Insequor by Richard Murphy Page B

hotel?”
    “No, we have a briefing with the British Secret Service.”
    Daniel felt his head hit the back of the seat; it was early evening and he was exhausted. “Can we get something to eat?”
    “We’ll be having dinner there.”
    By the time they arrived, about forty minutes later, his stomach was already grouchy. Jones joined them from the car in front and they went straight inside another vast and ancient stone structure. He couldn’t see the top as it was too dark but it felt more like a cathedral as they walked through more corridors, up wooden carpeted steps and onto a magnificent landing.
    Finally, they reached a dining room in the middle of which sat a grand table adorned with crockery, silver candlesticks and glasses. An older, uniformed man, with a grey beard and a bright red military jacket sat at the table; behind him a man also in uniform but at attention and clearly a subordinate.
    The gentleman stood up and introduced himself. “General Ford-Mitchell, pleased to meet you.” Toby introduced everyone before asking if they could be seated.
    “Of course,” said the general, “you must be famished.”
    Toby sat down and pulled a napkin out of a silver holder; Daniel and Jones followed suite, the general too, smiling softly at Daniel before addressing his plate.
    “What are we having, Watkins?” he said.
    “Shrimp, sir,” said the man behind, without moving a muscle. “Followed by a chicken ballotine and chocolate fondant.”
    “Sounds lovely,” said the general, and winked at Daniel.
    Wine was poured and Daniel watched the general sniff and study the glass. He wasn’t like the other soldiers they had met. The American generals were like pit-bulls. Full of testosterone, thick necks and sour faces. Mitchell looked more like an amused boy.
    The shrimp arrived but it was a tiny portion; delicious and most probably fine dining but not enough to satisfy the hunger that had crept up on him. Scanning the table, he found some bread and helped himself.
    “So your medical reports came across before,” said Mitchell. “Looks like you’re human at least.”
    “That’s good to know,” said Jones. He too had found the bread and was mopping up the shrimp sauce.
    Mitchell acknowledged him briefly before returning to his plate; he delicately chased a prawn around it with his fork before giving up and signalling Watkins.
    “We have to check these things, detective.”
    Watkins came and collected the plates. Toby hadn’t said a word throughout. It was unlike him; normally he was the one leading the conversation, in charge, but perhaps over here he wasn’t.
    When the main course arrived Daniel began eating immediately; the chicken was delicious and served with fine gravy and delicately roasted vegetables. Everyone seemed to enjoy it and some wine was poured, a soda for Jones, which helped Daniel relax. Finally, as the waiter topped up his glass and the rest of them cleaned their plates he decided he wanted to know what this particular game was all about.
    “Can I ask what we’re doing here?”
    “I beg your pardon?” said Mitchell.
    “Why am I here? We’ve had the x-rays and scans, the questions about my mother. Is this the interrogation?”
    “Daniel, please.” It was Toby. “The general is an old friend and he offered to host us this evening. I thought it would be easier dealing with him than a room full of politicians.”
    “Hear, hear!” said Mitchell, raising his glass.
    Daniel smiled, looked the man dead in the eyes. They twinkled back from above his bushy moustache; his warm face somehow filling up the room.
    They all raised their glasses, the toast breaking the tension and they began to relax again and even make a little chit chat.
    The general was from London, he had two daughters who were at University and his wife was a teacher. He asked about Daniel’s home, his job and his own school. The general placed a lot of importance on schooling.
    Daniel gave him the answers he’d given