Merlin sat at his desk, oblivious to the sound of the anti-aircraft guns on the other side of the river and the steady drone of bombers above. It’s amazing what you can get used to, he thought. There was some paperwork on his desk, which he couldn’t get his head around. He had managed to absorb a couple of notes; one message from Johnson to say that he and Cole had survived the night, but, for reasons he would explain in person, had made no progress with their task. The second note was from Bridges mentioning that he had remembered he had a friend whose wife was Polish and did some work for the Polish government in exile.
Removing his new glasses, he attempted to read a new security leaflet someone, no doubt Bridges, had left on his desk. He held it at a distance and then close up, but it was no good either way and he put the spectacles back on. Merlin had been a good sportsman in his time, nearly playing football at a professional level. That was how he had met Jack Stewart. He remained very fit and could handle himself well in a fight as had already been proven several times in the past year. If he needed glasses, so be it. Perhaps he would have to wear glasses all the time soon. Most other parts of the Merlin machine were functioning well. The undercarriage area appeared to be in particularly good nick, after a few years under wraps. He blushed at the thought of Sonia’s perfect naked body and her bewitching face. They had not shared a bed now for a few nights. Perhaps tonight…?
The phone rang. A clipped voice at the other line introduced the caller. “Spilsbury here. Gather you are the chap interested in one of my corpses. The pilot.”
“Ah, yes. Sir Bernard. Thank you very much for calling. Should I come out to St Pancras?”
“I can tell you my findings over the phone or you can meet me at my club, the Junior Carlton Club of Pall Mall. Do you know it? It’s number thirty.”
Merlin knew he would regret foregoing a second encounter with the founder of modern forensic medicine. “I shall be happy to learn what you have to say in person, Sir Bernard. What time?”
“In forty-five minutes at 5pm. It is my habit to have a glass of sherry at that hour. Perhaps you can join me for a glass.”
“Indeed, a pleasure, sir.”
The connection was broken and Merlin sat back for a moment in contemplation of his forthcoming meeting. Then he leaned forward and, reaching past the Eiffel Tower paperweight, he grabbed his favourite pen and a piece of notepaper. Once he knew the cause of death, he wanted to interview Tarkowski again. It would be worth interviewing the Count’s wife too. Then there was this chap Charlie had mentioned, de Souza. It might be useful to see him – in fact, he would arrange to see him before seeing the Tarkowskis. Perhaps he should also try and see someone else at the Polish legation, again depending on what he might learn from de Souza. Then again he was sure he could get more from the pilots and the base. He scribbled notes down and then picked up the telephone and dialled Sonia’s number. There was no answer and Merlin then remembered she was working the afternoon. She wouldn’t be home until six or seven, he thought. He could surprise her. They could go to that cosy Italian place around the corner from her place. By rights he shouldn’t have much of an appetite after the hearty lunch that Beatrice had given him, but he felt that by 7pm he would be voracious again. He wondered whether it might have something to do with love.
*