The German undertaking industry was booming.
However, a lot of this work was going on without Patric’s knowledge, and his main concern was to get Joanie back from the hospital ship ASAP, so that he could more closely monitor her recovery – Ann Fletcher permitting!
Whilst he waited for Joanie and John Stubbins to arrive in Brussels on the 3pm helicopter transfer, he decided to start his search for the Ann Fletcher double.
He rode the lift down to the administrative floor, which dealt with listing and categorising UK survivors. These were the people who had made it safely back across the channel, either under their own steam or by rescue helicopter. He approached the senior clerk, explained who he was, and requested access to the files that identified the survivors.
This was a real bonus for Patric, as he could now search in detail for any member of his and Joanie’s extended families.
‘It's straightforward, really,’ explained the admin clerk. ‘Every survivor has been medically checked, interviewed, photographed and has completed a fairly comprehensive questionnaire detailing their experiences.’
‘Yes,’ replied Patric, ‘I went through the process myself.’
‘Oh,’ apologised the clerk, ‘I didn’t know. I haven’t met many actual survivors – and you don’t really look like one of them. I'm just a civil servant and was in the Brussels Embassy when the snow started. Please help yourself, and if you have any problems, any at all, please come back to me.’
‘Thank you,’ smiled Patric, ‘but as I said before, this is not for my personal research, I'm here on behalf of the Prime Minister’s office.’
‘Whatever I can do to help,’ repeated the clerk.
Patric turned away and sat at the computer station provided for his use, and began his search for a blond forty-something who might be able to act the part.
The files were harrowing.
The system was well organised and he was able to search by name, age, profession and sex. So he started with females aged forty to fifty.
After fifteen minutes of scrolling through the photographs of the survivors in this category, he was almost reduced to tears. The women pictured were emaciated, exhausted and without any real spirit. It was like watching the concentration camp films from the end of the Second World War.
It was truly horrific and he knew immediately that his ‘double’ would not come from these survivors.
Therefore, he would need to search the refugees in the transit camps and amongst the current employees of the UKRA. He discovered from his friend the civil servant that these files were on the next two floors above, and he should visit his colleagues in those offices. He provided Patric with two names and wished him well, apologising that he couldn’t be of more assistance.
‘Not to worry. It's not your fault.’
Patric decided that he'd had enough for one day and set off for the hospital, where he could wait for Joanie’s arrival.
She was on time and walked into the allocated ward with little assistance. John Stubbins settled her in and came into the general reception area to meet up with Patric.
They shook hands warmly, as Patric profusely thanked his old golfing partner.
‘I really can't express my gratitude, John.’
‘It's of no consequence, Patric. Once we had her on the antibiotics, it was only a matter of time before she recovered. It will be some weeks before she’s fully up and running, but if she can be persuaded to rest, her prognosis is first class.’
Patric was greatly relieved and asked when he could see his wife.
‘You will be called over the hospital PA system. She is on Ward 5B on the third floor. It shouldn’t be too long.’
‘That's brilliant. Have you got time for a coffee, John?’ offered Patric, desperate for a chat.
‘Actually, no, I'm afraid. I'm in surgery in less than an hour – but I am free tomorrow evening. Do you fancy dinner? Joanie will still be bed-ridden, so she won't mind.’
‘That's excellent, John. I’ll leave a message here for you at reception with details of where and when to meet. I need to be clear of my boss before I can venture out.’
‘Oh dear, have you picked up a tartar for your protection job?’
Patric was non-committal.
‘I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. It's a long story and getting weirder by the hour.’
‘I'm intrigued. See you tomorrow evening, but now I must dash. Bye, Patric.’
They re-shook hands, and John hurried away leaving Patric to wait for his call, which came fifteen minutes later. He walked up to ward 5B and was re-united with Joanie - and her demeanour and appearance were staggering. She had colour in her cheeks, had put on weight and sported a bright smile on her face. She was certainly on the mend.
They embraced warmly and chatted excitedly for twenty minutes. Patric explained all about his new job, his new boss, the new car, the promotion and the new apartment. It was all very exciting and they both realised how lucky they had been when they glanced around the ward.
There were some desperately ill people populating the beds surrounding the couple.
It was now that Joanie introduced her new friend to her husband, who lay, pretending not to eavesdrop, in the next bed.
‘Patric, this is Bryan Wester. Hero and knifing victim!’
‘I'm very pleased to meet you Bryan,’ said Patric, holding out his hand in friendship.
‘You too, squire,’ replied Bryan, squeezing Patric’s hand just a little too hard.
‘Bryan has been keeping me company on the ship, cheering me up with his stories and jokes. It's been a real tonic.’
‘Well, then, I'm indebted to you Bryan. Any friend of Joanie’s is a friend of mine.’
Bryan looked mildly embarrassed at the compliment. He was also usually quite nervous when around police officers – and from what he'd heard by listening to their conversation, Patric was pretty senior. However, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Bryan saw an opportunity to advance himself.
‘It was my pleasure, sir. Joanie’s a lovely girl – and been through a lot by the sound of it.’
‘Haven’t we all, Bryan? But what's your story? How did you get out alive?’
