Private London - James Patterson [15]
So it suited us well to keep in with the firm that occupied the offices below and it suited me to keep in with Alison Chambers. Her uncle might have had his name on the front of the building but Alison was the powerhouse in the firm.
I watched her studying the menu, multicoloured reading glasses perched delicately on the end of her shapely nose like an exotic butterfly ready to take flight. Her large, brown eyes as she considered the entrées as intent as if she had been scrutinising a million-pound contract.
‘I’ve heard the prawn cocktail is good here,’ I said.
She didn’t laugh. ‘How about you make yourself useful and order some wine? Something with bubbles in it,’ she said instead.
I held a finger discreetly in the air and beckoned a waiter across. He smiled professionally as he approached and then for real as he saw Alison.
She has this effect on men. Even gay men. Especially gay men, come to think of it. And this in a restaurant where three tables across Liz Hurley was sitting with some actress whose name I couldn’t place. But she was tipped to be Doctor Who’s next travelling companion and was wearing a skirt even shorter than that worn by the current one.
I notice details like that. It’s my job. I’m a detective.
‘Could we see the wine list?’ I asked the smiling waiter. ‘And what beers do you have?’
Alison Chambers tutted pointedly. ‘I don’t need the wine list,’ she said. ‘Do you still have any of the Henriot Enchanteleurs 1990?’
The waiter positively beamed. ‘Indeed we do, madame.’
‘Then I’ll take a glass of that.’
‘I’m afraid we only sell it by the bottle.’
‘We’d best have the bottle, then,’ she said.
‘And a bottle of Corona for me,’ I said. ‘If you’ve still got it?’
A short while later the waiter returned with a chilled bottle of three-figured fizz for the lady and a bottle of ice-cold beer for me. I poured it into a glass, at least.
‘How’s the honeytrap case coming along?’ she asked me.
‘Let’s not talk shop, Alison. This should be about pleasure, not business.’
She pointedly held up the ring finger of her left hand.
Did I mention that she was married? Alison and I have been best friends since university and flirt with her I might, but I’d never do anything to jeopardise that friendship.
I pulled out a digital voice-recorder that Suzy, one of our operatives, had given me earlier and pushed the play button. Suzy was speaking, her voice husky. The honey in the trap smoked with hickory chips. Whatever she was selling men were going to buy it.
Alison listened to Suzy working the guy. She was good.
A couple of minutes later and she had heard all she needed to.
‘The video footage has already been emailed to you.’
‘Good. Let’s celebrate,’ she said. ‘I’m going to start with something to go with the excellent fizz. My friends tell me the beluga is very good here with blinis and sour cream.’
‘What about a drop scone and a dollop of jam?’
Her smile broadened. ‘What say we go with the fifty grams?’
My own smile held, just about. Six hundred smackeroos in and she hadn’t even got to the main course yet. But dinner was on Private so what the heck, we could afford it. I flashed her a couple of kilowatts of smile. I could afford that as well.
The weekend was definitely getting better.
Chapter 19
CHLOE PUT A hand out to the bar and steadied herself, brushing away the arm of one of the rugby players who had come across to help her up a minute or two earlier.
‘I’m okay now,’ she said, irritated. ‘Was just a bit dizzy, is all.’
The rugby player held his hands up in the air and moved aside.
Chloe fought her way through the crowds to try and catch up with her friends. They were at the other end of the room now. Arm in arm and singing ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ at full volume, as if the ale-fuelled rugger buggers in her way needed any more encouragement! A group of them had linked arms too, and were joining in the song at full volume, blocking