Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles 4)

“I have a problem,” said Sebastian, still wondering if he could risk it. “My uncle, Sir Giles Barrington, once told me that if I was ever staying at the Savoy and needed anything, to have a word with Albert.”

“The gentleman what won the MC at Tobruk?”

“Yes,” said Sebastian, taken by surprise.

“Not many survived that one. Nasty business. How can I help?”

“Sir Giles needs three tickets for My Fair Lady.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“You must be joking.”

“And he doesn’t care what it costs.”

“Hang about. I’ll see what I can do.”

Sebastian watched as Albert marched out of the hotel, crossed the road and disappeared in the direction of the Theatre Royal. He paced up and down the foyer, occasionally looking anxiously out on to the Strand, but it was another half an hour before the head porter reappeared, clutching an envelope. He walked back into the hotel and handed the envelope to Sebastian.

“Three house seats, row F, center stalls.”

“Fantastic. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sebastian.

“Box office manager asked to be remembered to Sir Giles—his brother, Sergeant Harris, was killed at Tobruk.”

Sebastian felt ashamed.

* * *

“Well done, Seb, you saved the day. Now the only task you have left today is to make sure the Daimler remains outside the Savoy until we know Mr. Morita and his colleagues are safely tucked up in bed.”

“But it’s only a couple of hundred yards from the hotel to the theater.”

“That can be a long way if it’s raining, as your brief encounter with Professor Marsh’s wife should have taught you. Besides, if we don’t make the effort, you can be sure someone else will.”

* * *

Sebastian got out of the car and entered the Savoy at 6:30 p.m. He walked across to the lift and waited patiently. Just after seven, Mr. Morita and his two colleagues appeared. Sebastian bowed low and handed them an envelope containing three tickets.

“Thank you, young man,” said Mr. Morita. They made their way across the foyer, through the swing doors and out of the hotel.

“The chairman’s car will take you to the Theatre Royal,” said Sebastian as Tom opened the back door of the Daimler.

“No, thank you,” said Morita, “the walk will do us good.” Without another word, the three men set off in the direction of the theater. Sebastian bowed low once again, before joining Tom in the front of the car.

“Why don’t you go home?” said Tom. “No need to hang about, and if it starts to rain, I’ll drive up to the theater and pick them up.”

“But they might want to go to dinner after the show, or to a nightclub. Do you know any nightclubs?”

“Depends what they’re lookin’ for.”

“Not that, I suspect. But either way, I’m staying put until, to quote Mr. Hardcastle, they’re safely tucked up in bed.”