Mr A Swan
Services Investigations Department
7 Wellesley Mews
Whitehall W1
Holding the notepaper in her black kid-leather gloved hand, she walked down a side street next to the Banqueting House and then into a smaller street that came to a dead end. She climbed the two concrete steps and at the top, she quickly checked that the small brass plate matched the address on the piece of paper and pressed the bell.
Within a few seconds, the big black door opened and a largely built, balding elderly gentlemen in a dark grey pinstripe suit, smiled from the doorstep and addressed her with his distinctive, but friendly East London dialect. ‘You must be Miss Townsley?’
He stared sympathetically at her long wet brunette hair, as it clung to her head; the ends of it were resting on the glistening raincoat.
‘Mr Swan?’ Kate Townsley enquired.
The man smiled. ‘I’m Arthur Gable, Mr Swan’s associate. Won’t you come on in my dear, before you catch ya death.’ With an outstretched hand, he gestured to her, standing aside to allow the dripping wet young woman to enter into the lobby.
Kate crossed the threshold and walked inside through the hallway, gazing up at the paintings of Napoleonic battle scenes that climbed the walls of the staircase.
Gable ushered her to the stairs. ‘Please will you follow me, miss,’ commanded the big man.
She followed him up the stairs to a white glossed door and stood outside allowing him to knock, then a faint come in was heard from behind it. Gable opened the door and stood aside, letting Miss Townsley into the room where she was greeted by a tall thin man who had got up from an oak desk. He wore dark suit trousers and matching waistcoat with a white shirt and a green, red striped tie.
‘Miss Townsley. Alex Swan. Pleased to meet you. Do take a seat.’ He turned to his colleague. ‘Arthur, please be a good chap and take this young lady’s wet coat.’ He turned to her, asking if she would like some tea.
Kate Townsley gave an appreciative nod. ‘Yes please, that would be grand after the long journey,’ she replied in her Cumbrian brogue as she removed her coat to reveal a black sweater, grey knee length skirt, ribbed white tights and black leather calf boots. She handed her coat to Gable, who placed it on a wooden coat rack.
Swan turned again to his colleague. ‘Arthur, would you be so kind, dear fellow, and fetch the lady a cup of your finest?’ He sat back down at his desk; a matching suit jacket hung on the back of his chair. Kate relaxed herself, taking in the man sitting in front of her. She noticed that he was tall, in his late forties, had a clean shaven, thin and gaunt looking face with hazel coloured eyes, and a small mole at the side of his nose. Finally, she observed the salt and pepper coloured hair that was completely grey at the temples. This had instantly reminded her of the actor who played Alan Quartermain in King Solomon’s Mines, the first film that she saw with her family that had not been a Walt Disney cartoon. Swan gave her a friendly stare, however, having already had prior knowledge of her recent bereavement and reason for her visit, he knew that he had to be cautious for fear of upsetting her.
He decided to start with some small talk. ‘Your journey from Maryport was a pleasant one, I trust?’
Kate Townsley responded hesitantly, ‘Yes. As it happens, when I got on the train this morning at the station, the sun was shining.’
Swan interrupted, turning his head to look out of the rain marked window. ‘And by the time you arrived in London, the heavens had opened,’ he remarked.
Arthur Gable returned, carrying a tray supporting a silver teapot, three china cups and saucers, a jug of milk and a small bowl of sugar, he served the tea.
Swan leant back in his desk chair glancing at his guest in front of him. ‘Now, before we start Miss Townsley, I would like to express my deepest condolences to you for the recent tragic passing of your fiancé.’
Pausing to allow their client to gather her thoughts, Swan turned to his assistant sitting to the left side of the desk. ‘Arthur, I take it you have brought Nobby with you?’
Gable reached into the inside pocket of his double breasted suit jacket and taking out a small black notebook, replied with a smile.
‘Yes sir. You know me, Nobby and me never part company.’
Swan was irritated by the way his colleague addressed him. Ever since he had recruited the ex-Detective Sergeant to SID, he had insisted that he call him by his first name. Swan preferred things that way, noticing that it relaxed people. He then gazed at Kate Townsley’s puzzled expression. ‘Please excuse us Miss Townsley, Arthur, being an ex-officer of the Yard, has always given a nickname to his police notebooks since his beat days. A small yet amusing eccentricity I’m afraid. In the past we’ve had a Norman, a Nicholas, a Nathaniel and now we have a Nobby. I have asked him to take some notes while you tell us your reason for your visit.’
Kate smiled coyly, turning her head to Gable who was waving a pen across his opened cherished Nobby.
Swan rubbed his hands together. ‘Now Miss Townsley, please take your time and do not leave out any of the most minuscule detail, as every little thing will only aid us in our follow up work.’
Kate took a gulp of tea from her cup, then placed it down into the centre of the saucer.
Making herself comfortable in her chair, she looked down at the desk to recollect her thoughts. ‘Mr Swan, Mr Gable. In March last year, James and I had been engaged for three months. He proposed to me on the day that the company he worked for, Brinton Aviation, had just been awarded a government contract to come up with a design for a new warplane. He was ecstatic about this and we enjoyed an evening of celebration at the works social club. Afterwards, while walking me home, he spoke more about how this contract would see him right for the next thirty years. He would be part of the design team and see the project through upgrades.’ Kate then gave a little chuckle. ‘He even boasted about maybe being head of his team, when it came to replacing the plane in the nineteen nineties. His colleagues even had a silver pen inscribed for him: Move over HB, it said on the side of it, referring to his boss Howard Barnett. It was also the moment when he took my hand, went down on one knee and told me that it would be more than life itself, if I accepted his proposal to marry him. I accepted there and then. We then planned the wedding for early September and James worked hard on the designs for the contract, sometimes working all hours of the night. He idolised and respected his boss and mentor, who is a bit of a perfectionist, and seeing that two other firms were also coming up with designs; things had to be right.’
Swan clasped his hands and looked across at his assistant as Gable scribbled into Nobby. ‘I take it, Miss Townsley, we are now talking about the BR-101? Dubbed by the press as The Silver Angel.’
Kate instantly recognised the name of the plane. ‘That’s correct, Mr Swan.’
Swan nodded. ‘Please continue, and I will try to give the most minimum of interruption.’
Kate continued. ‘All through the summer of last year, everything was going smoothly. Then, one night, James came to my parent’s house very upset. We went into the kitchen and he asked my father if he had any scotch. My father poured him one and he sat down and told us that the three companies involved in the project had been ordered by the Government to merge to build the plane. A few members of his team at Brinton had already been laid off, with members of the other companies replacing them. You may already be familiar with this from press releases last year, Mr Swan.’