‘Just barely, I can tell you. But that can wait for another day. I'm sure you want to chat with Joanie. We can talk about me another time. I'm just about ready to leave here now. Fit as a fiddle – me!’
Patric took the hint and realised that Bryan would be looking for a favour at some time in the future – and if he could help, he would. So, he turned back to Joanie, who smiled and whispered:
‘Is there anything you can do for Bryan? You must have contacts in UKRA by now. Nothing special – but just a leg up.’
Patric exhaled, but grinned at his fast recovering wife.
‘I’ll see what I can do. Now, let's talk about you and find out when you are coming home.’
Day 35
Saturday 18th January
UKRA – Combined Services Club - Brussels
As Patric departed the hospital, he called in at reception and wrote a short note for Doctor John Stubbins. He arranged to meet for dinner the next evening at 8pm at the UKRA CSC – Combined Services Club. It was a large hotel given over to the British for their exclusive use. The owners – an international chain – were glad of the rental income and left their staff in place, and UKRA paid the salaries out of the income from donations and profits.
It had been decided that senior administrative staff, politicians, police officers and the military needed somewhere to relax and wind down in each other’s company after each days traumatic workload. So most evenings the two restaurants and three bars were increasingly frequented by the men and women who were involved in the major decision-making. They were entitled to bring guests – but only two at a time – and British citizens only. Dame Ann did not want tongues loosened by excess alcohol revealing any plans the British may be working on – especially Operation Auric.
Therefo
re, as Patric was a very senior police officer he booked a table for two and arrived at the club at 7.30pm, after briefly visiting Joanie in hospital. Dame Ann had finished with him for the day and required transport home at midnight, so he had plenty of time for dinner with John. She was aware of his whereabouts in case of an emergency or change in plans.
He queued at the bar for some time before being served. When, eventually, the harassed barman turned his attention to Patric, he sighed loudly as he poured the drink.
‘What's the problem?’ queried Patric
The barman looked up and complained bitterly.
‘The manager, his deputy and two of the waiting staff were involved in a car accident this morning, so we’re four people short and there's chaos in the kitchen. No leadership and everyone is becoming frazzled, to say the least.’
‘Oh, I'm sorry,’ sympathised Patric, but stored the information away for possible further use.
Patric sipped his tardy Evian sparkling water as he waited, seated in an exceptionally deep and comfortable armchair, when suddenly a familiar face strolled into the bar. Patric couldn’t place the young army officer for a second or two and then recalled who he was. It was the Para he saw at Volkel on the morning he drove Dame Ann to Amsterdam.
Patric stood up, walked up to the bar on the pretence of ordering another drink and engaged the chap in conversation.
‘Good evening, it's warmer in here than the other morning in Holland,’ ventured Patric.
The army officer turned and gave him a blank stare of complete puzzlement and replied tersely:
‘I'm sorry, I think you must be confusing me with someone else.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. Anyway, I'm Patric Silver, personal protection officer to Dame Ann Fletcher. I was waiting outside in her car when you arrived at Volkel.’
Patric offered his hand, which Ross Bryant shook firmly, relaxing somewhat as he replied.
‘Oh, yes! It was rather cold. I'm Ross Bryant, and I also work for Dame Ann. I'm sorry to have been so cautious, but necessity dictates vigilance these days.’
Patric smiled warmly.
‘I understand completely. Dame Ann does have her secret ways! Can I buy you a drink?’
Ross smiled, his immediate alarm dissipating and requested a Scotch Whisky. Patric ordered, paid for the drinks and invited Ross to join him, as he appeared to be alone.
‘Are you dining, Ross?’ asked Patric.
‘Well, I haven’t booked a table, but yes, that's the intention.’
Patric welcomed the chance to chat to another Fletcher acolyte, so invited Ross to join him, and after accepting the offer, Patric walked over to the bar and changed his booking from two to three places.
‘Did you get caught by the snow Ross?’ ventured Patric.
‘Well, yes and no. I did a little job for her ladyship and am now on her staff as a result. However, I can't complain – yet!’ he laughed.
‘I see a DSO on your chest. Is that one of Ann’s little rewards? She promoted me far in excess of necessity to Commander. She's a hard task master, but looks after her boys.’
Ross wasn’t so sure.
‘Until they become expendable and then it's inevitably curtains,’ he snarled sceptically.
‘Oh,’ said Patric, ‘why do you say that?’
Ross had already said too much and started to backtrack.
‘Perhaps I’ve been indiscrete. I don’t really know you and the CSC is not really the place to slag off the deputy Prime Minister. She's got bloody ears everywhere – and you could be two of them.’
Patric smiled again.
‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I'm just doing a job. Without Ann Fletcher I'd be in one of those wretched camps – but that's as far as my loyalty goes. I won't be telling any tales out of school.’
Ross eyed up Patric and made an instant decision. He liked him and perhaps he could be an ally. But he would still be circumspect until he knew him a little better.
