The next morning, Philippe Maigret stretched luxuriously in Megan’s big bed, yawned and rolled closer to her.
‘Sleep well, love?’ she asked.
‘Like the Rock of Ages. I haven’t slept that well since the night before you left Paris!’
‘Well, I was expecting “like a baby” – but I guess you’ve proved yet again that the French really are different! Though how a rock actually sleeps is beyond me.’
He laughed. ‘Trust me, rocks sleep very well indeed. Now what further delights do you have in store for us today?’
‘I thought we’d have a long walk in Regent’s Park, followed by brunch on the high street then maybe a visit to the Royal Academy and the National Gallery. What do you think? Does that sound like a plan, Philippe?’ He had started groaning before she’d finished the first sentence.
‘You know me. I’m but a simple policeman! I’d be quite content to spend the whole day hiding away in this apartment with you.’
‘Well you won’t,’ she said, aiming a pillow at his head. ‘Not on a lovely day like this. I’ll make the coffee while you shower. Now, get moving, Chief Inspector Maigret, and that’s an order!’
So they spent their pleasant day together much to the irritation of the two plain-clothes policemen who were tailing them.
‘This is a total waste of time,’ the first one said. ‘These two are following their own agenda and it has absolutely nothing to do with police matters!’
‘You’re probably right, but quit complaining. The overtime’s good, isn’t it?’
‘It’s a waste of police resources,’ his mate grumbled. ‘Where will they be off to next? Ruddy Buckingham Palace?’
They didn’t go to Buckingham Palace. They went home, cooked their dinner, drank their wine and, later the next morning, took a long drive to the country for lunch. And all the time they were followed by the police, but a different team from the ones who had shadowed them the day before. However, this pair was no happier than the ones the previous day had been.
‘They’re doing the tourist thing, guv. Now she’s taking him for lunch in Oxfordshire. Or maybe it’s Buckinghamshire. I can’t tell where the county borders start and end around these parts. It’s all a waste of time anyway. They’re only interested in each other,’ the senior policeman complained when he phoned his boss at Scotland Yard.
‘Okay, finish the surveillance at 6 pm. Wherever they are then, that’s it. Time to call it quits.’
Thank the Lord for small mercies, both policemen thought at 6 pm. It’s Sunday night and now it’s time to put the old feet up and chill out in front of the television.
At eight o’clock the next morning Philippe’s mobile rang.
‘Damn! I thought I’d turned it off!’ he said as he retrieved it from the bedside table. The phone indicated that Inspector Martin of the Police Nationale in Paris was calling.
‘Georges, you better be about to tell me that World War Three has begun because anything less than that and you’re in serious trouble! I’m on holiday, remember? I told you I was not to be disturbed this week. Not under any circumstances! Comprendre?’
‘Sir, it’s me, Jacques. I’m using Georges’ phone.’
‘Why? Oh, don’t bother, just tell me why you’re calling, Jacques, and make it snappy. I haven’t had my coffee yet! You do realise that London time is an hour behind Paris, don’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir, but I thought you’d want to be informed that Scotland Yard knows you’re in London.’
‘They can’t! How?’
‘I don’t know, sir, but obviously they do because you’ve been invited to morning tea at Scotland Yard tomorrow morning.’
‘Decline politely on my behalf, please Jacques. Tell them thanks, but no thanks.’
‘Sir, they even know where you’re staying.’
‘What? They can’t. Not unless they’ve bugged Paris HQ, which I think is unlikely.’
‘You must have been recognised when you arrived at St Pancras, Chief. They’ve offered to send a car for you tomorrow morning. They specifically said “to the mansion address near Regent’s Park”. What do you want me to do, sir?’
‘The cheeky monkeys! They’re really rubbing our noses in it, aren’t they? They want us to know how much they know. They think they’re being clever.’ (Inspector Maigret didn’t actually say “monkeys” but some things should be left to the imagination, and besides, they sound less offensive in French!)
‘Do you still want me to decline their invitation, sir?’
‘Yes, Jacques. Decline, decline, decline, and I am not talking about Latin nouns!’
‘Comment?’
‘Forget it, Jacques. I was just trying a little humour. Au revoir, mon ami. I’ll see you in a week or so.’
‘What was all that about?’ Megan asked sleepily.
‘Oh just Scotland Yard playing silly bug, er… bunnies, darling, nothing for you to worry about. Someone on security detail at St Pancras must have recognised me and now they’re worried that I might know something that they don’t know but should. It’s actually quite funny,’ he chuckled, and then began to laugh.
‘Why?’
‘The way the wheels within wheels work!’
‘You’re not making sense, Philippe!’
Then suddenly he was very serious. ‘I’d probably do exactly the same thing if a chief inspector from Scotland Yard turned up in Paris without prior warning. The culture might be different but police practices remain the same. It’s standard police paranoia. Your greatest fear is that the big bad thing might happen on your watch. And, by the law of averages, one day it will because it can’t always be someone else’s turn. One day it will probably be my turn, though I pray to God that day never comes.’
‘Oh, darling,’ she said, enfolding him in her arms.
But Scotland Yard would not be fobbed off. Half an hour later Jacques, fearing for his life, called again, this time with an invitation for Philippe Maigret to go to lunch the next day.
‘If I turn down the lunch invitation, do you think they’ll up the bid to a gourmet dinner at The Ritz?’ he asked Megan. She was pleased to see that he was smiling again. The hapless Jacques was instructed to decline that invitation too.
‘Oh, Philippe! I think perhaps you should go; just to put them out of their misery and so your phone’s not ringing all the time. Call Jacques and tell him you’ve changed your mind.’
‘You’re probably right, my love. And perhaps I will go. But only if you come with me.’
‘Don’t be silly. What would I do at Scotland Yard? I’d be like a fish out of water! You go and I’ll catch up on some errands while you’re away.’
‘No, Megan. Either we both go or I don’t go at all.’
Hmm, she thought. He called me Megan. He must be serious. Looks like I might actually have to go.
So lunch for both of them at Scotland Yard the next day became a fait accompli. And who would ever have imagined that a simple act like accepting a lunch invitation would have such far-reaching consequences?