Half Moon Street - Anne Perry [74]
“Bless yer, guv!” the seller called after him.
Tellman was waiting, his face keen.
“I think we’ve got to look a great deal harder for Bonnard,” Pitt said reluctantly. “It may be a romance that for some reason he had to keep in complete secrecy.”
“You don’t believe that!” Tellman looked at him with scorn. “Villeroche is his friend. He’d know if there were something like that going on. Anyway, what kind of a man just drops everything and goes off after a woman without telling anyone, however he feels? He’s not a poet or an actor—this is a man supposed to deal with governments. I know he’s French, but even so!”
Pitt agreed with him, but there was no reasonable alternative. Together they set off to visit the places on Villeroche’s list, asking questions as discreetly as possible without being so vague as to be meaningless.
No one knew where Bonnard was or had heard him make any mention at all of leaving London. Certainly no one knew of any romantic interest in particular. He had given them all the impression that he enjoyed the company of a number of young ladies, more than a few of whom were of questionable reputation. Marriage was the last thing on his mind at the moment. Romantic pleasure was something that lay far in the future.
“Not Henri,” one young man said vehemently and with a slightly nervous laugh. “He’s far too ambitious to marry badly, let alone chase after another man’s wife, and when he’s on foreign soil as well. Oh no.” He glanced from Pitt to Tellman and back again. He was— is—the sort of man to enjoy himself, perhaps not always with the discretion one would wish in a diplomat, but only . . . convivially, if you like? Temporarily . . . I don’t really know how to put it . . .” he trailed off.
“He likes to wine and dine but make no commitment,” Pitt interpreted.
“Precisely,” the other man agreed. “A man of the world . . . or perhaps I should say a man of the city, the bright lights and the music, and yet not so worldly-wise as might be.”
Pitt smiled in spite of himself. They were all trying so hard to avoid the blunter way of expressing Bonnard’s indulgences. “Thank you. I believe I understand. You have been very helpful. Good day, sir.”
They visited several more of the people whose names Villeroche had given them, but no one added anything new. By the middle of the evening they had begun to call in at the various clubs he was known to frequent.
It was half past nine; they were tired and discouraged when they came to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, in an alleyway next to a tailor and a barber’s shop.
“Is it worth it?” Tellman protested, wrinkling his nose in distaste as they stood together on the step, the gaslight making their shadows long across the stones.
“Probably not,” Pitt answered. “I’m beginning to accept that he’s either gone into the country somewhere after a romance which he managed to keep so well hidden even his closest friends didn’t know about it, or he is involved in something darker, perhaps illegal, perhaps even Cathcart’s murder, although I don’t see any connection. Come on, we’ll make this the last place. The fellow is probably in a warm bed somewhere with someone unsuitable, and thoroughly enjoying himself, while we tramp around half London wondering what’s happened to him.” He turned and pushed the door open, and was immediately inside a warm, close atmosphere smelling of wine and tobacco smoke. A score of young men and a few older sat around in groups with glasses or tankards at their elbows, many talking eagerly, others listening, leaning forward to catch every word.
Pitt must have looked a trifle Bohemian with his untidy clothes and hair seriously in need of a barber’s attention, because no one questioned his presence. He was not sure whether that pleased him or not. He was certain it would not have pleased his superiors.
Tellman drew a few glances, but since he was obviously with Pitt, he was suffered to pass without question. He