Princes Gate (6 page)

“Joan Harris. A Miss Edgar who works for the American Ambassador reported her missing yesterday. Apparently she hadn’t turned up at work for over a week. Miss Edgar, who is her boss, thought it was odd as she was a very reliable girl. Said she didn’t report it straight away as she assumed there must be some good explanation.”

“That’s strange. If she was so reliable, I’d have thought it would be a matter of immediate concern that she hadn’t turned up. How do we know she’s our girl?” Merlin picked irritably at a loose thread on his jacket.

“Just to finish the story, sir – apparently the girl lived on her own in lodgings in Hammersmith. Her family live in Gloucestershire and Miss Edgar thought there might have been some problem at home which required her to go back there at short notice. Something like one of her brothers being called up and her wanting to see him off, or such like. In any event, apparently one of her brothers turned up at the Ambassador’s home the day before yesterday looking for her. He told Miss Edgar that Miss Harris hadn’t been home to Gloucestershire since October. They hadn’t even seen her at Christmas as they had expected. In the light of that, Miss Edgar sent one of the embassy chauffeurs around with the brother to the girl’s lodgings. Her landlady said she hadn’t seen her for over a week and complained of being owed rent. Not a sympathetic sort, I understand.”

Having resolved the problem with his jacket, Merlin turned his attention to the tie which he had knotted too tightly. “So we know this girl is missing but how do we know that she’s the Barnes girl?”

“Well, the description from her brother generally fits. She was missing from almost exactly the same time as our girl was killed. She’s not one of these evacuees about whom no one has a clear picture. She was a good worker with a good job and no apparent reason to go missing.”

Merlin gave a small sigh of relief as he finally managed to loosen his neckwear. “She might have had a boyfriend to be with and that’s why she didn’t go home for Christmas and now she’s decided to run off with him. Still, it’s worth checking out. Let’s see if the brother can identify her. I suppose the body’s still in the Central Morgue?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s the brother now?”

“One of the staff has taken him for a drink near the Ambassador’s house in Kensington – to calm his nerves.”

Merlin ran his hand through his hair.

“Better tell them we’re on our way.”

Driving past Horse Guards Parade and into Trafalgar Square, they passed a team of police and firemen making further adjustments to the sandbagging. At the top of his column, a saviour from a previous time of danger stared out into the distance, scanning for any sign of invading Nazis.

We could do with Nelson now, thought Merlin, and better throw in Marlborough, Henry V and Richard The Lionheart for good measure. He sighed. Well, we haven’t got them but let’s hope to God that the current batch of military leaders turn out better than the duffers of the last war. If we have the equivalent of Haig and Co again we won’t stand a chance. Of course, no one had really tested the German army yet – they’d had a very easy time of it, although the Poles had done their best with their brave but doomed cavalry brigades. Perhaps the Boche wouldn’t turn out to be as good as they were cracked up to be. One could only hope.

As for the politicians, he couldn’t see Chamberlain being the man to inspire the nation. Who could? Halifax? He had been a prominent appeaser. Attlee? Too dull. Many people felt Churchill could be the man but his whole career so far had been one of bombast and unreliability. Merlin personally had a lot of time for Winston, who had been right all along about Hitler, as he had kept on reminding his sceptical brother, Charlie. Rolling these thoughts over in his mind, he leaned back in his seat as they made their way rapidly through the sparse traffic on the Mall, on up Constitution Hill to Hyde Park Corner and then through to Kensington.

The Ambassador’s house was a lofty, imposing building within an elegant terrace of mansions facing Hyde Park. It was a short drive from the Embassy itself, which covered one side of Grosvenor Square. As they arrived at the residence, Merlin saw two men on the pavement engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument. One of the raised voices had a Welsh lilt.

“You didn’t get it done, did you?” The older man waved his finger in front of the Welshman’s face.

“Look, I’ll get what you want, just as I always do. It just didn’t work out this time, that’s all.”

“But you promised me…”

The men became aware that they had an audience.

“Morning, gentlemen. Is there some sort of problem?”

“No. No problem. Can I help you?” said the Welshman.

“This is the American Ambassador’s residence, isn’t it? We’re police officers here to see Miss Edgar.”

