The Crown

The brochure that Miss Allyson had provided for the Crown Hotel did, as she had implied, sound attractive. '16th century coaching inn, offers a warm welcome and the perfect place to relax.'

What confronted Dalgliesh when he arrived was a dilapidated building with rotting timbers, moth-eaten carpets and sagging furniture. Based on the smell of cabbage permeating the ground floor, it seemed likely that the food would be no better than the accommodation. Still, he had no real alternative.

The reception desk was empty as, apparently, was the public lounge. He looked around for some means of attracting attention but drew a blank.

"Commander Dalgliesh?"

He spun round to find himself facing a slim, blonde lady dressed in a tight-fitting grey suit with a pearl-coloured satin blouse. A woollen coat was draped across her arm.

"Yes," he replied, curiously.

"Have you checked in?"

The voice was that of an educated woman but not, if he was to hazard a guess, from London. "Not yet."

"In that case, I suggest you escape before you're noticed." She turned on her heel and started to make her way outside.

Dalgliesh lengthened his stride to stay at her shoulder. "You have something better to offer?"

He hadn't intended the innuendo, but once said he couldn't take the remark back.

She didn't respond until they were in the parking area, clear of listening ears. She stopped, then spun around to face the naval man. There might have been 8 inches difference in height, but her gaze was withering. "I doubt, Commander, that you would have made that remark to a male subaltern. I expect the same courtesy."

"Ma'am."

She turned away, abruptly, and headed away across the parking area to the Aston Martin, where she stood alongside the passenger door, waiting.

Automatically, Dalgliesh opened it, to let her sit down, before returning his suitcase to the boot and taking his place behind the steering wheel. He started the engine, turned the car and returned to the roadway, where he paused.

"Left, about half a mile. I'll tell you when to stop."

The Scot didn't comment.

"This is it." They were the first words his passenger had spoken since giving him directions.

'It' was a narrow gateway between two wooden gateposts leading to a grass-covered driveway. There must have been hard core beneath the grass, as the car tyres held firm. Straight ahead was a dilapidated garage in front of which was parked a large, silver convertible.

To the right and running parallel to the drive was a concrete-rendered cottage. It had once been white but was in need of a serious repaint. Dalgliesh began to think that he might have done better staying at the Crown.

"Don't judge a book by its covers."

He stopped the Aston Martin alongside the only door he could see and waited.

The young woman let herself out, managing to extricate herself adroitly without exposing any expanse of leg and walked around the car to the front door. She looked back at the man still seated, stationary at the wheel. "Would you care to join me?" The words held the perfect amount of sarcasm. Enough to needle, but not enough to cause serious offence.

Dalgliesh smiled wryly and got out of the car. He'd certainly got things off on the wrong footing. Still, he'd go along with things for a little while longer. "Do you have a name?" He asked, as he moved alongside the woman.

She glanced at him briefly as she sunk a key into the lock and tried to turn it. Nothing happened.

"Let me."

She pulled her hand away. In the Commander's strong grip, the key turned easily.

"Hurrell, Emerald Hurrell," she replied, irritated that now she'd lost the upper hand.

The door swung open easily, letting out a wave of warmth and the scent of woodsmoke.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hurrell," replied Dalgliesh, stepping back to let her enter before him.

Mrs Wilson had been busy in her absence, Emerald realised. Not only had she lit the stove in the sitting room, she had also cleaned the kitchen and scullery, put the casserole in the warming oven and unloaded the hamper from the back of Siobhan's car. Two tea towels appeared to be covering something that just might be lunch.

Dalgliesh looked around the kitchen with interest. She'd been right, he had been too quick to judge.

Emerald turned back to him. "Bathroom's behind that door over there, your room is on the left at the top of the stairs and there's a telephone in the sitting room." She started to make as if to leave.

The Commander smiled and reaching forward peeked under the cloths. "It looks as though lunch has been laid out for two. I hope you'll keep me company. I hate eating alone."

GGG

Dalgliesh swallowed his last mouthful of smoked trout and folded his knife and fork onto the plate. "Thank you for keeping me company."

Emerald nodded noncommittally. The food had been excellent, and she had been hungry. "You're welcome," she responded formally. She picked up the plates and started to head for the scullery. She might have been invited for lunch but clearing up was always the woman's job.

She was just dealing with the debris on the dishes when Dalgliesh called to her again. "You've security clearance, haven't you?"

Em placed the first plate into the wooden drying rack and started to clean the second. "Yes, why?"

"I need some help," he said simply.

By the time she returned to the kitchen, Dalgliesh had cleared the table. Replacing the remnants of lunch were some papers, on top of which was overlaid a map of France. Em dried her hands on a tea towel and moved closer to see what was on display, her curiosity piqued.

The officer had donned a pair of reading spectacles and was staring intently at the map, with his hands flat on the table. He lifted his right hand - to reveal her identity card.

