Frankie's Letter - By Dolores Gordon-Smith Page 0,29

not obvious afterwards that the Germans have failed. If it’s clearly a fake then they’ll know we’re on to them and I don’t want to give our gentleman and his friends any more warning than I can help.’

This was going to be more difficult than Anthony had anticipated. ‘Let me think it over,’ he said. ‘I might be able to come up with something.’

Sir Charles nodded. ‘Good man.’ He glanced at his watch as the waiter approached. ‘It’s after one. I imagine Sherston’s here. Don’t worry about the invitation. Follow my lead and with any luck it’ll all come quite naturally. You’re a club acquaintance of mine, by the way and I’ve been impressed by your adventures. Pitch it strong.’

‘All right,’ said Anthony, with a feeling of distinctly modified rapture.

‘Mr Sherston’s in the lobby, sir,’ said the waiter.

Sir Charles put his glass on the table. ‘In that case, let’s go and meet him, Colonel Brooke.’

FIVE

Patrick Sherston was standing by the fireplace in the lobby. He looked up as they entered, smiling as he saw Sir Charles. ‘Hello, Talbot. I’m sorry I’m late. I was held up by a minor crisis at the Sentinel. I hope it hasn’t put you out.’

‘Don’t apologize’ said Sir Charles heartily. ‘This is the man I wanted you to meet, Sherston. Colonel Brooke, allow me to introduce Mr Patrick Sherston.’

Anthony remembered Sherston immediately. As they shook hands, he wondered how such a vigorous personality could have ever slipped his mind, even if, when he had seen him outside Swan and Edgars, his attention had been entirely taken up by the woman in blue. (Tara O’Bryan? Tara was a lovely name.)

Vigorous was a very good word to describe Sherston. He must have been, thought Anthony, in his early fifties, a strong, broad-shouldered man with a healthy, outdoor complexion, grizzled dark hair and piercing brown eyes with a commanding, let-me-mould-your-future expression in them. He spoke in a soft Irish brogue but the softness was deceptive.

Sherston was a man who was always going to amount to something. Anthony had seen the same look of authority in various ships’ captains, a headmistress of a girls’ school and assorted Prussian officers. Mr Sherston, thought Anthony warily, was a man who was accustomed to have people jump when he said so. Patrick Francis Sherston. Patrick Frankie Sherston?

‘Brooke told me he’d met you before, Sherston,’ added Sir Charles, chattily.

Sherston drew back. ‘You’ll excuse me, Colonel, if I say I can’t quite recall it.’

‘Don’t apologize,’ said Anthony easily. ‘It was some time ago now. I was one of the hosts at a dinner given by the School of Tropical Medicine. You gave a speech about life in the Congo and so on, and we swapped notes about Africa afterwards.’

Sherston’s face cleared. ‘Of course.’ He looked at Anthony’s uniform, his gaze resting on the green tabs of the Intelligence Corps. ‘Excuse me, Colonel, weren’t you a doctor? I seem to remember you were engaged in research.’

Anthony appreciated the cleverness of the remark. Virtually everyone at that dinner had been a doctor engaged in research, but it made it seem as if Sherston really did remember him. ‘That was before the war,’ he agreed. ‘I’d been to Lake Victoria, tracking down tsetse flies and their distribution.’

‘Ah yes. You were one of the experts I was wary of. I remember feeling quite intimidated by the audience I was facing.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I’m hardly an expert on Africa or tropical diseases. I was glad to get through it without being heckled.’

That, thought Anthony, was pure flannel. If a man was going to give a large amount of money to an impoverished university – all universities were impoverished in Anthony’s experience – it would be sheer folly to find fault with even the most lacklustre speaker. ‘I thought you carried it off in great style.’

Sherston smiled complacently. Anthony had obviously given the expected response. ‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’ He glanced at Sir Charles. ‘Shall we go into lunch, Talbot?’

‘By all means,’ agreed Sir Charles, leading the way across the lobby into the dining room. ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ he added with a hint of civilized excitement. He put a hand on Sherston’s arm. ‘Wait till you hear Brooke’s exploits, my dear fellow.’

Anthony had to hand it to Sir Charles. He seemed subtly changed, not a leader anymore but a follower and of very much less account. ‘Much more exciting indeed,’ Sir Charles added, consciously basking in reflected glory. It seemed perfectly