She's evaded my question, Paula thought. Why? They began to chat about well-known people occupying tables a distance from them. Eva showed a malicious side to her humour.
'I do detest that fat pig over there. I avoid pop stars like the plague. Why have they become so important - self-important might be a better description. Making a fortune out of a ghastly row they call music. The fat pig has just looked at me and then obviously turned his head away. Maybe he can lip-read.' She chuckled. 'I do hope so.'
A skinny young man in a white suit who was not completely sober came to their table, grasped Eva's wrist below her full cuffs. His sensuous lips were open in an inviting smile, exposing bad teeth.
'Miss Eva Brand, if my eyes do not fool me. I'm Joe Yorkie, lead singer with the Busy Bees. Got a yacht in the Med. I could fly you down there.'
'If you don't remove your hand off me this plate of omelette is going to end up all down that silly white suit.' She took hold of the plate with both hands, began to lift it.
'Don't… thin… think you're my type.'
'Then fly down to the Med, dive off the deck and don't bother to come up again. Shove off, you nobody.'
Eva's tone was vicious. Paula stopped eating, convinced the omelette would end up on the suit if the drunk didn't get the message. He did, staggering a little on his way back to his table.
Eva smiled, as though nothing had happened. 'Now, what were we talking about?'
The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, with both women chatting about this and that. Paula was careful to keep away from any more controversial subjects. After coffee she checked her watch.
'Eva, it has been an evening for me to remember, but I have to leave. A business appointment,' she fibbed, 'at this hour. Such is life. And thank you again.'
'Do you mind if I wait?' Eva suggested with her wide smile. 'A friend is coming to have liqueurs with me. I still do the odd job for Medfords. Damned if I know why…'
Paula was collecting her coat in the lobby as the girl was about to help her on with her coat. Hands appeared behind her, grasped the coat.
'Allow me,' Peregrine Palfry said cheerfully. 'Don't forget we're having dinner some time. You really do look so devastating I could melt.'
'Thank you very much, Mr Palfry…'
'All my friends call me Perry. Please.'
Palfry, his smooth skin gleaming in the light, was wearing a dinner jacket. His greenish eyes held hers as he kissed her on both cheeks.
'Have a care,' he concluded.
Paula pretended to take time buttoning her coat, stepping back so she could see into the restaurant. Palfry bent down and hugged Eva, then sat down opposite her and began talking animatedly, waving his hands.
'That's weird,' Paula said to herself and walked out into the freezing night. They were waiting for her the moment the door closed behind her and she stepped on to the pavement.
A short, heavily built man in working clothes, with a cap pulled well down over his swarthy face, grabbed her right forearm tightly. Since it was the right forearm Paula could not reach down for her Browning. Another even larger man with a bald head grasped her left arm.
'Got a limo to take you 'ome,' snarled the brute with the cap. 'Ups-a-daisy.'
Helpless, she knew her feet were about to be lifted off the pavement while she was carried to the limo. Harry Butler appeared out of nowhere, slammed a haymaker into the man with the cap.
'Shouldn't have done that, you piece of rubbish,' Harry rasped.
Her right arm was released and the grip on it had been so savage she could hardly move it. At the same moment, Pete Nield, also appearing out of nowhere, hit the bald-headed man with his stiffened right hand against the side of his neck, followed it up by a vicious punch into the kidneys. Blinking, but free, Paula stepped back.
This was only for starters. Harry's first punch had hit the attacker in the stomach and his target was bent forward, groaning. Harry jerked up his metal-rimmed boot between the man's legs. His target screamed, bent over the pavement. Harry rammed his head down on to the stone pavement. Paula heard something crack.
Pete now had a choke hold on Bald Head whose tongue was protruding from between his thick lips. While all this took place, Paula saw Newman running to the limo where a driver waited behind the wheel, his window up. Newman reached in through the open window with his left hand, pressed the button, closing the window. While it was partly open he tossed a smoke bomb inside. The driver stopped trying to release his seat-belt as acrid smoke filled the interior. He began to cough, spluttering, unable to leave his seat. Newman brushed his hands together, dived into his waiting car, drove it over to where Paula waited.
'Take you home, lady. Only a modest charge…'
She was already seated in the front passenger seat and he drove off as she fastened her seat belt. She looked back. Harry and Pete were still hammering at the two thugs who were now lying on the pavement. She had little doubt both of her attackers would be crippled for weeks.
'How come you were there? You saved my bacon, as they say.'
'Tweed's idea. He was nervous about that dinner at the Ivy, sent out Pete and Harry to wait for you. I decided to join the party.' He chuckled. 'Driver of that limo waiting to cart you off somewhere is having a smoke.'
'Sorry?'
'I chucked a smoke bomb inside his limo – after locking his door. Doubt if he'll smoke a cigarette for months. Now, how are you?'
'Shaken, but OK.'
'Park Crescent here we come.'
Arriving back at Tweed's office, they found him pacing, unable to keep still. He ran forward to hug Paula while Monica, noticing her ashen face, hurried out to make tea. Slipping out of her coat, Paula, in a state of shock, sagged into the chair behind her desk. Reaction had set in and she was trembling.
'What happened?' demanded Tweed.
Newman gave a brief but graphic report about the attack outside the Ivy. Monica returned with a cup and saucer, planted it in front of Paula.
'Sip that,' she ordered. 'It's sweetened tea. Know you don't like sugar but just get that inside you.' She watched over Paula as she grasped the cup in both hands, leaning over the saucer to take any spillage.
The door opened and Pete and Harry rushed in. Harry, who was especially fond of Paula, went over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She had stopped trembling and had finished her cup of tea. The colour had come back into her face. She sat up straight and looked round at the men in the room.
'I want to thank you all for saving me from what I imagine could have been a very unpleasant experience. What made you suspicious, Tweed?'
'Call it sixth sense.'
'I wonder why they wanted me,' she mused.
'My guess,' Tweed told her, 'was they were after information about how far we'd got in our investigation.'
'Investigation into what?'
'Could have been several factors. What interests me is how they knew you were at the Ivy. One answer is Eva Brand. Did she have a mobile?'
'She could have – in her handbag tucked by her chair. But she'd have to have worked fast. It was only minutes after leaving the table before I walked outside.'
'A brief call could have been made in seconds,' Tweed insisted. ''She's on her way out now.''
'On the other hand I'm sure I was followed in the cab taking me there. By a motor-cyclist in black leather with a huge helmet.'
Marler, standing against a wall when Paula and Newman had arrived back, had remained silent. Now he spoke.
'My bet is on Eva Brand. What sort of conversation did you have with her over dinner?'
Paula recalled, word for word, what they had talked about. Tweed frowned at one point. Paula saw the frown and asked him what had struck him.
'Her reference to Milan, to speaking their language. Italy keeps looming into the picture…' He fingered the
