‘How does it work?’ Cook asked. ‘I presume a man doesn’t simply walk up to the girl and ask the going rate?’
Eleanor cocked her head, reassessing the man in front of her.
‘You tell the bartender you’re interested in some company,’ she said. ‘He’s the go-between. A veneer of decency if you will. You pay him for an expensive drink that never gets delivered, then you go to your room. A few minutes later, one of the girls follows you, and Bob’s your uncle. They call them the Hyde Park Harriers, apparently. The girls, that is.’
They both watched. Another airman was in close conversation with the barman. A pound note changed hands.
‘What kind of stories do you write?’ he asked.
‘Human interest,’ she said. ‘What it’s like to live in London. The blackout. The bombs.’
‘You won’t see much of that in here,’ Cook said.
‘London’s a drain,’ the woman said. ‘Everyone in Europe ends up getting sucked in, and everyone who ends up in London ends up here.’
‘You should be careful,’ Cook said. ‘I’d imagine if you hang around places like this talking to strangers, people might think you’re a spy.’
‘I’m not a spy, I’m an American. We’re neutral.’
‘So how do you go about getting information for your stories?’ Cook asked. ‘You just walk up to them and start asking questions?’
‘In fairness it usually works better than this,’ she said.
Cook nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for a girl. Her name’s Ruby. She’s missing and her family are worried. Thought I’d ask around.’
‘I’d say you need to talk to one of the girls at the bar,’ Eleanor said, ‘instead of skulking back here. One of the things I’ve learnt in my line of work – if you don’t ask questions, you don’t get answers.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Cook said.
‘How much money have you got on you?’ she asked. ‘They won’t talk for nothing, they’ve got jobs to do. You’d be better off hiring one of them, but they’re not cheap. Two pounds for half an hour, from what I heard. And you’ll need a room here. Do you have one?’
Cook didn’t answer. He was beginning to regret telling her what he was doing.
‘I’ll get you one,’ she said, looking at the girls at the bar. ‘Which one do you want?’
‘No need.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘You’re paying, by the way, but I’ll do the awkward bit.’
She got up, excited by her mission. Cook put his hand on hers, firmer than politeness would allow.
‘Really,’ Cook said. ‘No need.’ He put an edge into his voice.
She took her hand back and stared at him, flushing pink.
‘Just trying to be helpful,’ she said, backing away.
56
Cook gave it another half an hour, making sure the American woman had disappeared. She’d hurried away from his table without looking back, made her way into the lobby. Off to write a story about the dreadful manners of the English, no doubt.
‘Another one, sir?’ It was the waiter, hovering discreetly over Cook’s shoulder.
‘Yes,’ Cook replied. ‘And I have a question.’
‘I can do you a drink, sir, but I’m not very good with questions.’
‘I’m looking for a girl,’ Cook said.
