Princes Gate by Mark Ellis Page B

cigarette out of the window and got back into the bed.
    “There, there, sweetheart. It always hurts a bit the first time. You’ll enjoy it more second time round.”
    He took a glass from the sink, ran the tap and dropped something in it. “Here you are. Have a little Eno’s liver salts. This’ll make you feel better.”

    Merlin decided to walk home. He hadn’t had a good long walk since before Christmas. When he was younger he had been a keen soccer man, turning out regularly for one of the police teams. He hadn’t been a bad player. There had even been some talk of him playing professionally. Scouts from Fulham, Chelsea and the Arsenal had come to watch him. He had been a dashing inside left with a strong right-footed shot and a good head. There had been some overtures from the Chelsea and Arsenal scouts. Requests had been made several times for him to play in trials but he had declined. He hadn’t been able to see much future in it and, though he liked football, the police was his first love. So he passed on the chance. He’d never regretted it but after giving up playing in his thirties he had come to miss the feeling of wellbeing which came with the high level of fitness he’d had to maintain. When he got married he took up tennis, which was a sport Alice had played since her youth, and he enjoyed the game. That had helped him keep in shape but since Alice’s death he hadn’t picked up a racquet. His lean figure these days owed little to exercise and much to nervous stress and missing too many meals.
    Tonight would see another missed meal as, by the time he had reached the end of Birdcage Walk and mulled over his morning visit to the morgue, his yen for a pie and mash or anything else had vanished.
    He looked up at the Palace. He knew that the sentries were standing out in the cold beyond the sandbags in the courtyard, but although it was a clear night he couldn’t see them. There
was no sign of life, although he knew the King and Queen were in residence. The full moon shone and the stars sparkled brilliantly in a still bomberless sky. Gloomy lines from a Robert Louis Stevenson poem came suddenly to his mind: “Under the wide and starry sky, dig the grave and let me lie”. He shivered.
    The quickest way home from the Palace was through Victoria, Eaton Square and Sloane Square. The pavements here had been cleared of most of the ice and snow. He decided to extend his exercise and take a roundabout route home. He walked up Constitution Hill to Hyde Park Corner. Then instead of going down the Brompton Road past Harrods he headed towards Kensington. The odd blinkered car drove by. A couple of drunks weaved their way past him, almost knocking him over.
    It was nearly chucking out time and he realised that he was very thirsty. Alcohol didn’t appeal but a glass of lemonade would be nice. He just had time to grab a drink before the pubs closed.
    He was near Princes Gate and knew a nice little place around the corner. As he was entering, a young couple, much the worse for wear, fell giggling out of the swing doors. Merlin stood back to let them pass before making his way to the bar. “Have I time for a lemonade?”
    The burly young barman looked at the clock above the spirit bottles. “Alright sir, but make it quick.”
    Something suddenly troubled him. He hadn’t really looked at the couple who had passed him at the door but he felt there was something familiar about them. He had caught a quick glimpse of a dark male face and an abundance of red hair. Of course, he thought. We’re just around the corner from the Ambassador’s residence. Johnny Morgan and a girl. Probably that nice Irish girl. He turned and pushed through the pub doors.
    “Hey. Your drink’s here, guvnor.”
    Merlin looked to his left and right in the darkness. The bright moonshine gave him a glimpse of someone disappearing around a corner. He went back into the pub and tossed a coin to the barman. “Sorry. Something’s come up.” He