Eddie made Troy bathe and shave. Even laid out a clean shirt for him.
“You look dreadful.”
“Thanks, Ed.”
“I’ll be off now.”
“No, you stay.”
Jordan arrived a little the worse for booze. Just when Troy would want him keen and attentive.
“Black coffee, Eddie. And pile on the cake.”
Jordan did not so much sit as slump.
“Freddie, is this really quite so urgent? I mean, I was in the middle of a … y’know, the top came off the bottle at lunchtime …”
“How urgent do you want murder to be?”
“OK. Murder is what you do. It wouldn’t be anything else, would it? So, who’s dead?”
“Venetia, Lady Stainesborough. You may have known her as Venetia Maye-Brown.”
Jordan was nodding.
“I did. Not seen her … oooh … I dunno … since the end of the war. I seem to remember dancing a conga with my hands on her backside on VE night. She was … what’s the word … very popular during the war. But … I tell a lie. I’m sure I’ve seen her a couple of times since. Parties and such. Sorry, can’t remember where or when. But, as I said, rather popular in the blackout.”
“Indeed, she was. And after the war she cleaned up her act. Married into the aristocracy.”
“Ah. And how did she die?”
“Someone picked her up and threw her downstairs yesterday afternoon. But this is almost a digression.”
“Good. ‘Cos if it isn’t, I don’t see how I can help you. Is Eddie making coffee? Good man.”
Troy gave Jordan a moment then said, “Bill Blaine.”
“Ah … still not laid to rest, eh?”
“Jordan. Who pulled you off the Burgess trip?”
“Section head. Bloody annoying, I was all set, packed … and it seemed like an adventure. At the last minute something arose and I got switched.”
“What was it?”
“Suspicious activity at Liverpool docks. Some nonsense about IRA explosives. You know, four pounds of fertilizer and an alarm clock. Turned out to be complete bollocks, but it took me away from London for two days … and of course, by the time I got back, Blaine was dead. Part of me thought ‘could have been me.’ But I suppose that’s natural without being logical. But any complaint I might have had about my time being wasted got swallowed by the ‘but for the grace of God’ thingie.”
“Section head?”
Jordan hesitated. Eddie nipped in with the cake and coffee. Jordan sipped, munched, and pondered.
“Well,” he said. “That’s secret. Or if it isn’t, it ought to be. But I don’t suppose it’s a secret that matters much. Denzil Kearney is his name. But as it is nonetheless a bit of a secret … I have to ask … why are you asking?”
“My brother got called into Number 10 just before you were pulled and Blaine flew out to Vienna. Mac told Rod unequivocally that he didn’t want Burgess back and that MI5 would not be sending anyone to de-brief him or bring him in from the cold.”
Jordan paused with a chunk of panettone at his lips and stuck it back on the plate.
“Freddie, where’s this leading? Macmillan told Rod who told you … is this more than gossip? Is anyone sure Mac wasn’t just sounding off?”
“Oh, he was definite. ‘Not at any price’ did he want Burgess back. And I believe him. I think Kearney acted off his own bat. Disobeyed an order from the PM. Pulled you as told, but then substituted Blaine. You were never at risk. No one walked over your grave. You were never the target. Blaine was. He was dead the minute he boarded that plane for Vienna.”
“Jesus H. Christ. Why? And what on earth does this have to do with the Venetia woman?”
“Blaine was a Soviet agent. Venetia was Blaine’s sister-in-law. She was the one person he’d told about his double life.”
Jordan knocked back his coffee, turned to a blank, befuddled Eddie.
“You wouldn’t happen to be hiding a drop of Scotch back there, would you, Eddie?”