heard of a man called Sir Archibald Steele?”
Stewart laughed. “Sure I have. I know him well. Some people in the service call me his protégé! In any event he was very instrumental in getting me my promotion.”
“Good man?”
“One of the best.”
“Well, that’s nice to know. I’ll tell Johnson.”
A siren sounded. Stewart drained his glass. “I’d better be off.”
“Good luck, my friend.”
Stewart touched the peak of his cap in mock salute and disappeared through the door. Merlin ordered a cheese sandwich to take away the taste of the mouldy pork pie. It was equally unpalatable.
*
Voronov cradled the glass of red Georgian wine and looked intently at Countess Tarkowski. She had chosen the cold meat salad despite his fervent entreaties to attempt one of the Georgian delicacies on offer. “My dear, they have meat here you can’t find in many other places. They have a line into the Russian embassy’s kitchen. The lamb is out of this world – try the Chanahi or perhaps the Buglama stew. You’ll love it.”