The Boys in Blue Ch. 03

"Do you mind if I have the radio on sir?" Jack asked, "I'd like to know what the traffic reports are saying. There are reports that there's fog coming in from the South."

"No, not at all," replied Robert.

"It won't disturb you sir," said Jack, with that he pressed a button and the glass panel closed him off from the front of the vehicle.

Looking out of the windows, he could see low dark clouds on the skyline. Definitely, not flying weather, he thought to himself, already he could see the mist forming in the fields.

Within ten minutes they ran into the start of a fog bank, their speed dropping off as they joined other traffic.

The partition slid noiselessly open, "It's just been announced that their closing Gatwick, and Heathrow and Stansted will be next," Jack reported.

He continued, "The met bloke on the radio says something about warm south air is in contact with a cold front from the north centred over London. It looks like we could be in for a long drive sir."

"Leave the partition open Jack I'd like to hear what is happening," Robert asked.

Soon reports began flooding over the radio of traffic jams from Basingstoke up to Luton and the fog appeared to get getting thicker.

The police were appealing to people that didn't need to travel to stay indoors. Heathrow and Stansted were closed and thousands which had hoped to fly were left to find accommodation for the night.

By six pm, they had covered less than thirty miles.

By the time, they joined the M11 it was grid locked. Reports said that London was completely snarled up with traffic, of people leaving their place of work trying to get home.

"I'm afraid you are going to be late reaching your hotel sir." Jack said.

"That can't be helped," replied Robert.

The pain began as an ache in his calf, but quickly spread up through the leg, he tried flexing his toes, but it didn't help; he knew then it was going to be a bad attack.

A thin film of perspiration covered his forehead.

When he could stand the pain no longer, he reached into his pocket for the pill bottle.

"Does Sir Royston have anything to drink in here?" Inquired Robert.

"In the centre cubby sir," said Jack.

Robert had noticed the large leather consul that divided the back seat, pressing it down; it opened to reveal two cut glass crystal decanters with matching tumblers.

Two silver disks announced that one contained Brandy and the other Whiskey.

Robert poured some of the Brandy, into a tumbler, taking a swig with a capsule in his mouth, he washed it down.

"If you want to smoke sir there's Cuban cigars in the humidor at the back of the cubby," Jack informed him.

"Thanks Jack, but I'm a cigarette man myself," not that Robert smoked many at all.

Jack reached over to the glove compartment, "will these do," passing over a new packet of Dunhill, "I always keep a spare packet handy."

"You must let me pay for them."

"That's quite all right sir, no need at all," replied Jack.

Robert cracked open his window, then lit a cigarette with the cigar lighter; he coughed at his first lung full of smoke.

Whether, it was the capsule, the brandy or the cigarette or a combination of all three, but the pain had dulled to an acceptable level.

By now night had fallen, dim orange glows of light indicated where the motorway lights were suspended along the road.

The journey had resorted, to stop go movements of a few yards.

Robert tried to sleep, he felt tired, but the constant stop start motion of the car, and the pain prevented him.

By the time, they had reached the out skirts of London they had become completely grid locked.

Car hooters were sounding; people were losing tempers, and the police were fighting a losing battle, to try and keep the traffic moving.

They spent over an hour in one traffic jam before moving.

By the time they finally drove on to the fore court of the hotel it was eleven forty-five.

Robert shrugged on his great coat, to lessen the effect of cold damp air; every bone in his body seemed to be protesting,

Jack retrieved his case from the boot and accompanied him in to the foyer, placing the case down by the reception desk he turned to Robert.

"Will you be OK, now sir?"

"Fine now thanks Jack, but what about you. Do you have to get back tonight?"

"No sir I'll be all right, I have a mate, who lives across the river, who will put me up, and he has a lock up so the Bentley will be all right."

Shaking hands, he said, "Good luck for tomorrow sir, make us all proud". And then he was gone.

A young man in his early twenties appeared behind the desk, "Can I help you at all sir?"

"I'm Flight Lieutenant Barlow, I believe you are holding a reservation for me." Robert replied.

The young man consulted a computer screen, his fore head creasing into a frown. After several seconds, he said, "If you will follow me I'll take you through to the bar whilst we sort out your room."

Coming from behind the desk, he picked up Robert's case; Robert followed him leaning heavily on his walking stick.

He led the way into a large bar area that was full of comfortable chairs and tables, but was quite empty of customers.

The only person present was the bar man, who seemed to be occupied cleaning up.

The young man leaned over the bar and seemed to have an animated conversation with the bar man. Breaking away, he returned to Robert, who was still standing leaning heavily on his stick.

"James will look after you sir, order what you will, compliments of the hotel." With that, he dashed away.

Robert limped over to the bar where his case had been placed, the barman; James was waiting to take his order.

Jimmy White was forty-eight years old; he'd worked has a barman for twenty-six of those years.

He started out working for his uncle in his pub in the East end and found he enjoyed the job. He'd studied, and could talk knowledgeably about beer, spirits, or wine.

He prided himself that there was no cocktail that he couldn't make.

He was also a student of human nature, able to weigh up the personality of his customers, and the Officer standing in front of him looked worn out and sick.

"What will it be sir?"

