CHAPTER 67 – A FRIENDLY REQUEST OR TWO
A few weeks later, Richard and Emma were home, finally, and were celebrating being home together for a change. For the occasion, Emma had donned the silk nightgown given to them by Hippo.
Richard's phone rang. Reluctantly, he answered. "Yes, what did you want?"
"Hallo? Is that any way to answer a phone?"
"It is if you're busy and would like to know what the caller wants. Durand, is that you?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Richard Hugh."
"You are busy, I would say, to cut to the car chase so quickly. Someday, when you are not so busy, remind me to tell you that I have something to add to your fledgling knowledge about the differences between men and women. It occurred to me after talking on the phone with Perrine."
"Oh, you mean you're still learning, too? I would never have believed it, the way you set yourself up as an expert."
"Do not be smug in that way. It does not suit you."
"Right. Well, I was just about to instruct my wife on the differences between men and women, if you must know."
"No, actually, if you must know, that is more information than I needed right now, thank you. Besides, I thought the British prided themselves on their ability to be discreet?"
"Silly myth."
"Obviously."
"Durand, are you all right?"
"Why would I not be all right?"
"You're not pinned down again and in need of something, or anything like that?"
There was a pause.
"Durand?"
"Sometimes I think it pleases the good God to give you special courtesies now and then, and tell you what you cannot otherwise possibly know. Although it is not being pinned down, exactly. And things are under control at this end, really."
"Durand, old sport, a few specifics might be useful."
"And, mon vieux, they might also be embarrassing. I am, if you must know, locked in an attic. I have been reduced to calling upon the local constabulary to get me out, and the last I heard, they were weighing the relative merits of calling a locksmith, or taking a hatchet to the door."
"I'd vote for the hatchet every time. Lots more fun."
"Unless you are in the direction of the hatchet swings."
"There is that. Did you want something, or were you just calling to pass the time while your rescuers decide on a plan?"
"Kindly do not call them my rescuers. I am sure I could get out on my own, given enough time."
"What should I call them?"
"Let us simply ignore them for now. Perhaps you would let me tell you why I called?"
"Absolutely."
"I have not, for the life of me, been able to contact headquarters. I have been able to reach three other, trusted, senior agents, and they can get no answer either. None of us is in a position to drive over to take a look for ourselves to see how things stand, and-"
"And you would like to know if the building is still standing or if there is a mushroom cloud settling over the vicinity?"
"Not funny."
"I didn't mean for it to be. Sorry. If it's all right with you, I'll call Darlene Dourlein and see if she knows of anybody in the vicinity who could get us an eyewitness account."
"I cannot authorize you to do such a thing. For that matter, I'm not precisely asking you to do that."
"Of course not. But you can't stop me, either."
"Of course not. And, of course, you wouldn't officially have anyone watching our headquarters."
"Perish the thought," Richard said.
There was a pause.
It was Durand who broke the silence. "Mon vieux, if I have not said so recently, I think it is grievous that our governments, yours and mine, do not get along better at the higher levels."
Richard was still formulating a reply when loud voices on Durand's end called out warnings.
"My French isn't quite up to that. Was that something about a new type of battering ram and an experiment?" Richard asked.
"One moment, please. This is a very small attic and I have to decide where to try to get out of their way."
There were loud crashing noises, and calls for an ambulance.
"I am fine," Durand wheezed, into the phone.
"I do know the French words for ambulance and for broken bones, thank you very much," Richard said.
Durand coughed a few times before answering. "Honestly, though, for a wonder, this time it is someone else who is hurt. One of the fellows running the new, powered battering ram did not quite understand the physics of it and was in the wrong place. It is only a broken cheekbone, I think. He will be all right. The rest of us will be all right once the dust settles and we can breathe properly again. Now, if you would check on headquarters in general, and Vivi Herriott in particular, for me – and then get back to your wife? I will be busy here for a while, I think."
"I think I can do that. Especially that bit about my wife."
"Bragging does not suit you."
"'Til later, old sport."
"Until later, mon vieux."
The End
By Kathryn Judson
Almost Hopeless Horse
Trouble Pug
Joanne and I Burn Up
Why We Raise Belgian Horses
Not Exactly Dead (MI5 1/2, Book 1)
Not Exactly Innocent (MI5 1/2, Book 2)
Not Exactly Allies (MI5 1/2, Book 3)
The Smolder
The Birdwatcher (A Smolder novel)
The Unexpecteds (A Smolder novel)
Not Exactly Allies Page 68