Here Be Monsters

'Yes… Yes, I'm sorry about that, Elizabeth. Just a little old-fashioned precaution. But in this case just to annoy Paul Mitchell.'

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'Paul?'

'I said I was sorry. And I know I should have chosen somewhere farther away, for form's sake.' He raised one massive shoulder apologetically, and then grinned at her. 'It's an interesting memorial, though - don't you think?'

'Quite riveting.' That was one pitfall which she knew how to avoid: the study of war memorials was Colonel Butler's only known hobby, and the rest of the department indulged this macabre taste almost out of habit now. But that didn't mean she had to reward his grin. 'If you think it was necessary to encourage Paul to make a fool of himself, then it achieved your objective, anyway.'

'It was Paul?' He smiled at his own question, as though amused by it.

'It was EUD 909Y, according to your taxi-driver. But why, David?'

'Why indeed!' He shrugged diplomatically. 'He should be back in Cheltenham. But he's still foolishly protective where you're concerned - is that not true, Elizabeth?'

'He thinks I'm not up to… whatever this is.' If he was fishing, then she could fish also. 'He showed me a cutting from the Daily Telegraph.'

'God bless my soul!' But his surprise wasn't quite genuine. 'Well… I must admit that I taught him to read his newspapers thoroughly…'

On second thoughts, she had no need to fish. He was supposed to be helping her, not vice-versa. 'Why are we here, David?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Didn't you read my note? What have you been doing, Elizabeth?'

'I was told to speak to Major Turnbull first. About the man Parker - the man in the Daily Telegraph.'

' Ah! The eyebrow dropped. 'And getting information out of the equivocal Major was like squeezing blood out of that proverbial stone?' He nodded sympathetically. 'So what did he have to say, then?'

'He said - ' Elizabeth stopped suddenly, first because she realized that she couldn't afford to let vice-versa work like this, with her answering all the questions, and then because someone was heading directly towards them across the foyer.

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'Dr Audley?' It was one of the two beautifully-tailored and coiffured receptionists from the marble desk. 'Dr Audley, Sir Peter will see you now.' The woman smiled her practised reception-smile at him, simultaneously taking in Elizabeth, pricing her from head to toe, and adding a nuance of apology to her smile on the basis of her combined estimation of their importance.

'Eh?' Audley frowned into her politeness. 'What?'

'Sir Peter, Dr Audley - ' She faltered under his frown ' - Sir Peter will see you now.'

'Ah - hmm…' Audley's face became a mask of vague intransigence, for which his somewhat battered features were well-suited. 'Right. Then you just tell Sir Peter that we'll see him in five minutes - right?'

The woman's own face, at least above the pasted smile, registered something like consternation. It was as though, as a junior archangel at the Gates of Heaven, she had said Saint Peter will see you now, only to discover that she had been addressing some Old Testament prophet who rated her master as just another newcomer.

But then she rallied. 'Sir Peter is a very busy man, Dr Audley.'

'And so am I.' The intransigence was not so much vague as blandly and brutally confident.

'Five minutes, tell him - right?'

The hate above the woman's smile was almost tangible. 'Yes, Dr Audley. If - if you would take the left-hand lift… when you are ready?'

'Thank you.' Audley turned back to Elizabeth. 'Now, Miss Loftus - as you were saying - ?'

Elizabeth watched the receptionist's retreating back, outwardly stiffened, but inwardly slumped. He would never have dared to treat Mrs Harlin like that.

'I was going to say… I was going to say that you are a nig sometimes, David - to quote your wife.'

'Only when it is necessary - to quote Tsar Alexander, Elizabeth.'

'But I was late, you said. So it wasn't her fault.'

'You were late - and she's paid to handle awkward bastards like me. And we're paid to do what I'm doing now, actually.'

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'Which is not telling me a damn thing?'

'We haven't time for that now - which is tactics, Elizabeth.' He glanced towards the lifts, and so did she. There were three of them, and there were people waiting outside two of them, on the right. But no one was waiting outside the left-hand one, which was open and empty.

'What tactics?'

'What tactics?' He came back to her. 'Getting an interview with Sir Peter Barrie was a slice of luck to start with, because he probably spends half his life jetting somewhere, first-class.

Like this morning, for instance, Elizabeth.'

'This morning?'

'He was booked to Cairo this morning, top security. Because Xenophon's got a deal going with the Egyptians,