“Oh yes. You’re here about poor Joan. I’m Johnny Morgan, one of the Ambassador’s chauffeurs. I have been looking after Joan’s brother.”

Bridges turned to the second man.

“Mr Harris?”

“Of course not. I am an embassy official and I have an urgent appointment for which I am already late.” The man turned on his heels and walked away hurriedly before hailing a passing cab.

“Unusual accent he’s got, sir?”

Morgan chimed in. “He’s a Boston Yankee, sir. Same as the Ambassador, Mr Kennedy.”

Merlin followed the chauffeur up the steps.

“I didn’t catch his name, Mr Morgan.”

“Norton. Arthur Norton.”

“Embassy bigwig is he?”

“He’s an assistant to the Ambassador.”

“Is he? So where is Mr Harris?”

“He’s in the lobby, sir. Seems pretty cut up, not surprisingly. I think Miss Edgar is with him.”

The three men walked through the Ambassador’s front door into a richly-furnished entrance hall. Portraits of previous Ambassadors, interspersed with landscapes or cityscapes of prominent American locations covered the walls. Large, ornate chandeliers hung down from the high ceiling. Four heavily-cushioned sofas lay to the right of the doorway. On one of these sat a prim-looking, middle-aged woman. Next to her was a young man, whose long and greasy hair hung down untidily as he leaned forward with his head in his hands. He wore a crumpled blue mackintosh which reached down to his shiny black, patent leather shoes.

“Come on now. Let’s perk up. It may yet all be a dreadful mistake.”

“No, it ain’t. I know it ain’t. Summin’ terrible has happened to our Joanie. I know it. She wouldn’ve missed Christmas wiv’us for all the tea in China.”

“Now, now. We know that Joan was fine at Christmas as we saw her at work after Christmas, so Christmas has got nothing to do with it.”

“Issa sign of sumfin’. Sign that trouble was brewing. I knows it. Not like her at all not to come home.”

Miss Edgar rose to greet the approaching policeman. Merlin doffed the smart brown trilby his sister-in-law had given him for Christmas and made his introductions.

“Philippa Edgar, Chief Inspector. I’m in charge of the administration of the Ambassador’s residence. This is Mr Joseph Harris, Joan’s brother. I am afraid he’s not in the best of shape.” She glared at Morgan who was hovering by the door. “Of course he would have been in a better condition had someone not decided to take him to the public house and pour several whiskies down his throat.”

“Thought he’d be better for it, mam. He wasn’t in much different shape before the drinks as he is now.”

“Mr Harris is clearly not much of a drinking man and you have not helped the situation.”

Harris lurched unsteadily to his feet. “W’as appen’d to her? We told ’er not to come up to London. Should’a stayed at home with us. But not her, with ’er fancy elocution lessons and ’er sectarial training. No, she wanted to come up ’ere. Fat good it’s done ’er.”

He subsided back onto the sofa.

“I think perhaps before we talk to Mr Harris and take him, to er…” Merlin lowered his voice “view the girl, it might be wise to give him a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll see to that now.”

“And perhaps, while that’s being done, you and I could have a little chat.”

“Of course. Give me a moment and then I’ll join you in my office. It’s on the first floor. Morgan will show you the way.”

They followed the chauffeur up the richly-carpeted grand staircase and then down a wide corridor. Opposite a large print of San Francisco before the great earthquake, they were ushered into a snug room with blue patterned wallpaper and a roaring fire.

“Sit yourselves down, gentlemen,” said Morgan. “If you need me, I’ll be down in the garage.”

Merlin looked out of the window at the picture-postcard view of a white and frosty Hyde Park. In the distance a lively pair of energetic dogs scurried up and down the icy steps of the Albert Memorial.

Their hostess arrived and seated herself behind a small desk near the fire. “An awful business. I do hope there’s some mistake.”

“Of course.”

There was a knock at the door and a striking, young, redheaded girl poked her head through the door. “Do you need anything, Miss Edgar?”

“I’m not sure Kathleen. Do you want anything to drink gentlemen?” The policemen declined and the girl disappeared, oblivious to their appreciative glances.

