Swan patted him on the back. ‘Nice play, Sir Alistair. Well done.’
Higgins smiled. ‘I told you, once I’ve started to get my old rhythm back, things could get interesting.’
They walked up the indoor field together, retrieved their bowls, and then played for another hour. The result was, Higgins winning by two games to one. Afterwards, they made their way to the bar. The waiter, immaculately turned out in white tunic and pressed black trousers, acknowledged them, showing them to a table. ‘What can I get you gentlemen?’
Higgins smiled at him. ‘I’ll have a scotch with soda and ice please, Giles.’
Swan raised his finger, ordering a Whisky Mac with ice.
‘Very good, gentlemen.’ He turned on his heel, and walked away towards the counter.
Higgins leant back in his chair. ‘Well Alex, this lady friend of yours, Janet Ross? I take it she was with you at Curzon Street, before you left MI5?’
Swan lit a cigarette, then explained that she was first with Section R, as a researcher, but then, became a second secretary to Stratton, alongside his personal secretary, Hayley Thomas. He had been introduced to her by Stratton, and she had assisted him on quite a few investigations. A few months prior to leaving to set up the Services Investigation Department, he had managed to have her working for him almost on a full-time basis, and they seemed to get on so well, it wasn’t long before the rumour brigade at Leconfield House had suggested that there was maybe something between them. Stratton had loved this, taunting him continuously about it at their joint department meetings, until the Section D Head, was summoned to the Director General’s office and kindly told, not asked, to pack it in.
Swan continued. ‘Anyway, after I set up SID, I found myself liaising with Janet, whenever I needed any input from my old outfit, and about a year ago, after she had been appointed to be Dennis Martin’s PA, I invited her to have dinner at Claridges, to celebrate. Then, when we were both not knee deep in work, we started going out, and now I guess you can say that we are now very much an item.’
Giles returned with the drinks, laid them down on the table, then walked back towards the bar.
Higgins waited for the waiter to move out of earshot. ‘So how serious are you about Janet, then, Alex? I mean, could there perhaps be the sound of wedding bells on the horizon?’
Swan raised his glass, gesturing a toast and on cue, Higgins wilfully obliged. ‘Here’s to the future, Mrs Swan?’
Higgins took a sip of his whisky. ‘By Jove! You’re deadly serious, aren’t you dear boy?’
‘I love her, Sir Alistair. She totally completes me, heart and soul.’
Higgins let out a laugh. ‘Good grief man, I don’t believe my ears. So, when do you plan on popping the question to her then?’
Swan took a sip from his glass. ‘Well, now I’m on the Ruger case, I can see Arthur and I being quite occupied with it. So, I will wait a bit until we’re done, then hopefully, I will have a bit more time to make sure that our special moment is perfect in every way.’ Swan referred back to the case, informing his friend that he had decided to head down to Highdown on Monday, and speak with Ruger’s colleagues. He was hoping that maybe they could enlighten him on a few things, that might aid the investigation. ‘Poor Arthur, he doesn’t know we’re going there, yet — and he absolutely loathes sea crossings.’
Higgins finished his drink and put down his glass. ‘So, I suppose that Arthur will be your best man?’
Swan lit another cigarette. ‘, Sir Alistair, Arthur has already declined. We’ve often talked about it, theoretically of course. He wishes me well, and will be at wedding, naturally. However, I think that he has secretly paved the way for someone else for that particular job.’ He looked at the puzzled Higgins. ‘So old boy. How do you fancy it, or to be more formal, Sir Alistair, would you have the honour of being my best man?’
Higgins beamed a huge smile, and breaking out with a jovial laugh, vigorously shook Swan by the hand. ‘Of course, I will, my dear chap. What an honour! This is cause for celebration.’ Higgins waved towards the bar, and Giles sauntered over to the table. ‘Giles, dear chap, have you a bottle of Bollinger 57 in?
Giles nodded. ‘Yes, Sir Alistair, I’ll put it on ice for you now. Sounds like a little celebration, gentlemen?’
Higgins looked at Swan. ‘Giles? I’m afraid for a while, Mr Swan’s weekends here, are numbered. He’s getting married.’
The waiter smiled and put out his hand. ‘Congratulations, Mr Swan. I’ll just get your champagne gentlemen.’
Swan looked at Higgins and whispered, ‘is Giles okay, he looked like he was going to burst into tears, just then?’
Higgins leant forward. ‘I think he has just realised, that you are off his menu — if you know what I mean.’
Swan gasped, managing an embarrassing smile. ‘Oh, I see.’
Giles returned, carrying an ice bucket, with a tall bottle of champagne protruding from the top, and two glass flutes. Placing them on the table, he handed the bottle to Swan for inspection.
Swan nodded to him uncomfortably, as Giles popped the cork and poured the glistening bubbly liquid into the glasses, then retreated, after being thanked by the men.
Higgins took his glass, and raised it at his friend. ‘To you, Alex, dear boy, and your lovely bride to be.’
Swan raised his glass in return.
Chapter 10
Brian Mitchell was the first man out of the doors of the control room, followed by the rest of the control staff, and as they all rushed down towards Gantry 2, traces of steam were still visible, the white gas, lingering around the base of the corrugated steel sides of the thirty-foot tower.
Mitchell descended the steps leading down to the efflux chamber, and at the entrance stopped and looked at the white mass, lying still on the floor. Vapour was still rising from the body, as it lay in an awkward position, a few feet away, the legs pointing at him. He hesitated, suddenly feeling nauseous. He knew full well, what he had expected to find, had always been one of his worst fears, since working at this establishment. He looked up at the base of the Black Arrow, there was no way whoever it was, would have survived, having been subjected to such phenomenal temperature, underneath the rocket, at full power. He took in a few breaths, walked towards the body, and looked down at the mangled protective suit. Training his eyes on the left breast area, he could just make out the name label. He then shook his head in disbelief, and having realised who was inside the suit, felt quite sick.
Next to the body, was what resembled an asymmetric red jelly, which Mitchell instantly recognised, as the remains of Powell’s distinctive hard hat; it had been subjected to a temperature hot enough, to transform it to its current state. He thought about pulling back the hood of his colleague’s suit, but then suddenly recalled the procedure of what to do at the site, when a member of staff is seriously injured during a rocket test. He turned to the other men standing behind him. The on-looking crowd had now doubled, with the arrival of the observation team having just emerged from the Blockhouse. ‘Okay gents. We need to close this off. Peter? Run to the hut and call an ambulance. Someone fetch Dr Apsley, and I suppose you better also call the police.’ He looked at the scene again, then noticed something further inside the chamber. Although a bit puzzled to see the green protective tarpaulin for the generator, lying in the far corner of the chamber, he walked over to it, picked it up and laid it over Powell’s body.