Several department members came by Duncan's office to touch base or just say hello throughout the morning. He answered several questions regarding simple claims being processed by his staff. He referred one employee looking for financial information to Robert Nolan, their forensic accountant. Really, the people he managed needed little supervision. The morning slipped away and it was time for lunch before he realized.
Duncan approached Angela at quarter 'til noon, and they headed out towards the nearby skyscraper that housed Poulet d'Argent, or Money Chicken in English. The restaurant was located on an upper floor terrace of a neighboring building with a prestigious address. He tried to make light conversation as they walked.
"Did you know that Poulet d'Argent is the most desired location for al fresco dining in the City?" he asked, hoping to impress Angela.
"No, I didn't know that. Although, I've heard quite a buzz about their après ski menu. They serve a nouveau version of classic après ski dishes."
"The only reason I got us in for lunch was because the maître d' is an old friend of mine, from my college years. His younger brother and I hung around together a lot," Duncan explained.
"What happened to your friend, the younger brother, do you still spend time with him?"
"He lives in Australia now," Duncan said. "He does some kind of public relations work. I helped him through some of his required math courses in school -- statistics, classes like that."
"Doesn't one of your sisters live in Australia? Maybe a visit is in order," Angela suggested.
"Yes, Lilly lives there. My youngest brother, William, is visiting her right now. It's his gap year and he's spending it on the beaches of Australia! Honestly, I'd love to get down there and visit my sister as well as my friend, John. It's been years since I've seen him. In fact, my other sister, Sophie, lives here in London. I don't get to see her and my nieces very often, either. I need to make more of an effort with that."
They arrived at their destination, a tony office building. Duncan and Angela crammed themselves into an elevator filled with business people. As the car zoomed skyward, it shook slightly and sounds of cables working at lightning speed could be heard in the shaft. Angela, with a look of panic on her face, grabbed his elbow. He realized she must be afraid of elevators or heights.
The contraption slowed, and stopped with a tiny bounce. Its polished mirror-like doors parted, but not before Duncan caught a reflection of Angela's face, her expression filled with relief. Since they were the last in, they were now the first out, and the brisk air coming from beyond the foyer felt refreshing.
"Are you afraid of elevators? Don't you ride the express everyday up to the office?" he asked, leading Angela down a short hallway towards the entrance to Poulet d'Argent.
"This building is a lot taller than Lawful and General's. Our express elevators don't shake like that one did. Do you think there's something wrong with it?" she asked as they reached the hostess station, appearing agitated.
"No, I've been in dozens of elevators just like that one. They have backup cables, so you don't have to worry about a thing," Duncan reassured his assistant. He turned towards the hostess and said, "I have a reservation for Duncan Dewar, for two, at noon."
"Please follow me," she said, directing them through glass doors and out onto a terrace.
Outside, a winter wonderland met them. The terrace had been converted to resemble a French chalet. He pulled out Angela's chair and she sat down as the hostess handed her a fur blanket. There were vintage skis on the walls and candles flickered on every table. The weather cooperated by not raining, but remained overcast and cold. A breeze added to the effect. The restaurant seemed perfectly charming. A distinguished gentleman in what looked to be an expensive suit stopped at their table, smiling.
"Henri! It's so good to see you," Duncan said, rising to greet his old friend. "How have you been? And thank you for the table."
"Life is treating me well, Duncan, and you are always welcome," Henri said, shaking Duncan's hand. "Who do we have here?" Henri asked, looking towards Angela with a welcoming smile.
Henri was a handsome man, and that fact didn't escape Angela.
"This is my assistant, Angela," he said, choosing his words with care.
He still usually thought of her as his secretary, but he knew she preferred assistant. Henri looked quizzically at Duncan as if he didn't believe Angela could be his assistant. The girl blushed. Apparently she understood Henri's expression, even if Duncan did not. Henri reached for her hand, raising it while he bowed at the waist, lowering his lips to rest on her fingers.
"Honored to meet you, Angela," Henri said with a slight French accent.
