Deep Hurt - Eva Hudson Page 0,43
been in there. It doesn’t do for members of Security Forces to fraternize with servicemen. Or rather, if any of us showed up, the place would clear in two seconds flat.” He smiled at her. Ingrid could have sworn she saw the hint of a twinkle in his eye.
Was Jack Gurley starting to enjoy this mission?
They returned to the jeep and Gurley’s sergeant drove them to a large parking lot behind Gurley’s quarters. Gurley’s car was a brand new maroon Oldsmobile. Ingrid would have guessed he’d had it especially imported if she hadn’t seen a few of them on the streets of London. She couldn’t understand the appeal of something so solid and cumbersome. Until she climbed inside. It was like stepping into an air conditioned ranch house. She sank into the gray and maroon upholstery of the passenger seat and did her best to keep her eyes open.
The eight mile drive into the village took no time at all. Gurley parked on the street rather than using the parking lot of the Hare and Hounds. How he thought the Oldsmobile was any less conspicuous than a regular US Air Force issue jeep, Ingrid hadn’t been able to work out during the ride over. On the street or in the parking lot, the car positively glowed with its American credentials. They might as well have made an announcement on a bullhorn when they drove into the center of the village.
“You ready for this?” Gurley asked as he put on the handbrake.
Why was he even asking her that? She wondered if maybe she had fallen asleep at some point during the trip from the base—after all, she’d only managed a couple hours’ sleep the night before. “Me? Ready for anything. Always.”
“That your personal motto?”
Ingrid smiled. She hadn’t thought about it that way before, but maybe it was. Maybe she should get some bumper stickers printed.
When they got inside the Hare and Hounds they found a young bearded man serving drinks. The place was pretty empty—but then it was only eleven-thirty a.m. Ingrid scanned the room. It was decorated in a traditional English country style, horse brasses and leather tack hung from the dark, wooden beams and silver-colored tankards lined high ledges around the walls. She thought it was trying a little too hard to look authentic and wondered if maybe the pub had opened just a few years ago.
“We’re looking for your boss, Yvonne Sherwood?” Gurley said.
The man gave him a wry smile. “She’s not my boss.” He came from behind the bar and hollered into the adjoining room. “Mum! There’s some tall bloke asking for you.”
“Is he dark and handsome too?” came the muffled reply.
“Well, he’s not my type—you’ll have to judge for yourself.”
Gurley shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat.
The barman returned to the bar. “She’ll be with you in a minute. Can I get you a drink?” He glanced at Ingrid and smiled broadly at her, as if he hadn’t noticed her before. He leaned his elbows on the bar and rested his chin on a fist. “Now my day just got a whole lot better. What can I get you?”
“Nothing, we’re fine, thank you,” Gurley said.
A forty-something petite woman with a nice smile and a pink flush to her cheeks appeared at the bar, drying her hands on a dish towel. “You are tall.” She looked up into Gurley’s face. “And handsome enough, I suppose.” She smiled more broadly. “What can I do for you?” She laid her bony hands flat on the bar.
Ingrid stepped forward, her badge already in her hand. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Agent Skyberg from the US embassy and this is Major Jack Gurley—he works in Security Forces at RAF Freckenham. We’d like to speak to you about Kyle Foster.”
The nice smile disappeared so quickly it was as if it had been slapped off the woman’s face.
“Why? Has something happened?”
“You know the police are looking for him?”
“Yes, of course I do. I mean has anything new happened. Is he all right?”
“Is who all right, ma’am?”
The two old men drinking nearby had stopped their conversation and shuffled a little closer.
The woman hesitated. “Well, Tommy, of course. Do you have news about Tommy?”
Ingrid stepped right up to the bar and rested her hands very close to Sherwood’s. “Is there some place a little more private we can speak?”
A flash of panic flitted across the woman’s face. “Something has happened, hasn’t it?” She lifted a hand to her mouth. “Oh