“Come off it, Julia! You know what I do. You’re lucky, creeping up on me like that, that you caught me re-loading. I might have drilled you.”
Armitage regained control of himself and began again. “Come on in! No need to pad about. There’s half an hour to go yet before I pick the boss up. He took pity on me and sent me out of the conference half way through. Too damn boring. Come and have a look. Don’t pull that face! You ought to learn how to load a gun.”
Doubtfully, Julia approached the bureau where Armitage was standing and watched him. He slipped the big gun back into its usual place in the holster in the small of his back.
“Colt Police Positive,” he told her as he tucked it away. “Thirty-eight, four-inch barrel. Not the fastest in a draw but no one talks back to it. That’s for distance work or for making seriously big holes. This is what we use for close up. It’s a twenty-two.”
He produced what Julia thought to be an entirely more acceptable pistol. A neat little thing so long as no one was using it in anger, she ventured to comment.
“And this is how we load it.” He demonstrated. “Why are you shuddering? It’s only a piece of metal when it comes down to it.” In an effort to cancel the impatience in his tone, he added more gently, “Think of it as a life-preserver.”
“Didn’t do much to preserve my Dad’s life. He was mixed up in all sorts of political trouble here and in Russia. I’ve watched him many a night doing just what you’re doing. Playing with his guns. Big old things, not like that one. More likely to blow your hand off than kill anybody. They brought his body back one winter’s night. Dumped it on Ma’s doorstep. I found it when I went out for the bread. Three things I can’t stand the sight of: blood, snow and a man loading up.” Suddenly afraid, Julia kept her voice level and asked, “Bill—are you expecting trouble when the conference turns out?”
“I’m always expecting trouble. That’s why I spend some time checking the guns before I leave to go on duty. Do it carefully and you know it’s done. No need for last-minute twitchiness. Never double-check once you’re out there—that’s a dead giveaway. A man’s hand goes to his holster—you shoot. It’s not ten paces, turn and fire at will in this game.” He put the safety catch on the pistol, showing her how that was done, and then slipped it away in his pocket.
“Why do you need two guns this afternoon?”
“Because the senator doesn’t make my life easy. The risks he takes freeze my blood! He and that Sandilands are two for a pair. The silly buggers parade about without any protection but their own swagger. They’ll have not a gun between them when they get out this afternoon! Armaments are not allowed in the conference building—that’s why I’m picking the boss up when he gets out. And anyway, Kingstone had to hand his pocket gun in to the country police force after his little adventure down in Surrey. Sandilands?—well, London policemen don’t go about armed, however high their rank. He’s got an old Browning somewhere but he probably keeps it in a glass case.”
“What are they supposed to do if they get into trouble?”
Armitage grinned. “They have to find a phone and ring for backup from an armed unit. Unbelievable!”
“Kingstone doesn’t need a pistol if he’s got you, Bill,” she said comfortably. “Are you escorting him straight back here? I need to talk to him. I’ve got some news for him.”
Armitage looked at her speculatively. “Oh, yes. You were down at the lawyer’s, weren’t you? Has the little madam done the decent thing and left her ill-gotten goodies back where they came from—to Kingstone?”
“I think he should be the first to hear, Bill.”
“Sure … The boss has decided that since he’s going home early, he’s at least going to get a look at some pretty part of London while he can. He’s going to take a breather walking back from the conference hall. He plans to cross the road into the park, taking in a bit of statuary: the Albert Memorial, Peter Pan and the Achilles statue, topped off with a visit to the park tea rooms and a sing-along with the band, sitting in a deck chair. Itinerary suggested to him by—you’ll never guess—Joe Sandilands, the Kensington Boulevardier. There’s an arrogant bugger who assumes bullets will bounce off him. I had to save his bloody skin more than once in the war. And he hasn’t learned.”
“Why would they be taking a walk? Aren’t there taxis down there?”
“ ’Course there are. Walking in parks is what English gents do when they’ve got secret stuff to exchange. No one overhearing or hiding a microphone in a wall or a lamp. More business gets done out there than in the conference hall—or in Parliament. They read newspapers then leave them on a bench with a message in code.” Armitage rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Bloody boy scouts! They look at a park full of trees and bushes and they see a bird sanctuary, haunt of wagtails and willow-warblers. I see perfect ambush country. Three Irish blokes damned nearly got Winston Churchill in Hyde Park. I nipped out to do a recce this afternoon. It’s not good. You could stash ten assassins with machine guns away in there and never see them. And they’d all get away. Because there is no Plod. They only patrol after dark, would you believe! Protecting unsuspecting Members of Parliament who’ve taken a wrong turning from falling into the clutches of lipsticked ladies with short skirts and big handbags.”
“I know that park,” Julia said. “It is a lovely place on a June afternoon.”
“Now they’ve stopped using the Serpentine as a sewer. Little boys sailing their boats on the Round Pond, nannies out walking with prams …”
“Perhaps they’re right. I expect the two gents want to say their goodbyes. They seem to have hit it off.”
“Well I’d better not keep them waiting. Ta-ta, Julia, love. See you later.”
“Enjoy the statuary! The Achilles looks a bit like you, without your clothes on, Bill! Best sculpted fig leaf in London! I’ll stay and have my tea at the hotel. Sorry to hear you’ll not be staying much longer … Bill, I was wondering …?”
He gave her a radiant smile as he eased into his jacket. “I thought you’d never get round to it. We’ll talk about that, shall we? And not in a draughty old park. We’ll take a table to ourselves, this evening. At the Ritz? Go easy on the cream buns, gel!”
KINGSTON EMERGED FROM the Geological Museum Hall at five o’clock as arranged, looking tired and anxious. Joe hardly liked to ask him: “Did all go well?”
“Fine. Just fine. Your King George was kingly, your Prime Minister was magisterial. A gold-plated microphone transmitted the messages of good will and resolve to millions all over the world. You can read the text in the papers tomorrow. The World Economic Conference is off to a good start, I think we can say.” And, in an undertone as he settled his homburg on his head, “Where can we talk?”
Joe led the way down Exhibition Road towards the park. “We’ll give the statues and the architecture a miss and go straight for the café if you like. Did you have any lunch?”
“No. No lunch. I spent the hour talking. Moving my counters around. Playing for my life.” Kingston rallied and made an effort, as they walked along, to take an interest in his surroundings. “Knightsbridge, you say this is called? I see no bridge.”
“Long gone. But it must have been right here where we’re crossing into Kensington Gardens, spanning the Westbourne Stream, which ran here in ancient times when the village was well outside the London boundary.” He spoke in the confident voice of a gentleman showing a friend around London but Joe recognised that Kingstone’s attention was scarcely on what he was saying. The man’s eyes were moving from side to side. Hunting for something or someone, grunting a response the moment Joe stopped talking.