had arrived.
'No starter,' she said quickly. 'I'll have Dover sole off the bone with French beans. No potatoes. To drink I'd like still mineral water. No ice or lemon.'
'I'll have the same. And a bottle of bubbly. Make it Krug,' Aubrey demanded.
'That's not for me, I hope.'
'We… are… going… to… set… this town… alight.'
As he paused between each word his fingers marched slowly across the cloth, straightened by the waiter.
'Champers is for you,' he told her.
'I don't want any. So if it's just for me cancel the order.'
He shook his head, winced, refilled his wine glass, drank half of it. She crunched a roll, began buttering it. He grinned foolishly.
'How is the Brigadier?' she asked him.
'The fighting old Brig. Pater has St Vitus' Dance. Can't stay in one place for five minutes. Do… you… know.' He leant across the table confidentially. 'Tell you… secret. Strictly entre nous
… he flies all over the ruddy place… Brussels, Paris, Berlin, Stockholm.' He paused to drink more, wine. 'How does he know… that's what you're thinking.'
Paula had suddenly realized she had a golden opportunity to extract information without appearing to do so. She drank some water as Aubrey stared at her, his eyes glazed.
'I don't believe a word of it,' she said eventually. 'You're making it up.'
'Oh, so that's what you think. Well, beautiful Paula, I've often hidden in a big cupboard in Pater's study… listened in when he makes his phone calls. So… there. What do you think of that?'
She thought it showed he was a little sneak, eavesdropping on his father. She smiled as she replied.
'Really?'
'Yes. Really. Really… Really.'
He was mimicking the way she had pronounced the word. She tucked one hand under her chin.
'I can't imagine any of these calls are important.'
'Can't you? Don't know much, do you, Paula? These calls he makes are secret. So there!'
The meal arrived. Paula began eating as soon as the plate was put before her. Her host stared at his plate as though he didn't recognize its contents. He had another drink, then smirked at Paula.
'My father isn't… retired at all.'
'Good for him.'
'He's matriculating people…'
'Matriculating? Sorry, I don't understand, Aubrey.'
'Manip-ul-ating people.' He smirked again. 'You are one beautiful lady.'
As he spoke his right hand went under the table, grasped her knee. She grabbed hold of the hand, removed it forcibly, slammed down her knife and fork.
'If you touch me again I'm walking straight out of this place.' Her voice was calm, icy calm. 'I thought you were the nice brother. My mistake. Now behave yourself. Eat something – leave the bottle alone.'
'My profuse apologies. I don't know what came over me. I like you.'
'Your meal is getting cold.'
'I suppose you think I'm drunk?'
'We won't talk about it.'
'Paula…' He leaned across the table. 'Is there someone else?'
'Mind your own business. You know something? I'm not enjoying this lunch at all. I've lost my appetite,' she continued in her cool tone. 'I'm going to leave now.'
'You can't do that.' His expression turned ugly. 'No one walks out on me. And the staff here know me.'
'I'm sure they do by now. Goodbye, Mr Barford.'
She got up and quickly left the table. Collecting her coat, she went out to find a taxi. It might not have been pleasant but she had extracted intriguing information.
CHAPTER 6
Oscar Vernon strolled up St James's Street, malacca cane held under his armpit like a sergeant major's baton. He beamed at several women who stared at his clothes, not realizing they thought them bizarre. Turning along Piccadilly towards the Circus he checked the time, began to hurry.
He had arranged to make the call from phone box to phone box. The subordinate he was going to speak to would soon be waiting. Diving down into the Underground, he found an empty booth, made his call. At the other end, near Reefers Wharf, the phone was answered immediately.
'Who is this?' Oscar demanded.
'Delgado here. There's a queue waiting to use this phone…'
'So what! Listen very good to me. This night at ten o'clock you do the rehearsal. It's been agreed from high up. By me…'
'The men – and the women – will be outside targets.'
'They had better be. Now listen very good. They look, they see. But no violence. Only if they need to do it to go away. You hear me?'
'I do. I will tell
Delgado swore foully, slammed the phone back, pushed his way roughly past the queue. Oscar had again slammed the phone down on him. Bastard!
Tweed, when Paula had left him in a taxi, had walked all the way back to Park Crescent. Walking helped him to think and the sun was shining strongly, so much so that he felt its warmth on his face.
Entering his office, he found Newman reading a newspaper and Harry Butler, a cloth over his lap, reassembling a 7.65mm Walther automatic he had been cleaning. He handed his coat to Monica and sat behind his desk, took a new writing pad from a drawer and began doodling names. To his annoyance Monica broke into a verbal flood.
'You remember that very strange thing which happened on the Internet? While you were out I phoned as many of my contacts as I could reach. You are listening, I hope?'
Tweed grunted. Newman had closed his newspaper and listened to her as she went on.
'I wanted to find out if it was just a local breakdown. It wasn't. I called Birmingham, Manchester, then New York, San Francisco, Miami, New Orleans, Paris, Berlin, Oslo and even Prague. Every one of my contacts told me their systems had gone haywire at the same time ours did. That is, allowing for time differences. And they all described the same thing – the devilish screeching which deafened them, those missile-like lines shooting over their screens.'
'A glitch,' Tweed mumbled. 'Never did like the Internet.'
Monica was about to protest when Paula came in, her face flushed. She went to her desk, threw the loop of her shoulder bag over the back of her chair, sat down, her hands clenched.
'Enjoy your lunch with nice Aubrey?' Tweed enquired.
'Like hell I did!'
Tweed stopped doodling as she recalled every word of the lunch-time conversation, the state Aubrey was in, what he had told her. Tweed began adding names to his pad.
'I'm sorry you had such an unpleasant experience,' he told her.
'But I did get some strange information from him regarding his father's activities. And jolly active he seems to be. But what Lord Barford is doing I can't even guess. Let me see.'
She went over to his desk, stood behind him, stared down at the pad, at the names he'd written down well