"So, you really are Emerald Hurrell," he commented, handing her back the paper.

Emerald wrinkled her brow. "Of course I am," she retorted. "Who did you think I was?"

"I had no idea," Dalgliesh replied. "A young woman comes up to me in a hotel lounge and tells me to follow her. You could be anyone."

"I still could be anyone, so why did you come with me and why did you ask if I'd security clearance?"

"I came with you because I was intrigued. But the thing that clinched it was that silver Jaguar outside... I know who it belongs to. If you have the car then it's with her agreement, which means that I have a very good idea who has intervened here." He paused, thinking.

"Can I ask what you do, when you're at work?"

Why should I tell him, thought Emerald. "I'm an analyst," she finally answered.

"And one that's very good at her job, I imagine." Dalgliesh smiled. "I take it you have no idea why you were asked to come here today?"

Em shook her head. She had to confess, it was something she'd wondered herself. There were any number of people that could have set up the Cottage for its guest.

"I think, Emerald, that you have been manipulated as much as I have. I think you're here to help me make sense of this lot." He lifted the map of France to reveal just what lay beneath it.

GGG

Five hours later, finally, Dalgliesh sat back. "Anything else you can think of?"

Em shook her head. Together they'd dissected the snippets of information that had been bundled together into the package, trying to build a story. It's like trying to build a jigsaw with no picture on the box and half the pieces missing, Em thought as she put down the final memo and massaged her aching back. Their conclusions were pure conjecture, but it was the best they could do with what they had.

She looked at her watch. "I must go." Even as she said it, she knew she sounded half-hearted. The idea of driving back to London in the dark didn't appeal one iota. Perhaps she could persuade Molly to put her up for the night then drive back in the morning.

Dalgliesh consigned the last of the paperwork back into his briefcase and placed it by the hall door. "How about a celebratory glass of wine first?" he asked, retrieving a bottle from the almost depleted picnic hamper and holding it up to the light.

Em knew she shouldn't. Even if she only went as far as Molly's, she was already tired and the wine would only make it worse, but it seemed churlish to refuse. Truth be told, she had enjoyed the afternoon. It had challenged her brain and the Commander had seemed to value her inputs. Somewhere along the line, her earlier irritation had evaporated. It was rare to be treated as an equal.

Dalgliesh waited, still holding the bottle aloft.

Em gave in. "Just one, then I really must be going..." She limited herself to the smallest amount of wine, sipping it carefully. It really was very good. Whoever had packed the hamper for her had spared no expense. Finally, she emptied her glass and picked up her coat.

Dalgliesh had drifted over to the range and was checking on the venison casserole in the warming oven. As he lifted the lid, it filled the kitchen with the appealing smell of the rich meat.

"You'd better have something to eat before you go," he suggested. "Especially if you're planning on driving back to London tonight."

Emerald's stomach growled quietly. Would it do any harm? She was hungry and she had no real reason to hurry back to the Capital. She capitulated. "You're right, Commander. My aunt only lives a few miles away. She'll be happy to put me up for the night."

Three hours later and Emerald was still at the cottage. A second glass of wine had been followed by venison casserole with mashed potatoes and sprouting broccoli. Afterwards, the two retired to the sitting room and sat in the firelight, chatting quietly about nothing in particular. When, finally, Dalgliesh realised that his companion had said nothing for quite a while, he turned to look at her. She was fast asleep. Gently, he placed a woollen throw across her body and quietly made his way upstairs.

Emerald woke with a start in the early morning, unsure of where she was. The stove had gone out and the room was starting to get cold. With the blackout curtains closed it was hard to tell the time.

Em rubbed her face and ran her tongue around a furry mouth. Whatever the time, she needed the bathroom, and if it contained a toothbrush, so much the better.

Feeling considerably better after a wash and brush-up, Emerald returned to the kitchen, intent on slipping out quietly whilst her guest slept. To her surprise, the Commander was seated at the kitchen table, clearly anticipating her return. He was dressed politely in a silk dressing gown, covering striped cotton pyjamas. There was a teapot on the table, wrapped in a rainbow-coloured, knitted tea cosy.

"Tea?" he asked, picking up the pot and hovering it over a large earthenware mug.

Emerald laughed. The dressing gown was clearly several sizes too small and covered in pink roses. He must have found it in one of the wardrobes.

Twenty minutes later, Dalgliesh watched the large silver car negotiate the narrow gateposts and turn right, heading back towards London. He had almost raised a hand to wave goodbye but stilled the impulse.

He waited a moment, before heading back inside to complete his own packing. He had to admit, the young woman had intrigued him... and that didn't happen very often. In fact, in the last ten years there had only been one that had stayed in his memory, a young SOE operative, heading for her first mission. He often wondered what had happened to her.

Emerald, she came from the same mould. It was unlikely they would meet again, but if they did, he wouldn't be unhappy.