False Impression

“Good morning, Takashi,” she said. “I do hope that, despite everything, you managed some sleep.”

“Yes, thank you, Arabella,” he replied, as Anna limped down behind him.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Anna.

“Sotheby’s would have charged me a lot more,” said Arabella, without explanation.

“And I know that Tina—,” began Anna, when there was a firm rap on the front door. Nakamura paused, as Andrews walked sedately across the hall.

“Probably my driver,” Nakamura suggested, as the butler pulled open the oak door.

“Good morning, sir,” Andrews said.

Arabella swung around and smiled at her unexpected guest.

“Good morning, Jack,” she said. “I hadn’t realized you were joining us for breakfast. Have you just popped across from the States, or have you spent the night at our local police station?”

“No, Arabella, I did not, but I’m told that you should have done,” replied Jack with a grin.

“Hello, my hero,” said Anna, giving Jack a kiss. “You arrived just in time to save us all.”

“Not quite fair,” chipped in Arabella, “as it was Jack who tipped off the local constabulary in the first place.”

Anna smiled and, turning to Nakamura, said, “This is my friend, Jack Fitzgerald Delaney.”

“No doubt christened John,” suggested Mr. Nakamura, as he shook hands with Jack.

“Correct, sir.”

“Names chosen by an Irish mother, or perhaps you were born on the twenty-second of November, nineteen sixty-three?”

“Guilty on both counts,” admitted Jack.

“Very droll,” said Arabella, as she led her guests through to the breakfast room, and Anna explained to Jack why she had a bandage around her leg.

Arabella invited Nakamura to take the place on her right. Gesturing to Jack, she said, “Come and sit on my left, young man. There are still one or two questions that I need answered.” Jack eyed the deviled kidneys as he picked up his knife and fork. “And you can forget any thought of food,” Arabella added, “until you’ve explained why I’m not on the front page of the Daily Mail following my heroic efforts last night.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Jack, as Andrews poured him a cup of black coffee.

“Not you, as well,” said Arabella. “It’s no wonder so many people believe in conspiracy theories and police cover-ups. Now do try a little harder, Jack.”

“When I questioned my colleagues at MI5 this morning,” said Jack, placing his knife and fork back on the table, “they were able to assure me that no terrorists had entered this country during the past twenty-four hours.”

“In other words I got clean away,” said Anna.

“Not exactly,” said Jack, “but I can tell you that a woman of approximately five foot, weighing around a hundred pounds, with a gunshot wound, spent the night in solitary at Belmarsh prison.”

“From which no doubt she will escape,” suggested Arabella.

“I can assure you, Arabella, that no one has ever escaped from Belmarsh.”

“But they’ll still end up having to send her back to Bucharest.”

“Unlikely,” said Jack, “as there’s no record of her ever entering the country in the first place, and no one will be looking for a woman in that particular prison.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll allow you to help yourself to a small portion of mushrooms.”

Jack picked up his knife and fork.