“Not exactly,” she said. “We’ll find out everything that was in that binder toni
ght. But it’s going to cost us fifty pounds and another dinner at La Gavroche.”
“La Gavroche again? Are you trying to break the bank?”
Summer shrugged. “Sorry. It’s the only restaurant in London I know.”
46
The second meal at La Gavroche was just as delicious, and just as expensive, as the first. But the company was decidedly less captivating. Dirk had immediately recognized the photographer from the tour boat as he approached their table, underdressed and unkempt. For his part, the photographer was also disappointed, having expected a private dinner date with Summer.
“Hi, Terrence. I’m glad you could join us,” she said. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Dirk.”
The men reluctantly shook hands and took a seat on either side of Summer.
“I . . . I thought we might be dining alone,” Terrence said.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I see you brought the photographs. How did they come out?” Before he could answer, she plucked the large manila envelope from his hands and passed it to Dirk.
“A moving boat wasn’t the best platform on which to photograph documents,” Terrence said, “but they came out fine, every page readable.”
“That’s wonderful. Now, what would you like to eat?”
Dirk and Summer hurried through their exquisite meals at high speed, and Terrence followed suit when the remaining conversation fell away. After skipping dessert, they bid farewell. Summer rewarded the photographer with a peck on the check, along with a fifty-pound note.
“That was a bit cruel,” Dirk said as he hopped into a cab with Summer.
“I think he was pretty well compensated for just taking a few photographs.”
“True, but I don’t think it was quite the compensation he had in mind.”
They refrained from opening the envelope until they arrived at Charles Trehorne’s residence. They found the historian drinking tea with Perlmutter, served by Trehorne’s vivacious wife, Rosella.
“You two don’t look the worse for wear after your escapades this afternoon,” Perlmutter said. “You gave us quite a scare after you disappeared with that armed woman in pursuit.”
“We realized the fire alarm was a staged diversion so someone could get their hands on the file that Dr. Trehorne discovered,” Summer said.
“Who on earth would go to such extremes for some dusty old documents?” Trehorne asked.
“The same people who blew apart the Canterbury,” Dirk said. “The Russians.”
“I wish I’d have known that when I gave my report to the police,” Trehorne said. “Julien tells me you were forced to hand over the Archives’ folder on Sir Hunt.”
“I’m afraid so,” Summer said.
“That’s a pity. I didn’t have a chance to review the entire contents. I phoned Julien when I came across a report of Hunt taking a top secret document to St. Petersburg and I presumed we would find our answer.” He set down his tea and looked out the window at the lights across the Thames. “My friends at the Archives won’t be pleased, either.”
“We may have lost the original, but we do have this,” Summer said. She opened the manila envelope and pulled out a thin stack of page-sized photos.
Trehorne gazed at the top photo, of a letter handwritten by Hunt. “That was the first document in the binder.”
Summer nodded. “I found a photographer on the run who snapped pictures of the binder’s contents. Hopefully, he didn’t miss any pages.”
“Wonderful thinking,” Julien said.
“Oh, it cost us.” Dirk cast a sideways glance at Summer.
Trehorne held up the first photo and smiled. “This is almost as clear as the document itself. Let’s see what else we have in here.”