Stealth

22

Stone was reading in the library the following day when Rose let herself in, then sat in his lap. “Watch out for Winston Churchill,” he said, moving the book to a side table. “You could bruise yourself.”

She kissed him fulsomely. “I’m glad to see you,” she said.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied, kissing her back. “Your arrival was the signal to the staff to get lunch ready. Would you like something first?”

“Perhaps a glass of sherry.”

Stone got up, took a decanter from the bar, and poured her a glass.

“Mmmm,” she said, tasting it. “Delicious. What is it?”

“It’s a dry Oloroso,” Stone replied. “Called Dos Cortados.”

“I thought Olorosos were sweet,” she said.

“Most are, this one isn’t.” He poured himself one, and they settled into the Chesterfield sofa.

“Tell me,” she said. “I’ve heard from a friend or two that someone has been asking questions about me. Would that have anything to do with you?”

“I expect it has something to do with the fact that I have two very good friends who want to know all about everybody who has anything to do with me.”

“I expect I can guess who they are.”

“I expect you can.”

“Was there anything they didn’t tell you that you want to know?”

“A great deal, but right now only one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“Why did you place St. George’s Hospital at Hyde Park Corner?”

“Well, I didn’t want to tell anybody that I’m working down at Tooting,” she said, laughing. “Hyde Park Corner sounds so much better.”

“Perhaps to anyone who doesn’t possess an A to Z Guide,” Stone said. “I’m surprised to know that you haven’t been trained to lie better than that.”

“They didn’t train me to lie at medical school.”

“Then that explains why you do it so badly.”

“I expect so.”

“I’m curious, though. Why did you hang on to your married name when you were divorced?”

“Because I didn’t want my fellow students and professors to know that I was being divorced,” she said. “I just didn’t want to explain. However, I can tell you that I recently signed a number of letters to various organizations, including the medical registry, informing them that my name has been changed to Mary Rose McGill Balfour, and to correct their records to that effect. I left the McGill in there so that anyone looking for me by that name might find it.”

“How transparent of you,” Stone said. “So now you’re a farmer’s daughter again?”

“I always was.”

“The only McGill in the county of Rutland is a bookmaker.”

“That must have confused your nosy friends.”

“Momentarily.”

“Do you have any other names besides Stone and Barrington?”

“My middle name is Malon, which was my father’s Christian name, but I never used it, because each time I did I had to explain that it was pronounced May-lon.”

“Good thinking.”

The table was set, and they were called to lunch. “Where are Dino and Viv?” Rose asked.

“They went riding and took a picnic lunch with them.”

“Good. I have you all to myself.”

“Entirely.”

“Any other questions?”

“How does MI-6 list your name in their records?”

Rose sighed. “I suppose they would have listed it somewhere as Balfour. I was a student at the time. Mind you, if they knew you knew that, they’d take you out and shoot you.”

“That’s what they’d like you to think,” Stone said. “What did you do for them as a student?”

“Watched out for communists, of course. They still haven’t recovered from that nest of spies at Oxford and Cambridge. Kim Philby is a name that still raises temperatures at MI-6.”

“Did you report any communists?”

“Only two, and they were both well-known to be members of the Young Communist League, so I wasn’t really giving anything away.”

“Did they ever call on you for other services?”

“They keep a list of medical types that they believe to be reliable. Once, at their request, I removed a bullet from a young man’s arse.”

“One of theirs or one of yours?”

“I never asked, and they never told me. As soon as I had stitched him up and given him a dose of antibiotics, they spirited him away. I never saw his face, since I was working at the other end.”

“How did you fall into the clutches of Roger Fife-Simpson?”

“I met him at Station Two a week before I met you. The service asked me to go up there and give some basic wound-repair instruction to a small group of spies-in-training — applying tourniquets, setting broken limbs, stitching up oranges, that sort of thing — nothing an Eagle Scout couldn’t handle.”

“What do you think of the man?”

“I think of him very little. I don’t suppose I spoke to him or was spoken to more than three or four times, including dinner here.”

“Felicity thinks you are his creature,” Stone said.

“Hardly. He’s not the sort I’d like to be the creature of. There was talk about him in the mess. He’s apparently a very efficient killer with almost any sort of weapon. There was a story about him dealing with some IRA types in Belfast.”

“I heard that story. Impressive, if true. Do you know what he did before landing at MI-6?”

“Not a clue. I had the impression at dinner that the landing wasn’t Felicity’s idea.”

“I have that impression, too.”

“He must have some connections in the government, though — probably the Foreign Office, since someone there foisted him upon Felicity.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I didn’t. I just figured it out. Perhaps I’m wrong.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Do you see Dame Felicity often?”

“When we’re both in residence down here.”

Rose leaned forward on her elbows. “Is she very good in bed?”

Stone was saved from that question by Dino and Viv, returned from their picnic, joining them for coffee.