“You’re kidding me?” she said.
“No, I was a student there for one year only and I was offered a job with the National Theatre. I played Lyngstrand in Ibsen’s ‘Lady From the Sea,’ the one who was coughing his guts up all the time.”
“And after that?”
“Oh, there were family commitments. I had to go home to Ireland.”
“What a shame. What have you been doing lately?”
He told the truth for once. “I’ve been flying medical supplies into Yugoslavia.”
“Oh, you’re a pilot.”
“Some of the time. I’ve been a lot of things. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker. Diver.”
“A diver?” She showed her surprise. “Really? You’re not having me on?”
“No, why should I?”
She leaned back as they circled the floor. “You know, I get a funny feeling about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it may sound crazy, but if someone asked me to speculate about you, for some totally illogical reason I’d say you were a soldier.”
Dillon’s smile was slightly lopsided. “Now what gave me away?”
“I’m right then.” She was delighted with herself. “You were once a soldier.”
“I suppose you could put it that way.”
The music stopped, he took her back to the table and excused himself. “I’m just going to see what cigarettes they have in the bar.”
As he went away, the Admiral said, “Look, my dear, no sense in getting too involved with him, you know, not your sort.”
“Oh, don’t be an old snob, Admiral.” She lit a cigarette.
“He seems perfectly nice to me. He’s just been flying medical supplies into Yugoslavia and he used to be a soldier.”
Travers snorted and came right out with it. “Soldier of the bloody IRA.”
She frowned. “You can’t be serious.”
“Infamous character,” Travers said. “Worse than Carlos. They’ve been after him for years all over the place. Only reason he’s here is because Charles has done a deal with him. He’s going to help out with this thing, go to St. John, find the submarine and so on. Apparently the damned man’s also a diver.”
“I can’t believe it.”
As Dillon came out of the bar, he met Ferguson arriving and they came down to the table together.
“You’re looking well, my dear,” Ferguson said to Jenny. “The coroner’s inquest is at ten-thirty tomorrow, by the way. No need for you to go as Garth here made the formal identification.”
“But I’d prefer to be there,” she said.
“Very well, if that’s what you’d like.”
“How soon after that can we arrange cremation?”
“That
“His ashes, yes,” she said calmly. “I’m not expecting a service. Henry was an atheist.”
“Really.” Ferguson shrugged. “Well, if you’re happy to use our people, they could do it virtually straightaway.”
“Tomorrow afternoon?”
“I suppose so.”
“Good. If you would arrange that I’d be grateful. If you’re ordering I’d like caviar to start, a steak medium rare and a salad on the side.”
“Would you now?” Ferguson said.
“It’s called celebrating life.” She reached for Dillon’s hand. “And I’d like to dance again.” She smiled. “It’s not often I get the chance to do the foxtrot with an IRA gunman.”
There were no more than five or six people in the small oak-paneled court in Westminster the following morning. Jenny sat at the front bench with Travers and Ferguson, and Dillon stood at the back near the Court usher, once more in his flying jacket. There was a brief pause while one of the people sitting at the front approached the bench and received some sort of warrant from the Clerk of the Court. As he went out, Smith and Johnson came into the court and sat on a bench on the other side of the aisle from Dillon. They were both respectably dressed in jacket and tie, but one look was enough for Dillon. Twenty years of entirely the wrong kind of living had given him an instinct for such things.
The Clerk of the Court got things started. “Rise for her Majesty’s Coroner.”
The Coroner was old with very white hair and wore a gray suit. Jenny was surprised. She’d expected robes. He opened the file before him. “This is an unusual case and I have taken note of the facts placed before me and have decided that in consequence the presence of a jury is not necessary. Is Brigadier Charles Ferguson in court?”
Ferguson stood up. “Yes, sir.”
“I see you have served a D notice in this matter on behalf of the Ministry of Defence and this court accepts that there must be reasons for doing so affecting National Security. I accept the order and will have it entered into these proceedings. I will also, at this point, make it clear to any member of the press present that it is an offense punishable by a term of imprisonment to report details of any case covered by a D notice.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ferguson sat down.
“As the witnesses’ statements given to the police in this unfortunate matter seem perfectly straightforward, I only need official identification of the deceased to be able to close these proceedings.”
The Clerk of the Court nodded to Travers, who got up and went to the stand. The Coroner glanced at his papers. “You are Rear Admiral Garth Travers?”
“I am, sir.”
“And your relationship with the deceased?”
“A close friend of many years on vacation from St. John in the American Virgin Islands, staying with me at my house in Lord North Street.”
“And you made the official identification?” Travers nodded. “Is Miss Jennifer Grant in court?” She stood awkwardly and he said, “I have a power of attorney here in your name. You wish to claim the body?”
“I do, sir.”
“So be it and so ordered. My Clerk will issue the necessary warrant. You have the sympathy of the court, Miss Grant.”
“Thank you.”
As she sat, the Clerk called, “Rise for Her Majesty’s Coroner.”
They all did so and the Coroner went out. Travers turned to Jenny. “All right, my dear?”
“Fine,” she said, but her face was pale.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Charles is just getting the warrant. He’ll catch us up.”
They passed Dillon and went out. Smith and Johnson got up and filed out with the other people while Ferguson busied himself with the Clerk of the Court.
It was sunny outside and yet Jenny shivered slightly and drew her collar about her throat. “It’s cold.”
“You could probably do with a hot drink,” Travers said, concerned.
Dillon was standing on the top step as Ferguson joined him. Smith and Johnson had paused a little distance away by the bus stop for Smith to take out a cigarette and Johnson was lighting it for him.
Dillon said to Ferguson, “Do you know those two?”
“Why, should I?” the Brigadier asked.
At that moment a bus stopped, Smith and Johnson and a couple of other people boarded it and it pulled away. “Brigadier, I’ve lasted all these years by trusting my instincts and they tell me we’ve got a couple of bad guys there. What were they doing at the inquest anyway?”
“Perhaps you’re right, Dillon. On the other hand, there are many people who view Court proceedings of any sort as free entertainment.”
“Is that a fact now?”
The Daimler drew in to the pavement at the bottom of the steps and Jack Lane got out and joined them.
