Although at the time, I had been too peeved that my great-aunt had sent someone to ‘retrieve’ me before I came to some harm at the hands of that particularly handsome, young Greek guide.
At the time I saw no harm in swimming in the Aegean ‘en flagrant,’ away from the prying gazes of my travel companions. And there had been that brooding, dark gaze of the man sent to rescue me and accompany me back to London.
I was somewhat younger at the time and chose to ignore the man as much as possible on that return trip.
It became the plot for my first novel with my protagonist, Emma Fortescue, which had scandalized polite society in London. But the ladies of London were discovered reading it and the novels that followed about Miss Fortescue’s adventures, while concealing them inside the latest daily newspaper.
And that, as they say, was the beginning of several more adventures to follow, including the man now sitting across from me.
We continued the charade and passed the next hour in companionable conversation about anything and everything trivial with our ‘guests.’
Then, as it grew later, many of the guests in the dining room departed. I rose from the table and, in a performance that would have rivaled that of my good friend, Templeton, announced for the benefit of those who were left in the dining room and any others, that I was ‘quite tired as it had been a long day.’
“Of course.” Brodie stood. “I will escort you.”
It took some effort not to smile at that one. Escort me?
I did suspect that it was all part of the ‘performance.’ It was entirely possible that he was taking precautions which I didn’t understand in the moment. I then watched as he turned to Munro who was seated to his right.
He extended his hand as anyone might do in parting. Munro stood and did likewise, then took Brodie’s hand in a gentlemanly gesture for an extended handshake.
Brodie concluded by informing our ‘guests’ that we would see them in the morning. We then departed the dining room.
The hotel manager at the front counter nodded and in heavily accented English bid us good evening. We proceeded to our room.
Once there, Brodie inserted the key into the lock then slowly opened the door. The piece of paper that he’d inserted earlier at the edge of the door dropped to the floor. It did appear that no one had been in our room while we were away.
“What is to be done now?”
It was obvious that it was important we learn the information that Alex had brought with him from London. And there was the added curiosity about Munro’s appearance.
“We wait.”
“For?”
“For them to join us.”
“But how will they know…?”
He took my hand in a gesture as if to shake it. And then, tapped the palm of my hand in a way that no one would have seen, except if they knew to look for it.
Twice, then four times. Two and four. Our room number, 204!
Very shortly, there was a subtle knock at the door, that same code, twice then four times.
Brodie went to the door. “Ye checked the hallway?” I heard him ask.
“Aye.”
And we were joined in the room by Munro and Alex Sinclair. Munro carried a wrapped parcel that he set on the table before the fireplace.
“Ingenious,” Alex declared. “I would never have guessed...”
Brodie motioned him to silence, checked the hallway once more, then closed the door and set the lock.
“Wot are ye doin’ here?” he demanded of Munro. “The telegram spoke only of Alex.”
Munro nodded. “I acquired information that I thought might be important, and didna want to trust it to a telegram, or another,” he explained. “No hard feelin’s,” he told Alex.