This was too much! First Simon Bringle and now Henri. Duncan watched Henri and Angela interact, flirt, he guessed, as an uncomfortable feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. She was far too young for Henri.
"Allow me to go over today's offerings with you," Henri said, concentrating all his charms on Angela. "Our bison burger is spectacular. If you are in the mood for fish, I would suggest our stream caught trout goujonettes. These are served with a house made dill and honey mayonnaise, accompanied by chips. Another favorite is our croque-raclette with Mornay sauce and fingerling potatoes. Our chef stuffs our in-house bread with cured and smoked ham, semi-hard, artisan Raclette cheese, and a Bechamel made with Gruyere and Parmesan. He tops these ingredients avec the nutty-flavored fingerlings with the buttery texture. Of course, our Alpine cheese croque-fondu cannot be surpassed. The chef employs black truffle and three Alpine cheeses. He insists on Comte from Eastern France and the firm and buttery Beaufort from the French Alps. He also includes Emmental, Swiss cheese from Switzerland, of course!"
"It all sounds so tempting," Angela gushed. "Would you consider choosing for me, Henri?"
"But of course," Henri answered. Then, looking at Duncan, "Would you prefer I choose for you today as well?"
"Why not?" Duncan said, somewhat deflated.
Again, Henri gave him that quizzical expression before turning on his heels and disappearing around a corner.
Angela clapped her hands together several times. "This is going to be an incredible meal! Thank you for bringing me here," she said.
Duncan began to feel better. Seeing her so excited made him happy. He took a deep breath and tried to remember what he wanted to discuss with her. He decided to start with a compliment.
"Well, you've been working quite hard, holding down the fort, as they say, and this is my way of saying thanks. I've been meaning to ask you how you managed that appointment at Bringle Labs," Duncan asked, trying to sound nonchalant. "I mean, I wouldn't want you to compromise your, uh, well you know. I wouldn't want you to do anything that made you uncomfortable or that would make me uncomfortable," he stammered.
Angela's eyebrows moved steadily closer together as he spoke. She pursed her lips, tilted her head to the side and lowered her chin, like a bull getting ready to charge a matador. Duncan knew he was in trouble, but wasn't sure why. He saw fire in his assistant's eyes, and he decided it was best to keep quiet until she responded. He hardly noticed when a waiter poured them each a glass of wine.
After what seemed minutes, Angela said, "I would never compromise anything for this job. When I found out the microscopes at the local universities were not available, I researched the private labs in London. When I came across the family owned Bringle Labs, I figured I hit pay dirt, as they say." Here, Angela paused for effect before continuing, "Their web page contained a picture of Simon. I took my chances and waited around the lab at lunch time. When I saw him walking out of the lobby, I noted which restaurant he entered. I was fortunate, he only strolled half way down the block before stopping for lunch. I made sure I bumped into him in that restaurant. After apologizing for my clumsiness, I asked him if he wasn't Simon Bringle. Told him I couldn't believe my good luck. That I worked for a terrible person who was demanding I find time on an electron microscope, and didn't he own such a microscope?"
"Yo
u didn't really tell him I was terrible, did you?" Duncan asked, feeling as if his hand had been slapped.
"No, but I should have. I suppose he was attracted to me and wanted to help. You got your electron microscope and I met a nice gentleman. Everyone should be deliriously happy!" she snapped.
Duncan bit his tongue for a moment.
"You are a resourceful girl, Angela. I'm sorry if I offended you with my comment earlier. I meant no insult. I've just grown somewhat protective of you, over time. I have two sisters, you know. I thought Simon was a little pushy, and I would hate for anyone to take advantage of your good nature," he said.
Angela's expression softened but before she could respond, Henri appeared with a waiter in tow. The waiter was pushing a cart covered with a white tablecloth. A large yellow object was on top of the linens.
"This," Henri gestured with a gradual sweep of his arm, "is the Comte," he paused as if waiting for applause before continuing, "Comte has the biggest wheels. This wheel weighs 50 kilograms!"
