Princes Gate by Mark Ellis Page B

aggravated when he noticed a red spot next to his left nostril. He applied a fingernail to the offending item and removed the head. The eruption of pus splashed against the bathroom mirror. Grabbing a handkerchief from his dresser he removed the stain. What the hell was he doing having spots at the age of forty-six? The police had unsettled his physical equilibrium as well as his mental equilibrium. He must calm down and maintain a level head.
    He was meeting Freddie Douglas at the Café Royal. Douglas had promised that he would be making an important introduction tonight.
    In normal circumstances it would be a twenty minute walk for him to the Café Royal. In the blackout and with the pavements and roads iced over, it would be longer. He stood around for a few minutes hoping that a taxi might emerge from the darkness. Eventually he gave up waiting and headed off in the direction of Piccadilly. In Berkeley Square a voice from a doorway made him jump. “Fancy a bit of fun, dear?”
    A woman emerged from the dark, a torch pointing up at her heavily made-up face. As street prostitutes go, Norton thought, she wasn’t so bad-looking. The lipstick and foundation plastered on to her face couldn’t conceal the fact that she was younger than most.
    “No thanks, honey. Not tonight.”
    “Where you from then? You a Yank dearie? I love Yanks. Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m very reasonable. Give me a couple of quid and I’ll make it worth your while.” The woman moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. Her other hand brushed against the front of his trousers and remained there briefly before starting to move slowly up and down. Norton couldn’t help himself and stiffened. This girl was good at her job. His eyes closed.
    “You alright, sir?”
    Norton opened his eyes to see the outline of a helmet lit by the prostitute’s torch. The policeman had a torch of his own which he shone into their faces. The girl broke away. The men listened to the sound of her heels clattering on the icy pavement.
    Running the light beam over him, the policemen took note of Norton’s expensive astrakhan coat. “You ought to be very careful out here in the blackout, sir. These conditions is paradise for the dregs of society. Some of these girls will pull a knife and rob you as quick as you can say ‘Jack Robinson’.”
    “Thank you, Constable. She just came at me out of the dark and grabbed me. I’m so pleased you came along.”
    “You be careful now. We don’t want to see any of our brethren from over the Pond murdered on the streets of London. Can I guide you anywhere?”
    “I’m going to the Café Royal, constable. It’s not far now. I think I can find the way.”
    “Alright, but you watch out, sir.”
    Norton mentally thanked the constable for helping him to keep his evening on track. She was a sexy tart though. He would look out for her on another, more convenient night.
    The Café Royal was throbbing with life. Norton ploughed his way, with some difficulty, through the crush. He caught sight of Douglas talking animatedly to two other men at the bar. Ducking his head down again he struggled towards them.
    “It’s goddamed crowded tonight, Freddie.”
    “Arthur. Glad you could make it.”
    Douglas sported a bright red bow tie with his evening wear and was smoking a pungent black cigarette. “You know Vivian, don’t you?” Vivian Pemberton smiled a languid greeting.
    “And of course my colleague, Edward Fraser.” A portly man with an unruly mop of curly brown hair and a small upturned nose reached over to shake Norton’s hand. “I think we need some more drink. Krug alright for you, Arthur?” Fraser waved at one of the barmen.
    “Have you noticed that ladies seem to greatly outnumber gentlemen in this establishment?” Douglas wafted his cigarette at the melée.
    “I’d say that’s a trend that is going to be further exaggerated if this silly war carries on.”
    “Now, now, Vivian. I don’t think it’s wise