Jenny stood on the path and watched as the bulky shape of the car disappeared into the darkness. ‘I’ve been so worried, Ted. And when I heard a car, and it stopped outside, I thought …’
‘I know, love.’ Stratton hugged her. ‘It’s all right, I’m here now.’
‘Did you really come all the way home in that?’
‘Yes. Aren’t you impressed?’
‘It was enormous! I couldn’t think what it was doing here. When I heard it, I thought something terrible must have happened.’
‘Well, it hasn’t. Come on, you’ve left the door wide open. We’d better get inside before the warden rolls up and fines us for showing a light.’
They stumbled down the path, arm in arm, and went inside. ‘Your dinner’s all dried up,’ said Jenny, ‘but I can make you a sandwich. There’s a bit of cheese left.’
‘Don’t worry, love. I’m too tired.’
‘You must have some food, Ted.’
‘I’m fine. I had Dover Sole for lunch.’ Which, thought Stratton, felt like a very long time ago, to his brain if not to his stomach.
‘Did you go to a restaurant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t talk about it, love.’
‘But you can tell me about the food, can’t you?’
‘I suppose so. It was a very smart place. French waiters. We’ve still got a bit of that Scotch from last Christmas, haven’t we? I wouldn’t mind a spot of that. Put it in a mug and I’ll take it out to the Anderson with me.’
Stratton lit a cigarette and waited on the back lawn for Jenny to come down from the bedroom. He stood in the darkness, sipping his
Scotch and enjoying the warm sensation as it went down, although he wasn’t that keen on the taste – not that he’d ever drunk any really good Scotch, not like the sort of stuff Colonel Forbes-James would have. Presumably, he must have felt Stratton had done all right or he wouldn’t have offered the ride home. Stratton was surprised at how much this pleased him. There was definitely something about the man that made you want his approval. He wondered if Diana Calthrop felt like that, too.
Jenny shut the back door and joined him. ‘It’s all on the other side of London tonight, thank goodness. Let’s hope they don’t come this way.’
‘It’d take more than the Luftwaffe to keep me awake tonight. Let’s go in, shall we?’
As they readied themselves for bed, moving round each other in the narrow space down the middle of the Anderson, Jenny said, ‘I do wish we had a telephone, Ted.’
‘I know, love. It can’t be helped. But even if we did, you can’t always get through.’
‘But if you did, then at least I’d know you were all right. It’s horrible waiting and not knowing.’
Stratton bent over and kissed the top of her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And you haven’t told me about your lovely meal. Did you have a sweet?’
They chatted for a bit before Jenny fell asleep, but Stratton, who thought he’d be out like a light as soon as his head touched the pillow, found himself taking stock of the day’s events. Hell of a turn-up for the books, being summoned like that. Colonel Forbes-James had clearly decided that he was more use working with them than blundering around on his own. Stratton wondered what DCI Machin and SDI Roper had had to say about it, and what Lamb would say when he came back. Good riddance, probably. When he returned to Great Marlborough Street – or to West End Central, assuming it was habitable – Lamb would take a great deal of pleasure in making sure he hadn’t got too big for his boots working for MI5. Because that’s who Forbes-James was, he was sure of it. The man hadn’t said as much, just War Office, but he had to be.
The Honourable Helen Pender had been stunned when he’d unloaded her at Holloway, and Stratton couldn’t blame her. All those brasses yelling their heads off, then the wardress had kept her
in reception, in a tiny cubicle the size of a toilet, for over an hour. He had asked if the prison doctor could give her something to calm her, but he didn’t suppose the woman would pass on his request. He hoped the doctor would be more sympathetic. It was pure spite on the part of the wardress because of who the Honourable Helen was and what she was in for. Stratton knew the girl would be horrified when she saw the filthy cells, with their lumpy mattresses and canvas sheets, and the air permeated with the stench of unemptied chamber pots – not to mention the appalling food, and the shock and helplessness at being locked in. Still, being held under Regulation 18B meant that she’d be able to wear her own clothes and receive parcels, and at least Holloway wasn’t verminous, which was more than could be said for Brixton, which was where Wymark had been taken. Stratton sighed. He felt sorry for the girl because she was young, stupid and, in his opinion, had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Wymark had been all set to scarper and leave her to face the music, although he couldn’t have hoped to get far in pyjamas and bare feet. Idiot, Stratton thought, trying to make himself comfortable on the narrow bunk. He must try to get some sleep. As Forbes-James had said, long day tomorrow …