British Bulldog by Sara Sheridan Read Free Book Online

feeling that she was being disloyal to Jack’s memory by coming there with somebody else. The Ritz was convenient and Jack had believed in hiding in plain sight. With Superintendent McGregor such niceties were not a consideration. There had been no intimate conversation, nothing like that. But still, it had felt wrong.
    Today as she strode into the bar at the Ritz it felt like London as it used to be. The velvet seats were carefully placed to allow each table the maximum privacy – the hallmark of a good English hotel, somewhere you’d be left alone. This afternoon there were only two tables in use – both occupied by well-dressed gentlemen drinking by themselves and reading the Daily Telegraph . The bar had the air of a shrine – somewhere she could step, even if only fleetingly, into a time when London was at its best and she was in love. She mustn’t bring anyone else here, she decided.
    ‘Madam?’ The waiter approached.
    The whiff of Brylcreem acted like smelling salts. Mirabelle ordered a glass of champagne and settled into a chair in the corner, drawing the pale walls around her like a cloak. She strained to see out of the window but the tramp wasn’t in her line of sight. With luck he’d go now. More important, she told herself, was the fact she’d written that dreadful letter. Her stomach churned with embarrassment at Mrs Bradley’s anticipated discomfort. When the champagne arrived with a small plate of crackers, Mirabelle picked at them distractedly. Any hope that Bradley’s widow might furnish a lead to help her find Flight Lieutenant Caine was over. It was unlikely the woman would even reply. I certainly wouldn’t, she thought.
    Trying to put aside her horror at what she’d done, Mirabelle focused. After all, that’s what Jack would have said. Keep your eye on the ball. She drew her attention back to the matter in hand. What might this new information mean? Bradley was a British hero but so, it turned out, was Caine. Pilots had been revered for their courage: many men were brave (and women too), but not everyone risked their lives in quite such a demonstrable fashion. Now, it appeared she had two heroes on her hands, one of whom stole the other’s fiancée while his friend was detained behind enemy lines. Perhaps this shed some light on the major’s blank eyes at the nightclub all those years ago,though it painted him terribly black. The chilled champagne twisted as it went down and Mirabelle repositioned herself in her seat.
    What on earth had Bradley been thinking stealing his friend’s girl? Had he simply fallen in love with someone forbidden? That was what had happened to her, after all. Jack hadn’t loved his wife for years when Mirabelle had taken him on – not that she had had much of a choice. There was no doubt they had been meant for each other. It had felt absolutely right from the beginning. Had it been the same for Bulldog Bradley and Lady Caroline Bland? She considered this as she finished her drink rather too quickly and once more checked out of the window. A cab pulled up at the hotel’s front door and she caught a swish of the porter’s uniform as he rushed forward with a black umbrella. The tramp was still nowhere to be seen. This investigation felt difficult, like driving in fog. She imagined rolling out the story easily, like unfurling a long carpet, and tried to think where it might lead. Then, leaving money on the table, she stalked into the cold to try to find out.
    The post-champagne glow helped distract her from the chill. The man, it seemed, had gone. The crowd thickened near Piccadilly Circus. Flocks of umbrellas concealed pedestrians from each other. At the junction Mirabelle ducked out of the rain and took the stairs down to the Tube. With such a lot to mull over, she hadn’t decided which option she would pursue next and as a result she hovered uncertainly at the subterranean crossroads, where the tiled corridors were smeared with grubby melt. One branch led to