At that point John Stubbins walked into the club and Patric made the introductions and fetched them all another drink. At 8pm they trooped into dinner and ordered from the ‘a la carte’ menu. It was certainly good food and the wines were top notch as well. Prices were very reasonable, so they pushed the boat out and called for a bottle of Moet & Chandon.
As their starters arrived, Ross looked up and was startled to see Andy Brady, Chloe Fletcher and Chris Townsend saunter into the restaurant and take their seats. They hadn’t noticed Ross and he debated whether to acknowledge their presence. However, the decision was quickly made for him, as Chloe spotted Ross as she scanned the room for a waiter.
She sprang out of her chair and almost sprinted over to Ross, who stood up as Chloe thrust her arms out and gave him a huge, welcoming hug.
‘Ross, what are you doing here, and I thought you were a sergeant. You're an officer now!’
Before he could reply, Brady and Chris were at his side, pumping his hands and slapping his back. Of course, they hadn’t met since they landed that day at Brussels airport. A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then.
John and Patric had stared in amazement at the scene unfolding before their eyes, and eventually introduced themselves, and in the circumstances invited the three newcomers to join the party. They readily accepted and Patric instructed the staff to convert their table to six and take an order for starters, and requested another bottle of Moet.
Chloe babbled excitedly whilst Ross sat embarrassed at the unmerited attention he was receiving.
‘Did you know Patric that Ross and my father, Andrew, rescued us from the snow’
‘Oh, did he now? That must have been quite a trick. How did you manage that Andy?’ queried Patric with a hint of surprise in his tone.
Brady hesitated before replying, but decided that it really didn’t matter who knew the facts.
‘Chloe is Dame Ann Fletcher’s daughter – and mine of course – and she ‘arranged’ for us to be dropped back into London to pull Chloe and Chris’s family out of the snow It's quite a story. Ross was the real hero though, and I see that Lieutenant’s pips and a sparkling new DSO are his reward. All I got was a promotion to Group Captain!’
Patric was flabbergasted.
What were the chances of three very close aides to Dame Ann and her daughter all meeting and having dinner together?
John Stubbins chimed in at this point to make the accidental meeting even spookier.
‘Well, it seems that there is some peculiar force at work here. I'm in Brussels to carry out a small surgical procedure tomorrow – on guess who? Yes – Dame Ann Fletcher.’
All six sitting at the table were dumbstruck and after five seconds or so, all started to talk at once.
‘Whoa!’ insisted Patric. ‘Let's all tuck into our starters and go round the table, one by one, and divulge our stories. It should make interesting listening – and if no one objects, I’ll kick off.’
There was general assent and as the three extra starters arrived, Patric proposed a toast. ‘Safely out of the snow!’
They all clinked glasses and sipped their champagne, whilst Patric began the account of his and Joanie’s escape.
Everyone, except maybe Ross, listened in awe as the tales were re-told, and they had finished their coffees and liqueurs by the time John Stubbins had finished the final story, describing his family’s flight from Cyprus.
They were all firm friends by this juncture, and even Ross had relaxed and enjoyed his evening of reminiscing. Of course, he kept back several salient points and Brady had noticed that his broad Geordie accent had mysteriously disappeared. This puzzled Brady and he determined to challenge Ross about it at a more convenient moment.
Only Patric and John were ‘sober’, as Patric had to pick up Dame Ann at midnight, and John was operating in the morning. However, they all agreed to meet up again, and after John revealed that Joanie would be released from hospital into Patric’s care on Monday morning, Patric invited everyone to his flat for
drinks on Tuesday evening to meet her. They all accepted the invitation and the group broke up at around 11:20pm and went their separate ways, shaking hands and hugging Chloe.
Patric drove over to the UKRA building and picked up Dame Ann, delivered her to her apartment block and dropped her off in the usual manner. She gave him his instructions for the next morning.
‘7am tomorrow, Commander, and we’ll be going directly to the main Brussels outpatients department. I am visiting some of the survivors. You won't be required until noon as hospital security will escort me around the wards. It's tiresome I know, but it has to be done. Hearts and minds you know – it's important I suppose?’
Patric hid his surprise at her duplicity and acknowledged his new instructions before driving home.
‘She's definitely up to bloody something,’ he swore to himself, ‘perhaps this Ross Bryant or Andrew Brady can answer some questions?’
However, he'd have to wait until Tuesday evening to discover whether he could expose some of the mystery surrounding this woman.
***
Ross Bryant left the CSC in somewhat of a daze.
He, too, could not really believe the huge coincidence involved with the ‘chance’ meeting – and this made him suspicious.
However, he had warmed to the group and they seemed genuine enough, so he decided to do a little digging into their backgrounds before attending the soiree at Patric Silver’s apartment on Tuesday evening – which at this stage he fully intended to do.
Perhaps Brady and Silver could be of use – especially Andy, as Ross could not be in four places at once when supervising Operation Auric. Brady should be cleared to the highest levels and as an ex-husband of Dame Ann, she might authorise his temporary and limited involvement.
In any case, he'd check with her at the next update briefing.
***
When Patric visited Joanie on Sunday morning to give her the good news, he took the opportunity to chat with Bryan Wester.
‘How are you really feeling, Bryan?’
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 87
