***
Vaughan got away early from the Bank, and he and Catherine met again by the escalators at Canary Wharf station. He guided her to a nearby wine bar. He had remembered to bring the tapes, which she put in her briefcase. They were getting on well, but Catherine had still not discovered anything like an explanation for Sean Doyle’s cryptic note. Eventually, and without a lot of persuasion, Catherine agreed that she could stay a bit longer to have dinner with him, and that she really didn’t have to get back to Belfast tonight.
“Tomorrow morning really will do,” she said. “So long as I let Bill Clayton know where I am, there won’t be a problem, and I’ve got my return ticket, so I can easily re-book. This really is most kind of you, Alistair, but I haven’t enjoyed a visit to London so much for a long time.”
“Well, I’m really pleased,” said Alistair. “It will be so nice to have your company this evening. I get a bit fed up on my own every night.”
“Aren’t you married, then?” asked Catherine, innocently.
“Oh, yes, but we have a flat near here where I stay during the week, and I get home at weekends, unless my wife is coming to Town, as she is this weekend. She’s coming down tomorrow afternoon and we’re going to a concert on Saturday evening, so the flat is really very convenient for that sort of thing. Otherwise, we live in a small village in Buckinghamshire.”
“How nice,” said Catherine.
“The flat is certainly very convenient,” said Vaughan, “especially when I have to work late. And it’s not a bad flat, either. It’s in one of the old warehouses they’ve converted, so it’s very modern inside, and looks out over Limehouse Creek, which is pleasant.”
“That must cost,” said Catherine, probing.
Vaughan laughed.
“An arm and a leg!” he said. “The Bank pays for it, thank goodness. I could never afford it on my own, and would have to commute without it, which would be costly in time as well as money.”
“I think I passed a few conversions like that on the little train you put me on,” said Catherine Wilson. “They look very nice from the outside.”
“They’re very nice inside, too.” He hesitated for a moment. “Look here,” he said. “Please don’t think I’m making advances or anything, but if you haven’t anywhere to stay tonight, there’s a spare room if you would like to use it. We always keep the bed made up in case, although hardly anyone ever stays. My son, sometimes, but that’s about all.”
“Well, I haven’t booked anywhere,” admitted Catherine, “And I was going to ask if you could recommend somewhere cheap. It’s very generous of you, but I hardly like to put you to all that trouble, since we’ve only just met.”
“It’s really no trouble at all, honestly. I’ll tell Gill to bring a spare set of sheets tomorrow, and the laundry can do yours – they collect on Monday. All part of the service provided for the flats.”
“Well, if you’re really sure,” said Catherine, hesitantly.
“Absolutely,” Alistair assured her. “So long as you think you can trust me!”
“I’ll set Bill Clayton onto you if you make one false move!” responded Catherine. “Thank you again.”
“Right, then. Let’s think about where to have dinner.
“Before we do that,” said Catherine, “I need to dive into Marks over there for a spare pair of tights, and things,”
“Of course you do,” said Vaughan. “I’m so sorry; I should have thought of that myself.”
“Not at all,” replied Catherine. “Look after my drink for me – I shan’t be a minute.”
Alistair Vaughan stood politely as she left, and watched her disappear towards the supermarket. Bill Clayton was a lucky chap, he thought. But then so was he, and he was looking forward to Gill coming down tomorrow. He got out his mobile phone to tell her about his unexpected visitor.
At the same time, when she was well inside the store and out of view, Catherine rang Bill Clayton.
“Where are you?” asked Bill.
“I’m in Marks and Sparks at Canary Wharf, getting a spare pair of tights and things like that.” she replied. “I’ve accepted an invitation to stay the night in his spare room after we’ve had dinner. Where are you?”
“I’m at Heathrow already. I had a useful meeting, although we didn’t get very far, but at least everyone now knows the plot. They’re all as amazed as we are at the thought that Vaughan could be anything but straight.”
“I think he is straight,” said Catherine. “He’s certainly not living a lavish life style. He’s already let me buy a round, and we’ve agreed to go Dutch over dinner, so your expense account is going to take a bit of a hammering, I’m afraid.”
“We were able to check on the cash transfers, and everything that should have moved across seems to be there, so he hasn’t been creaming any off,” reported Clayton.
“If he did, he’s not spending it,” said Wilson. “I’d better a get a move on, or he’ll get suspicious.”
“Take care then,” said Bill Clayton, “and ring the office tomorrow to tell them you’ve been delayed.”
“Good idea,” said the sergeant. “And don’t worry about me. He’s being a perfect gentleman, and is even ringing his wife to tell her I’m staying over at the flat tonight. She’s coming down for the weekend tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll be away well before then.”
“See you tomorrow, then. Take care.”
“G’night, Bill.”
She hurried back to Alistair having completed her purchases, which were shoved into the briefcase.
“I’ve rung Gill,” he announced, “and said you’d be away before she gets to the flat tomorrow lunchtime. I hope that’s right.”
