Simon Tolkien Inspector Trave Trilogy: Orders From Berlin, The Inheritance, The King of Diamonds. Simon Tolkien

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СКАЧАТЬ elaborately corniced ceilings lit up reflections in the vast art deco mirrors on the walls and in the row of shining silver tea urns lined up behind the long stainless-steel bar, and turned the clouds of cigarette smoke hanging in the stale air from grey to white. And suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man in a raincoat she was sure was Trave. It was only a glimpse – he was on the other side of the room, with his face just visible above his newspaper – and almost immediately some diners stood up from their table, blocking her view. When they moved out of the way, he was gone. Perhaps he’d seen her too and had made a quick escape, or perhaps it hadn’t been him at all. She wasn’t sure any more. It had all happened so fast, and the place had had her agitated and confused from the moment she first arrived.

      One of the waitresses – nippies, they were called, in their black-and-white starched uniforms with pearl buttons – came up and offered to seat her, but Ava held back. How would Seaforth find her amid all these people? Assuming he was still here, of course, which was hardly likely, given that she was almost half an hour late. She wished she’d picked another meeting place closer to home, far away from the West End, just as she wished she’d refused to go with Bertram to the solicitor’s. She could have signed the documents some other day; she didn’t need to act as a silent witness to her husband’s gloating. Her shoulders sagged. Waking up that morning, she’d been uncertain whether to come, but now she felt disappointment settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach. She turned to go and came face-to-face with Seaforth, almost colliding with him as he walked towards her across the red carpet.

      ‘Steady,’ he said, putting out his hand to stop her from falling. ‘I’m glad you made it. I thought you weren’t coming.’

      ‘I know. I’m sorry – I got delayed.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and that’s what’s important, so let’s sit down,’ he said. Taking her arm, he escorted her through the crowd to a table by an open window set for two with cutlery and glasses and a gleaming white tablecloth. He took her coat and pulled out a chair for her to sit down, did all the things that a gentleman would do but her husband never did, and then sat opposite her with a look of anxious concern on his face.

      ‘Are you all right, Ava?’ he asked. ‘You don’t mind me calling you that, do you?’

      She shook her head. She liked the way he pronounced her name, accentuating the long a of the first syllable like a caress, but it worried her too. Why was she sitting opposite this handsome stranger, deceiving her husband about her whereabouts? Was it to find out information about her father’s murder, or was it because she wanted to be here, living dangerously in the wild West End? And more important, why was Seaforth here? It had to be because he wanted something from her. But what? She had no idea. She needed to be patient and keep her wits about her, and then maybe she’d learn something.

      ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ he said.

      ‘Not a ghost,’ she said. ‘I thought I saw Detective Trave when I came in – he’s one of the policemen investigating my father’s case – but then he disappeared.’

      ‘Where was he sitting?’ Seaforth asked.

      ‘On his own over there,’ said Ava, pointing across the room towards the bar.

      ‘Wearing a tan raincoat and hiding behind a well-thumbed copy of The Times?’

      ‘Yes, how do you know?’ asked Ava, surprised.

      ‘He arrived just before you, looking like he was up to no good. I’m trained to keep my eyes open for suspicious-looking characters. Remember?’ said Seaforth with a grin.

      She smiled back, relaxing a little. ‘I wonder what he was doing here, if it was him. Perhaps I was mistaken,’ she said.

      ‘Maybe,’ said Seaforth. ‘But whoever it was, he’s gone now, so why don’t we have a drink and forget about him?’

      ‘Yes, you’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m just a bit on edge, that’s all. I had to go to the solicitor’s with my husband, and then the train was delayed. And maybe this wasn’t the best place to meet,’ she said, glancing around the restaurant. ‘You could get lost in here – there are so many people.’

      ‘It was your suggestion,’ said Seaforth, smiling.

      ‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else. I’ve only been here once before, and it wasn’t like this. I don’t know the West End very well.’

      ‘So, do you like it?’

      ‘It’s not like Battersea.’

      ‘It certainly isn’t,’ said Seaforth, laughing. ‘But that wasn’t my question. I asked you if you like this place.’

      Ava forced herself to think. ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘I think I do.’ It was an understatement. She felt excited by the Corner House; by the vast throng of people; by the music and the lights. The band was playing a Vera Lynn song: ‘We’ll meet again, Don’t know where, don’t know when …’ The words seemed significant somehow, like a promise of some kind.

      ‘I like it too,’ said Seaforth. ‘People need to feel alive. They have a right to it, I think, particularly in wartime. If a bomb has your number on it tomorrow, then you want to make sure you live a bit today. All the West End is like this, you know – the picture palaces and the dance halls – they’re bursting at the seams since the Blitz started.’

      She thought of going with Seaforth to a dance hall – feeling his arms around her waist, swinging to the rhythm of the music so fast that she could forget all about Battersea and Bertram and her father and the war. But then she shook her head, banishing the vision conjured up by her unconscious mind as she remembered her earlier resolve to stay on her guard and keep her wits about her.

      Seaforth ordered for both of them. He obviously knew the place well: he didn’t even have to look at the menu. He could have his pick of pretty girls, thought Ava. He was so confident and handsome. The waitress hung on his every word, and Ava could see women turning to look at him surreptitiously from other tables. Yet he seemed interested solely in her. Why? She needed to know why.

      ‘You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about,’ she said.

      ‘Yes, I’m worried about you,’ he said, leaning towards her as if to emphasize his concern.

      ‘About me? I thought you wanted to talk to me about my father.’

      ‘Well, that’s true. It’s because of what happened to him that I’m concerned about you.’

      ‘What? You think I’m going to be next?’ she asked with a false laugh, trying unsuccessfully to hide her anxiety.

      ‘I hope not,’ he said seriously. ‘I hope I’m wrong and that you’re not in any danger.’

      ‘Wrong about what?’ she asked, unable to keep the alarm out of her voice.

      ‘About your husband.’

      ‘What about him?’ asked Ava, taken aback. It was the last answer she’d expected Seaforth to give. ‘I don’t understand. You don’t even know Bertram. How can you know something about him that I don’t?’

      ‘I talked to the police—’

      ‘How? СКАЧАТЬ