I arrive back at the B&B and Mrs Wilberforce greets me as though I’m her long-lost son. When she’s finished with the hugs, she tugs me into the dining room, where Stacey and Frank are tucking into breakfast. They both break off to congratulate Mrs W. on the meal and she pulls out her pinafore and curtsies.
‘What would you like, Mr Novak?’
‘The full English is winning rave reviews, so I’d be a fool not to try it.’
‘Oh, an excellent choice!’
She totters away and I take a seat with my two friends. We’re alone in the room and Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pineapple Poll is playing quietly from some decrepit speakers in the bay window. Reassuringly, the sound system, perched on a sideboard, is a low, squat record player that looks older than me.
I pour myself a grapefruit juice and we go through the usual tedium of ‘How did you sleep?’ etc.
With that out of the way, we establish plans for the day. Stacey reveals she’ll be staying with an old friend in London and Frank needs to return to his place in the Smoke, so they’ll be catching the train to St Pancras together. I say I’ll give them a lift to the station and they both put down their knives and forks to applaud sarcastically.
Stacey says, ‘What a ledge!’
As Frank pretends to wipe tears from his eyes, he asks, ‘Would you really do that for us, sir?’
‘You’re both utterly hilarious,’ I say, whilst I reach across the table and whip a sausage from Frank’s plate. He tries to protest, but I shut him down with, ‘That’s for being an idiot.’
‘Did you get in touch with Sophie?’
I can tell by Stacey’s tone of voice that she doesn’t think I have.
‘Yes! We spoke as I was walking back from the cathedral. She’s up for it. Actually, she suggested we all meet later today to form an overall plan of attack. I told her it wasn’t necessary.’
‘What d’you do that for, you bampot?’ Stacey looks up from buttering a slice of toast. ‘Get back on the phone. Tell her it’s a cracking idea.’
Frank is polishing off his last piece of bacon. ‘Yeah, sounds helpful. Let’s meet in Guildford. Nearer for Sophie. I’ll text her. Oh, and I’ll ask her to do a bit of history revision.’ He takes out his phone, adding, ‘About the Romanovs and all that malarkey.’
‘All that malarkey?’ I don’t bother to conceal my disbelief at his choice of words. ‘The brutal assassination of an entire family, the end of a long and bloody civil war and the birth of modern Russia.’
‘Aye.’ Frank pushes his empty plate away. ‘All that malarkey. I don’t have a clue about any of it. There was one story I did donkey’s years ago, but honestly, it’s not my wheelhouse, as you youngsters would say.’
‘Same here.’ Stacey picks up her piece of toast. ‘I wouldn’t know Lenin and Stalin from Lennon and McCartney.’
‘Oh very pithy, Miss Smith. I see what you did there. Top work.’
She plucks Frank’s sausage from my hand, places it on her toast and folds the bread around it to make a sarnie. ‘That’s for being an idiot,’ she informs me.
I shake my head but smile, then look at Frank. ‘You definitely think we’re right to bring Sophie in?’
‘These are two big jobs you’ve got on your hands. You’re trying to find some guy that defected and disappeared years ago, and we all know you’re going to go after the Romanov treasure.’
‘On top of that,’ Stacey chips in, ‘you’ve got Sandy Paige trying to put you six feet under.’
‘Yeah . . .’ I try to sound casual. ‘That’s what Simmonds wanted to see me about. I met him this morning.’
Frank puts his phone on the table. ‘You spoke to him here in Canterbury? What the hell brought him out all this way?’
‘He wanted to take me into safekeeping. I said no. I had too much to do.’
Stacey says, ‘Aye, well, their idea of safekeeping isn’t all that safe if Julia’s anything to go by.’
Frank and I exchange looks and he asks, ‘So, why the sudden interest in your well-being?’
Before I can reply, Mrs Wilberforce appears in the doorway carrying my breakfast. She lurches over and places it in front of me. She proceeds to go through the contents of the plate, pointing at individual items and naming them, as if I might otherwise have been baffled by the sight of two fried eggs. At the end of the roll call, I thank her and she retreats to the kitchen.
Frank urges, ‘Well?’
‘Full English – just what the doctor ordered!’ I pick up my cutlery. ‘Jeremy Simmonds has received intel on the ground that suggests Paige has more men who’ll make another attempt on my life in the next twenty-four hours. Last time, he sent two killers to polish me off. This time, he’s hired a small army of assassins. Pass the butter, would you, Miss Smith?’
‘Don’t be so cavalier about your own death,’ she snaps.
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
Stacey sounds furious as she replies, ‘Don’t forget you have people who rely on you!’
And it occurs to me that maybe I was wrong when I told Simmonds I was alone.
Frank repeats the words, ‘A small army of assassins.’ He looks ashen and doesn’t need to say any more because I know exactly what he’s thinking. He believes the odds I’m facing are too great and that this time, well, even I can’t get out of this one.