They inspected the cheese before Henri waved the waiter and cart away. A different waiter arrived, pushing another well appointed cart. This must be lunch.
"Behold," Henri declared with another wave of his arm. "Luncheon prepared especially for the two of you, on this special day." Henri winked at Duncan and said, "Bon Appetit!" before disappearing again, leaving the waiter to serve them.
The waiter moved like a magician. He placed a small fondue pot in the exact middle of the table, and they were each given individual trays of cubed bread and blanched mini carrots, asparagus tips, and mushrooms. Angela speared a square of bread and dunked it in the melted Alpine cheeses.
"Umm, this is delicious," she raved, eyes closed.
Duncan followed suit and agreed with her. They finished off the croque-fondu and their glasses of white wine, chosen by Henri. The same waiter made the fondue pot and accoutrements disappear while materializing the main course. Henri had ordered hors d'oeuvre sized portions of all the entrees he mentioned. They each had a bison slider, quarter croque-raclette, and several small fried pieces of trout with chips and gourmet mayonnaise on the side. Two glasses of red wine were poured by another waiter.
Their conversation centered around the food. It was so delicious, speaking about anything else would be sacrilege. After all the wine and victuals, Duncan wanted a nap. That furry blanket Angela snuggled under was looking good. The cold made her nose and cheeks glow a shade of pink, and for the first time he thought of her as pretty.
Apparently, Henri was not finished with them. Their waiter placed crystal stems on the table and announced, "Chestnut and chocolate parfait avec cognac. Four o'clock," the man positioned a tiny spoon next to Angela's crystal aperitif glass, "and four o'clock," he repeated, adding another miniature spoon to Duncan's place setting. "Enjoy!" he added before retreating.
"What was that four o'clock business? It's only two."
Angela giggled. The wine was affecting her, even with the large meal.
"A four o'clock is a small spoon for coffee or tea, designated for use at that time of day. In the Edwardian period, a silver service included many different sizes of teaspoons. There are three o'clocks, four o'clocks, and even five o'clocks," she explained, "besides your normal run of the mill teaspoons, iced teaspoons, it goes on and on, really. And, just forget about the forks! A proper dinner service in the Victorian or Edwardian age might include twenty pieces of silver for each person, depending on the number of courses!"
Angela's knowledge of silver place settings amazed Duncan. He used his four o'clock to sample the puddle of cognac on top of his parfait. It was the good stuff, all right. Angela chose to eat her cognac with the parfait. She tasted the concoction with her eyes closed. Duncan noticed her eyelashes fluttered with enjoyment. The staff served coffee after dessert. While they sipped the hot beverage, Angela updated Duncan on the progress she'd made that morning.
"Herbert Smith has finished analyzing our photos. He can meet with you on Monday. Let me know if you want him to come into the office or if you'd prefer to meet him at his lab. I managed to track down your professor. His name is Johan Stark and you won't believe this," Angela paused, "he's in London and will be staying for the next couple of weeks. He seems quite friendly and he's expecting a call from you this afternoon!" she announced. "I'm quite proud of myself, really," she added.
"I'm proud of you too, Angela. Thank you for all your good work." Duncan checked his watch and said, "We better get back to the office if I'm going to contact Professor Stark."
Chapter 8 - A Swede and a Tussle
Duncan spied one who could only be Johan Stark entering the pub, and he braced himself for the encounter. Johan was a head taller than anyone in the bar, and burly like an old tree. He appeared as Duncan remembered him from the lecture he'd attended, except larger at close range. As he approached the bar, the Scotsman moved to greet him.
"Hallo, Johan. I'm Duncan Dewar," he said, reaching to shake the professor's hand.
Johan looked to either side of Duncan, and grasped his hand in a hardy, single shake.
"Where's Angela?"
Here we go again. Angela must have made quite the impression on the Swede. When Duncan called him that afternoon, Johan Stark wanted to make sure she would be present when they met. She contacted Professor Stark earlier and somehow got him interested in Duncan's case. He sounded enthusiastic to help on the phone, but now he looked disappointed.
