“Their first mistake,” said Beth with a grin. “But I don’t suppose they have many guests who take The Guardian.”
“Or the Sun for that matter,” said William, as he began to tuck into a full English breakfast, while Beth sipped her freshly squeezed orange juice and read about Prince Andrew’s engagement to Sarah Ferguson.
At 10:20 there was a gentle tap on the door and, like the fairy godmother, Mr. Harrison reappeared.
“I hope you both enjoyed a good night’s sleep,” he ventured.
“Couldn’t have been better,” said William, after he’d drained his coffee.
Not much chance of that when you’re married to a caveman, Beth wanted to tell him, but kept her thoughts to herself.
“I only ask because you didn’t order dinner last night.”
“We were both full of crisps and peanuts,” Beth blurted out.
“Unfortunately you missed the early morning plane for Rome. However, we managed to book you onto the twelve thirty-five flight, and the airline has upgraded you to business class. A limousine will be waiting outside to take you back to the airport.”
“Of course it will,” said Beth.
“I beg you
r pardon, madam?”
“My wife simply meant that this has been a truly unforgettable experience, and you couldn’t have done more to make our stay memorable.”
“How kind of you to say so, sir. I’ll leave you now and send a porter to pick up your bags in a few minutes’ time,” said Mr. Harrison, who once again bowed before leaving the room.
“Detective Sergeant Warwick,” said Beth, taking her husband in her arms, “you’re going to have to get promoted fairly regularly.”
“Why?” asked William innocently.
“Because I could get used to this.” William was about to protest when she added, “But for now, I’ll settle for spending our wedding anniversary in this room once a year for the rest of our lives.”
* * *
“They’ve just left, sir,” said the manager, looking out of the window in his office as the limousine disappeared down the drive. “I think you’ll find we carried out your instructions to the letter.”
“You did indeed, Mr. Harrison. My daughter phoned a few minutes ago to tell me that they’d been grounded because of an engine problem, but the airline went out of its way to make up for it.”
“That’s most gratifying to hear, sir. Where shall I send the bill?”
“To my office in Marylebone. Mark it personal, for the attention of Arthur Rainsford.”
* * *
Detective Superintendent Lamont picked up the phone on his desk to be greeted by a public-school accent that grated on his Scottish ear.
“Reporting in, sir.”
“Are you enjoying being in charge, DC Adaja, even if it’s only while DS Warwick is away on his honeymoon?”
“Every minute. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of delaying his return, sir, as I was rather hoping to solve the case before he gets back?”
“No chance,” said Lamont. “Not least because Warwick’s just called from Rome and all he wanted to know was if we’d found out where Rashidi lives.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Any developments on that front?” asked Lamont, ignoring the comment.