clothes. The women had all dressed up. She felt comfortable in her blue dress with its high collar and long sleeves. Round her slim waist she wore a thin gold belt. She looked at the bar again.
'I thought you were taking us out for an evening's relaxation.'
'That was the idea,' said Tweed, glancing up from the menu.
'The place is packed with Americans. That nice Ed Osborne is holding up one end of the bar. You brought us here to check up on who is in town.'
'Should I apologize?'
'Of course not.' Her tone softened. 'I'm sorry I talked like that. We have a job to do.'
'And there may not be much time left.'
Tweed returned to examining the , menu, glancing down the wine list, turning pages of the leather folder. The waiter appeared quickly and Paula ordered a dry Martini. Tweed said he'd like a glass of dry white French wine. Paula stared again at the bar.
'When you can, look at the far end of the bar. Osborne is talking to a weird man, and gestured towards our table.'
'Wonder who he is? Not sure I like the look of him.'
The individual she had drawn his attention to was short, had wide shoulders, a large head and a barrel of a chest. His brown hair was cut short and he wore an evening suit. He left the bar, sidled his way between the tables and headed straight for them.
'Hi, folks. Ed Osborne suggested I came over to give you both a big hello. I'm Jake Ronstadt.'
'Paula Grey,' said Tweed. 'And to finish the introductions I'm Tweed.'
'You have a real good taste in beautiful ladies. I sure do envy you.'
He bent down, wrapped a bearlike hand and arm round Paula's shoulders. Inwardly she thanked Heaven she was not wearing an off-the-shoulder dress. Tweed was staring at Ronstadt. When he mentioned Paula's name the small, heavy-lidded eyes had flickered. Just for a millisecond, but the reaction had been strange.
'You sound to be from New York,' Tweed commented. 'What are you doing over here? You're a long way from home.'
'Right on the button. New York.' Ronstadt released Paula from his grip, stood up. 'I'm with the Embassy.' 'Really?' Tweed persisted. 'In what capacity? What job?'
'I guess you could say I'm in public relations.' 'And what does that involve, Mr Ronstadt?'
'Jake, please,' his voice rumbled. 'I smooth the way for making friends with people the Ambassador wants to meet.'
'Well, I don't see any reason why he'd want to meet me.'
'He sure does. That's why Ed sent me over to get to know you both. And I'll tell you something else.' He lowered his voice. 'Jefferson Morgenstern, our Secretary of State, is anxious to see you.' He placed a thick finger beside his stubby nose. 'That's off the record. Know what I mean? Guess I'd better leave you folk to get on with your dinner. Enjoy.'
'I don't like that man,' Paula said when Ronstadt had left. 'He radiates physical vitality and power - but he has the smile of a crocodile.'
'Someone else for Monica to profile,' Tweed said quietly. 'I see you've spotted someone at the bar, from your expression.'
'You're not going to believe it. Bob has just walked in with Basil Windermere. They're sitting at the other end of the bar from Osborne.'
'Guess I'll start with a Scotch,' Basil said as he settled on his stool.
'Do you ever sit on anything other than a bar stool?' Newman enquired.
'Not if I can help it. You'd be surprised at how many ancient dowagers think it's fun to perch on one with me. Makes them feel young again.'
'If you say so. I'll have a Scotch too,' he told the barman. 'Basil, you mentioned a Rupert who used the phrase "at the double". Rupert Who?'
'Rupert Strangeways, of course. There's only one Rupert, son of the Strangeways. The old boy is loaded. Rupert's a drinking pal of mine.'
'On the Continent as well?'
'No.' A pause. 'Not on the Continent. Down the hatch!'
'Cheers. Do you still go to that shooting club down by the Thames?'
'Haven't been for ages. Got bored. No business there. No ladies dripping diamonds. Rupert used to come with me. He's
'I thought you were taking us out for an evening's relaxation.'
'That was the idea,' said Tweed, glancing up from the menu.
'The place is packed with Americans. That nice Ed Osborne is holding up one end of the bar. You brought us here to check up on who is in town.'
'Should I apologize?'
'Of course not.' Her tone softened. 'I'm sorry I talked like that. We have a job to do.'
'And there may not be much time left.'
Tweed returned to examining the , menu, glancing down the wine list, turning pages of the leather folder. The waiter appeared quickly and Paula ordered a dry Martini. Tweed said he'd like a glass of dry white French wine. Paula stared again at the bar.
'When you can, look at the far end of the bar. Osborne is talking to a weird man, and gestured towards our table.'
'Wonder who he is? Not sure I like the look of him.'
The individual she had drawn his attention to was short, had wide shoulders, a large head and a barrel of a chest. His brown hair was cut short and he wore an evening suit. He left the bar, sidled his way between the tables and headed straight for them.
'Hi, folks. Ed Osborne suggested I came over to give you both a big hello. I'm Jake Ronstadt.'
'Paula Grey,' said Tweed. 'And to finish the introductions I'm Tweed.'
'You have a real good taste in beautiful ladies. I sure do envy you.'
He bent down, wrapped a bearlike hand and arm round Paula's shoulders. Inwardly she thanked Heaven she was not wearing an off-the-shoulder dress. Tweed was staring at Ronstadt. When he mentioned Paula's name the small, heavy-lidded eyes had flickered. Just for a millisecond, but the reaction had been strange.
'You sound to be from New York,' Tweed commented. 'What are you doing over here? You're a long way from home.'
'Right on the button. New York.' Ronstadt released Paula from his grip, stood up. 'I'm with the Embassy.' 'Really?' Tweed persisted. 'In what capacity? What job?'
'I guess you could say I'm in public relations.' 'And what does that involve, Mr Ronstadt?'
'Jake, please,' his voice rumbled. 'I smooth the way for making friends with people the Ambassador wants to meet.'
'Well, I don't see any reason why he'd want to meet me.'
'He sure does. That's why Ed sent me over to get to know you both. And I'll tell you something else.' He lowered his voice. 'Jefferson Morgenstern, our Secretary of State, is anxious to see you.' He placed a thick finger beside his stubby nose. 'That's off the record. Know what I mean? Guess I'd better leave you folk to get on with your dinner. Enjoy.'
'I don't like that man,' Paula said when Ronstadt had left. 'He radiates physical vitality and power - but he has the smile of a crocodile.'
'Someone else for Monica to profile,' Tweed said quietly. 'I see you've spotted someone at the bar, from your expression.'
'You're not going to believe it. Bob has just walked in with Basil Windermere. They're sitting at the other end of the bar from Osborne.'
'Guess I'll start with a Scotch,' Basil said as he settled on his stool.
'Do you ever sit on anything other than a bar stool?' Newman enquired.
'Not if I can help it. You'd be surprised at how many ancient dowagers think it's fun to perch on one with me. Makes them feel young again.'
'If you say so. I'll have a Scotch too,' he told the barman. 'Basil, you mentioned a Rupert who used the phrase "at the double". Rupert Who?'
'Rupert Strangeways, of course. There's only one Rupert, son of the Strangeways. The old boy is loaded. Rupert's a drinking pal of mine.'
'On the Continent as well?'
'No.' A pause. 'Not on the Continent. Down the hatch!'
'Cheers. Do you still go to that shooting club down by the Thames?'
'Haven't been for ages. Got bored. No business there. No ladies dripping diamonds. Rupert used to come with me. He's
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