"She'll be along soon," Duncan answered. "Can I buy you a drink?"
Johan ordered a pint and they found an empty booth in a corner where they could discuss their work. Duncan was familiar with game theory, although he had never delved too deeply into that branch of mathematics. Game theory was typically employed in analyzing economics. Professor Stark used it as a tool to predict social and psychological behavior, and he'd been very successful.
"Thank you so much for meeting with me, Professor Stark," he began, but was cut off by the Swede.
"Call me Johan," he insisted, placing his hand across the table, between himself and Duncan, to signal that he should be quiet.
He noticed the massive size of Johan's paw. If not for his accent, the professor could be mistaken for a Highland game champion, and Duncan envisioned him tossing a large log in the air with ease. The Swede took a deep breath as his robust chest expanded to fill over half of his side of the booth.
"Angela explained that your deductive analysis wasn't working so well with your dilemma. Perhaps, my inductive approach is what's needed, no?"
The man's ego is as big as he is.
"I could use your help, your expertise," Duncan responded, swallowing a dose of humble pie.
"I'm familiar with your work. May I call you Duncan?" Johan asked. He nodded and the professor continued, "You amassed some impressive accomplishments, but you have not been making news lately. Still, I respect your, what do you say, labors."
A high compliment.
"Thank you, Johan. I attended your lecture at Oxford last year and I was impressed by your achievements."
Tit for tat.
"So, we are familiar with each others' work. Now, show me this fault tree analysis of your dilemma," Johan commanded.
Duncan could smell alcohol on the professor's breath and guessed the pint wasn't his first drink of the evening. He opened his laptop, placing it in the middle of the table but angled towards Johan. He gave a brief description of the insurance claim and the events surrounding Stuart's death, while guiding the professor through his fault tree analysis. Johan interrupted him when necessary for clarification and further explanation. The professor had questions regarding the computer programs he used. He was impressed at how quickly the Swede caught on to even the complicated aspects of his system. Time passed swiftly as both men concentrated on what Johan called Duncan's "dilemma".
"Hello," Angela's chirpy voice interrupted their focus.
Johan rose to greet her and bumped the table in the process. Angela looked attracti
ve in a crisp white button down, black leather skirt, and black tights with ankle boots.
"Ah, the beautiful Angela. You look as lovely as I hear on the phone," Johan said as he moved from the booth and enveloped Angela in a bear hug.
She actually disappeared from Duncan's view during that embrace. When Johan released her, they were both laughing. She took a step back and scrutinized both men. As dark as Duncan was, Johan was light. The Swede's hair was fair and his eyes an icy blue, his arms covered in curly, reddish blonde hair. The same hair peeked from behind his light cerulean dress shirt at the neck. His sideburns were unruly like an unclipped hedge. A slight pink tone permeated his skin. His shirt hung over blue jeans and she noticed he wore a pair of fine leather shoes.
"Come, sit with Johan," the professor said, scooting as far into the booth as he could.
She shrugged and sat down next to him, smiling. Johan raised an enormous arm and placed it around her shoulder, stating, "This is a necessity." It was. There wasn't room for all of him and Angela in the booth's seat. She blushed, but didn't seem to mind his advances.
"Have you eaten? A tiny girl like you must maintain strength. I'm hungry too. We must all have dinner now!" Johan said, banging his palm on the table.
Suddenly the professor from Copenhagen was verbose. A waitress delivered a glass of cider to Angela and took their dinner order. Johan requested a hardy meal while Duncan and Angela each chose a cup of soup. Neither were hungry after the lunch they'd had. She had to explain to Johan why she didn't request a larger supper. He nodded solemnly as she described her lunch at Poulet d'Argent.
"I love to ski! I love the après ski, as well. We should all ski in the new year."
Johan refused to talk business during the meal. Unlike Simon Bringle, he included Duncan in the conversation and seemed happy to have the company of others. He proved downright gregarious and kept the party entertained. He ordered another pint with dinner.
Mystery: The Merlon Murders II: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 2) Page 8