“Oh absolutely!” she replied. “I’m an early riser, usually, so I’ll get your breakfast if you like, before I go!”
“I wouldn’t think of it,” he said. “My breakfast is a cup of coffee when I get to the office, and I’m usually there about seven. So you sleep in, and then help yourself to whatever there is you want.”
“A coffee will do me, too, but I’ll wait until you’ve gone to give you a clear run at the bathroom. I’ll leave the place as tidy as I can,” she promised.
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly for both of them, but no amount of probing and no end of leading questions led Catherine to change her view of the man she was with. He was no bent ex-copper, she was sure, but she’d have a good look round the flat tomorrow before she left, just to be sure. But she had already made up her mind that she would not be bugging the place after all, unless Bill insisted.
Next morning, she waited for Alistair Vaughan to leave for the office before she stirred, although she had been awake for some time. After she had showered and dressed, she made herself a coffee. Vaughan had thoughtfully put everything ready for her, and left a note telling her to help herself to anything she wanted, and he hoped she had slept well and been comfortable.
She used his phone to ring the office, and spoke to Captain Foley.
“Good morning, sir,” she said. “I’m afraid I didn’t finish my work at the Yard yesterday, so I’ve stayed over to finish it off this morning. I hope that’s all right.”
“OK by me,” replied Foley. “I’ll tell the Major when he comes in.”
“Thanks,” said Catherine. “If he should want me (‘I wish,’ she thought!) I shall have the mobile on. But I should be back this evening, and I’ll ring again later to let you know.”
She felt almost guilty as she pulled on her surgical rubber gloves, and started a systematic search of the flat.
Nothing.
She eventually left, and set out for the shops, where she managed to buy a pretty ‘Thank You’ card, and a large box of chocolates. She let herself back into the flat, wrote the card, and left it with her gift on the hall table.
She found their cottage in Lane End quite easily. The man on the Docklands Light Railway station had told her how to get to High Wycombe, and she got a cab from there to the end of the roa
d where the Vaughans lived. It was about lunchtime when she arrived, so she guessed that Gill would already be one her way to Limehouse, if not already there. To make sure, she walked up to the front door, and rang the bell. Twice.
No answer.
She had no difficulty in getting in through the back door, which she closed quietly behind her. The keys were on the kitchen draining board, so she locked herself in, and pulled on her gloves again. As Alistair had said, it was a small house, and didn’t take long to search. After about an hour, she had seen all she wanted to see, used his phone to call for a cab to meet her at the end of the road, and let herself out of the front door.
By the time she got to Heathrow, the late afternoon flight had checked in, so she got herself a seat on the last one of the day – 24 hours after the one Bill had caught – and went for a meal. She was starving, and realised she hadn’t eaten since dinner last night.
She phoned Bill Clayton on his mobile.
“I’m on the last flight,” she said.
“Are you all right,” he asked.
“Hungry, that’s all, but I’m just getting something to eat now.”
“I’ll meet you at Aldergrove.” It wasn’t a question.
“That would be nice,” she said,” Otherwise I shan’t see you until Monday.”
“By the way, Alistair has been on the phone. He wanted to make sure you’d got back all right, and to thank you for the chocolates.”
“I told you he was a gentlemen!” said Catherine. “By the way, I decided not to leave any bugs behind in the flat. I’m quite sure we’d have learnt nothing from them, and it saves having to go back for them.”
“Not that it would have been any problem for you,” said Bill. “Alistair’s wife wanted to know how you got back into the flat with the chocolates. He said his PA couldn’t have managed anything like that.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you were in the Army and his PA wasn’t!”
“I’ve been to their house as well,” she announced, “And that wasn’t difficult to get into either. Since I knew his wife would be out, it seemed too good a chance to miss.”
“That’s damned clever of you!” said Clayton. “I can’t wait to hear about it. And I can’t wait to see you again, either.”
“A couple of hours, and I’ll be there.” she said, and hung up. She felt a quiver of excitement at what he’d said. She wanted to see him again, too. Thank God she didn’t have to wait until the dreary office on Monday.
When they eventually met, she touched him lightly on the sleeve in greeting, but it was too public a place for anything more.
In the car, he said, “It’s too late to go anywhere now, for a drink or a meal, but can we have dinner tomorrow?”
“Please let’s,” she said. They agreed on the now usual place – this would be their fourth visit – and the now normal travel arrangements.
“I’m really dying to know how you got on,” he said, “although I take it you’ve found nothing in any way suspicious about Alistair.”
“Absolutely nothing,” she confirmed.
“But if you agree,” he continued,” I think we should wait for a proper debrief in the office on Monday. Commander Marsden doesn’t even know about Doyle’s first letter, never mind his scribbled afterthought, so I suggest we all have a brainstorming session and start from the beginning. Someone might just be able to suggest an explanation for all this.”
“No shop until Monday, then.” she agreed “What shall we talk about instead?”
“Let’s talk about us,” said Bill Clayton.
***