‘They won’t let me in,’ she told him. ‘Don’t waste time arguing with them, use the telephone and call Thomas. If you can’t get him then try Stoker.’
He hesitated.
‘For heaven’s sake, Victor, get on with it!’ she ordered him.
Without any warning at all he put both arms around her and kissed her firmly on the lips, with intense gentleness, as if he would have made it longer and deeper had time allowed. Then he turned and strode up the steps and in through the door, allowing it to slam after him.
Vespasia stood on the steps, stunned and burning with a sudden and completely overwhelming warmth, her imagination soaring.
He returned ten minutes later, his step light, his face shining with relief.
‘You spoke to Thomas?’ she said, moving towards him. ‘He will go after Talbot?’
‘Yes, with Stoker.’ He put his hands on her arms, holding her so that she faced him. ‘It was very good advice — “get on with it!”’ He repeated his words in exactly the tone that she had used earlier. ‘One should have the courage of one’s convictions, win or lose. Vespasia, will you marry me?’
She was speechless. They were standing in the middle of the street. It was as unromantic as it was possible to be. And yet she had no doubts at all. They should be thinking of Talbot, and whether he would kill Ailsa or not, of Kynaston’s treason and the appalling damage a trial would do. Yet she knew without hesitation that the most important thing in her life was that Narraway loved her, not only as a friend, but in the same intense and passionate way that she loved him.
‘Yes, I will,’ she replied. ‘But quietly, if you please. Not in the middle of the street.’
Such an intense happiness filled his face that two men passing by hesitated and looked at him, then at each other, but Narraway was completely unaware of it.
‘I shall live the rest of my life so that you never regret it,’ he said earnestly.
‘I had not considered the possibility,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Time is sweet enough not to waste any of it in less than the very best way.’ She touched the side of his cheek with her fingers, a tender and intimate gesture. ‘Now may we please get out of the public thoroughfare, where we are causing something of a spectacle?’
Chapter Eighteen
Pitt hung up the telephone and turned to Stoker. He had requested the police to go to both Talbot’s house and his office at Downing Street, but it was merely a precaution. He did not think for a moment that he would return to either place. He agreed with Narraway that Talbot would make an attempt to silence Ailsa, the only witness who knew exactly what he had done. Without her he could still twist the truth until he emerged the hero who had discovered Kynaston’s treason and deliberately trapped him. Since he had worked so close with the Government, the Prime Minister in particular, there would be many happy to accept that answer. It would be the perfect way to avoid a scandal, which Talbot would know.
Pitt had now just telephoned the Kynastons’ home. The butler had told him that Mrs Ailsa Kynaston was on her way to luncheon. He could not say with whom, but it was in a restaurant just across Tower Bridge. Apparently the walkway across the great span from the height of one tower to that of the other was a marvellous experience. Pitt had thanked him.
‘Tower Bridge,’ he told Stoker. ‘Restaurant’s just below. We’ll get a hansom. Come on!’
‘How long ago did she leave?’ Stoker asked, following Pitt out on to the street and striding along towards the nearest corner to find a cab.
‘Half an hour,’ Pitt replied, charging out into the roadway and waving his arms as a hansom approached.
The horse drew to a startled halt, steering the cab sideways.
‘Tower Bridge!’ Pitt called out as he swung up into the cab. Stoker charged round the other side to climb in beside him. ‘Fast as you can!’ Pitt shouted. ‘Double the fare if you make it in time!’
‘Time for what?’ the cabby demanded. ‘Damn lunatic.’
‘To save a woman’s life,’ Pitt replied. ‘Get on with it!’
The cab lurched forward and rapidly picked up speed until they were driving as if their own lives depended on it. They swerved round corners on two wheels and thundered along straight roads, the driver cracking his whip in the air and other traffic scattering before them.
Pitt and Stoker clung on to their seat and by now Stoker had his eyes shut. Pitt lost track of where they were. They avoided the main thoroughfare, very wisely.
Pitt had two main anxieties ahead of all the others, ahead even of being too late to stop Talbot from possibly killing Ailsa. The lesser thing he feared was that they would succeed in getting there on time, and he would owe the driver far more than he could afford to pay. The greater was that he had misjudged the whole affair, and they would arrive to find neither Talbot nor Ailsa anywhere near Tower Bridge.
He sat with hands clenched, not only to keep himself from being hurled from side to side and cracking his head against the interior walls of the cab, but to try to stop his imagination from building in his mind a sense of total humiliation. He had abandoned the rules he had lived by all his life, taken decisions he had no right to. His initial instinct had been right — he was not fit for this job. He had not the wisdom nor the steel in his soul. He was guessing frantically and he was going to let everyone down.
They were now careering along the Embankment. If it were possible to look outside without risking breaking his neck, he might see the magnificent outline of Tower Bridge like twin battlements black against the sky.
Stoker was sitting rigid in his seat, eyes still closed. He would have nightmares about this. It was a pity; he was a good man and deserved better! Pitt wondered idly if Kitty Ryder had lived up to Stoker’s vision of her. Everything in Stoker’s smile, and his silence on the subject, made him think that perhaps she had. He was pleased. If this turned out to be a complete fiasco, it would not be Stoker’s fault. He should escape the blame.
They came to a shuddering halt. Stoker all but fell out on to the pavement. Pitt climbed out more stiffly, straightening up as if he had been cramped for hours instead of less than one.
‘There y’are, sir,’ the driver said in triumph. He strained his neck up at the towers soaring into the air. ‘She’s a fine-looking bridge, in’t she? Won’t see the like o’ that nowhere else. That’s London, that is.’ He gave Pitt a gap-toothed smile of pride. ‘That’ll be nine shillings and sixpence, sir.’
Expensive. Practically half a constable’s weekly pay, and — since he had promised to double it — it was pretty well the whole of it. He fished in his pocket: thirty shillings altogether. He offered the man twenty. ‘Thank you,’ he said sincerely.
The man looked at the twenty shillings, then heaved a deep sigh. ‘Ten’ll do it, sir. Enjoyed myself. Old Bessie ’ere in’t had a gallop like that in years. Put the fear o’ God into some o’ them along the way, didn’t we, eh?’ He grinned.
‘Take the twenty,’ Pitt said graciously. ‘Give Bessie a treat. She’s more than earned it!’
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll do that.’ He picked all the shillings out of Pitt’s hand and put it into his pocket. ‘Good day, sir.’ And he urged the horse on in a slow, steady walk.
It took them ten minutes to find the restaurant. It was now very late for luncheon and there were few diners left.
Suddenly Stoker gripped Pitt’s arm so hard his fingers bit into the flesh.
Pitt froze, then turned slowly to follow the line of Stoker’s gaze. Ailsa Kynaston and Edom Talbot were walking, arm in arm, towards the way out that led towards the steps up to the north tower of the bridge. They were close to each other, as if lovers. She walked with her head up, gracefully, proud of her height. He seemed protective, as though he would guard her, even though he was actually taking her out into the first heavy spots of rain.