Flyaway

'He has no lunch appointments for the day after tomorrow,' she said. 'On those occasions he hardly eats at all and, if it's fine, he nearly always takes a walk in the gardens of Lincoln's Inn. If it's not raining he'll probably be there. Would you know him if you saw him?'

'Oh yes.'

She spread her hands. Then, there you are.'

I made leave-taking motions, and she said, 'When will I be seeing Paul?'

'Oh, not long. A week, perhaps; not more than ten days.' I thought that if I didn't get what I wanted within ten days I probably wouldn't get it at all.

I didn't leave all the work to Ellis. For instance, I spent an interesting morning in the Public Records Office, and on my way to see McGovern I called in at Hatchard's and browsed through the current edition of Whitaker's Almanack- Although it told me what I wanted to know I bought it anyway as part of the dossier.

Eight days later I had all I needed. I primed Ellis to let me know the next time Lord Brinton visited the office, then sat waiting by the telephone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I pressed the button in the lift and ascended to the floor which held the offices of Stafford Security Consultants Ltd. The girl travelling up with me was one of our junior typists; probably somebody had sent her out to buy a packet of cigarettes or a bar of chocolate or something illicit like that. She looked at me and turned away, then looked at me again as though I were someone she ought to recognize. It was the beard that did it.

I stepped into the familiar hallway, walked into Reception and straight on through towards my own office. Barbara the receptionist said, hastily, 'Here, you can't…'

I turned and grinned at her. 'Don't you recognize your own boss?'

I carried on, hearing, 'Oh, Mr Stafford!' I went into my office and found Joyce hammering a typewriter. 'Hi, Joyce; is Mr Ellis in?'

'You've hurt your arm.'

'And gone all hairy. I know. Is he in?'

'Yes.'

I walked in on Ellis. 'Morning, Jack. Got the rest of the bits and pieces?'

'Yes.' He unlocked the drawer of his desk. 'The chemist's report and the marriage certificate. It was 1937, not '36.'

I nodded. There'd be a mourning period, of course.'

'What's this all about, Max?'

I unlocked my briefcase, using one hand, and he dropped the papers into it. 'Better you don't know. Is Brinton here?'

'His Nibs is with Charlie.'

'Right – stand by for fireworks.'

I walked in on Charlie cold, without announcement, ignoring the flapping of his secretary. He was sitting behind his desk and Brinton was in an armchair by his side. The armchair was new, but Brinton was noted for attending to his own creature comforts. If Charlie had seen fit to get an armchair then it meant Brinton was a frequent visitor.

Charlie looked up at me blankly, and then the penny dropped. 'Max!'

'Hello, Charlie.' I nodded at Brinton. 'Morning, my lord.'

'Well, I'm damned!' said Brinton. 'Where did you spring from? I see you've hurt your arm. How did you do that?'

'Skiing can be dangerous.' A perfectly truthful statement, if not responsive to the question. I drew up a chair, sat down, and put the briefcase on the floor.

'Where were you? Gstaad?' Brinton was his old genial self but Charlie Malleson seemed tongue-tied and wore a hunted look.

I said, 'I've been hearing some bloody funny stories about the company so I came back.'

Charlie's eyes slid to Brinton who didn't seem to notice. He still retained his smile as he said, 'From Ellis, I suppose. Well, it's true enough. We've made some changes to improve the profitability.'

'Without my knowledge,' I said coldly. 'Or my consent.'

'What's the matter, Max?' said Brinton. 'Don't you like money?'

'As much as the next man – but I'm particular how I earn it.' I turned to Charlie. 'You didn't take that clause from the Electronomics contract. So this was being cooked up as long ago as that. What the hell's got into you?' He didn't answer, so I said, 'All right; from now on we go back to square one.'

Brinton's voice was almost regretful as h e said,'

'Fraid not, Max. You don't have all that much of a say any more.'

I looked at him. He still wore the big smile but it didn't reach his eyes which were cold as ice. 'What the devil are you talking about? I own fifty-one per cent of the shares – a controlling interest.'

He shook his head. 'You did. You don't now. You made a mistake, the elementary mistake of a man in love. You trusted someone.'

I knew it then. 'Gloria!'

'Yes, Gloria. You went off in a hurry and forgot about the seven per cent interest in the firm you'd given her. I bought her shares.' He wagged his head. 'You should pay more attention to proverbial sayings; there's a lot of truth in them. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. See what I mean?'

I said, 'Seven plus twenty-five makes thirty-two. That's still not control.'