Merlin cleared his throat. “I’d just like to get an idea of what sort of girl Joan is, Miss Edgar.”

“A pleasant but ordinary girl, Chief Inspector.”

“Sociable? Does she have many friends? Girlfriends, boyfriends?”

“She is a young, twenty-year-old girl up from the country. She appeared to be friendly and sociable. I am not aware of any boyfriends but I can’t keep tabs on the Ambassador’s staff once they leave the building.”

“Does she have any particular friends amongst the staff?”

“I suppose she is friendly with Kathleen, whom you saw a moment ago, and some of the other girls.”

“Is she a pretty girl?”

“In a common sort of way, I suppose.” Miss Edgar glanced quickly at her own profile in a mirror facing her desk.

“What is her job exactly?”

“The Embassy has a pool of typists of which she is one. The Ambassador does a lot of his work here in the residence and likes to have a few girls based here rather than at the Embassy. As I’m in overall charge here, I keep an eye on them. There are usually three or four girls based here at any one time. Joan is one, Kathleen is another. When they’re not required for pure secretarial work I use them for various errands. I like to keep everyone busy. Of course, the girls continue to support the rest of the pool at the Embassy as and when required.” A car horn sounded noisily in the street outside.

“Is Miss Harris a good worker?”

Miss Edgar carefully examined her fingernails. “She is a very proficient typist. Probably the quickest and most accurate in the pool.”

“Do her typing duties cover all levels of communication?”

“What do you mean?”

“Does she see top-secret documents?”

“All the Ambassador’s personal staff naturally have security clearance from the US government but I can’t see how that…” A fly landed on the desk and Miss Edgar paused to brush it away. “But, yes. Yes is the answer to your question.”

“How long has Joan worked here, Miss?”

“About eighteen months, Sergeant. She joined us in the middle of ’thirty-eight, just after the Ambassador had arrived.”

“Any problems with her during this period?”

“None that I can particularly recall. She is very good at her job, keeps good time – at least she did up till now – and has a pleasing personality, although naturally she is a little, how shall I put it, er, gauche.”

Bridges cast a puzzled look at his boss. “Miss Edgar means naïve, Sergeant, a little unsophisticated. Does Miss Harris work particularly closely with any of the Ambassador’s staff?”

“As I say, she is a member of a pool. Because of her efficiency, of course, some staff request her services in particular.” Miss Edgar leaned back in her chair and removed her spectacles. “On the day she went missing, for example, I remember Mr Norton getting into a real tizzy because he had some reports to get typed up and he wanted Joan to do them. Had a bit of a tantrum in fact, but he’s often doing that. Mr Norton, Mr Zarb, the Ambassador himself – they all had a preference for Joan because she was so quick and made few mistakes, if any.”

“I believe we met Mr Norton at the door. He has a senior position here, does he?”

“Well he doesn’t really have a formal position, not in diplomatic terms that is. He is a special aide to the Ambassador. Mr Kennedy brought him over to England from Boston when he took up his post in 1938. I understand Mr Norton performed important work for Mr Kennedy in some of his commercial ventures in the United States.”

“I see.” Merlin looked at his watch and then at Bridges. “I wonder if Mr Harris is in any better shape by now. You have been most helpful. Naturally, we shall have other questions for you and your staff if unfortunately it is indeed Miss Harris in the morgue. Would you mind if we took Morgan along as a second party to confirm the identification? He would be able to do that, wouldn’t he?”

“Certainly. No, I have no objection.”

The steady metronomic tick of the clock in the corner seemed to compound the slow passage of time. Lord Halifax had begun the meeting with his senior civil servants over three hours ago. The long minutes and hours had been monopolised by his droning voice as he analysed the situation in France and in Europe generally, and complained vehemently about the short-sightedness of several of his Cabinet colleagues. Douglas had managed to make a few pithy interjections, which seemed to meet with the approval of his boss. His office-mate, and junior, Edward Fraser, had also made some telling contributions, much to Douglas’ irritation. Now Fraser was speaking again, tentatively quoting Halifax’s arch-enemy, Winston Churchill. His Lordship’s face darkened and Douglas smiled to himself.