"Err," Robert was finding it hard to concentrate. Rummaging in his greatcoat pockets, to find some money, his hand fell on the Dunhill packet he placed it on the bar to continue his search.

"Its ok, sir the drink is on the hotel," James informed him.

"Oh, thank you, I'll have a Jameson if I may."

"Coming right up," James hesitated, "If you would like to smoke I think I can find you a place without you, going outside. I know it's against regulations, but I won't tell if you don't." James said with a smile.

He came from behind the bar, seeing the suitcase he picked it up. "Follow me sir."

Robert moved along the bar through an archway into a much smaller room that was in darkness, the only light being a glow from the lights in the main room.

James moved to a small cubical with a recessed arch at the end of the bar, pressing a button by the wall a soft glow lit the small table, he pressed another button, and the low hum indicated that the extract fan set into the arch way was working.

"I'll go and get you your drink and an ash tray sir," said James preparing to leave.

"Do you have any matches please?" asked Robert.

"No problem sir."

Robert sank down into the leather couch that was set into the cubical.

After placing his hat on the table, he spotting a stool on the other side of it. He pulled it round and placed his right leg on it, his leg almost touching the bar.

What's taking reception so damn long, he thought, he'd never felt so tired and the persistent throb from his leg didn't improve matters.

James returned with a tray bearing his drink, which to Robert's eye seemed to be a very good measure, a glass ashtray and a book of matches. Placing them all on the table.

"Now if there's anything else you need just raise your hand sir, and I'll come."

"Thank you, you've been very helpful," Robert replied.

"Not at all sir."

He was on his fourth cigarette when he was alerted by noise and laughter, and four people swept into the main room of the bar.

They appeared to be two women and two men; the men appeared to be wearing black dickey bows with white silk scarves over their overcoats. The women were wearing long dresses under their coats.

They disappeared from view moving further into the room.

Late night revellers after a nightcap, Robert, reasoned.

He was lighting his fifth cigarette, knowing that he was chain smoking, when one of the women approached the bar.

She said something to James, who ducked down behind the bar.

She was standing with her hands resting on the bar looking at the rows of bottles that crowded the shelves behind the bar, has her eyes moved along the shelves, she suddenly became aware of Robert sat in the alcove.

She seemed to stare at Robert for several seconds he couldn't see her face clearly but it appeared to be frowning.

Oh God, he thought the anti-smoking lobby has hit town.

I know at the moment I'm not a suitable candidate for an RAF recruitment poster, but lady, I don't give a damn, he thought smiling to himself.

James had reappeared with what looked like a Champaign bottle and started to prepare an ice bucket, all the while the woman was talking to him, and he was answering her back, a couple of times they glanced to where Robert sat.

By now, he knew the alcohol was taking its effect; it was beginning to be difficult to focus his eyes.

James was preparing a tray when the woman left the bar walking out to the lobby.

She's gone to complain Robert realised; this is going to drop James in the shit.

A few minutes later she reappeared passing out of sight, has she re-joined the others in her party.

Right on cue the young receptionist came into the bar, striding purposely to where Robert sat.

"When you are ready sir, your room is now ready."

Robert was taken back; he'd expected a rocket from the young man.

"I'm ready now," he mumbled.

"If you would like to follow me, I'll show you to it."

With that, he picked up Robert's case; he paused has Robert gathered up his things from the table, picking up the walking stick Robert limped after him.

As he passed James at the bar, he stopped. "Thank you James, for your kindness. I hope I haven't got you into trouble."

"No sir, and it was my pleasure to serve you."

Robert ignored the party sat at the table, but was conscious that they were watching him.

The lift stopped; the young receptionist walked a few yards coming to a stop in front of a door; opening the door with a key card, he switched on the lights and moved to set his case on an ottoman, at the end of the bed.

"Will there be anything else sir?" He enquired.

Robert glanced at the Rolex; it was one twenty. "Can I have a call tomorrow at eight thirty?"

"Oh, course sir, if there is nothing else I'll wish you good night." For getting, it was already morning.

After the door, had closed, Robert switched off the main lights, with the bedside consul panel and switched on the bedside table light.

He stripped off letting his clothes fall to the floor, when he was down to his shorts he pulled back the duvet and collapses on to the bed; he was asleep in seconds.

*********

The sound of the telephone woke him, reaching for it, he realising he'd left the bedside table light on all night.

The voice at the other end informed him it was his morning call and did he require anything else.

He thought for a second trying to get his bearings. "Yes a large pot of tea and some toast please."

"Very well sir," the voice replied breaking the connection.

Robert climbed out of the bed, moving to the window he drew back the curtains.

The fog had gone as quickly as it had appeared, revealing a bright winter morning.

Looking back into the room, he was aghast to see his clothes scattered all over the floor. Not like me he thought ruefully, crossing over to his case he unzipped it and found his wash case, and made his way to the bathroom.

He stood under the shower, alternating the water between hot and cold letting the fierce jets of water revive him, after shaving and cleaning his teeth, thankful, that the fur ball, that had seemed to be in his mouth was gone.

He slipped into a towelling bathrobe that was hanging by door, and stepped from the bathroom.

A woman was rummaging through a drawer of the cabinet. She appeared to be wearing a long white dress; there was something familiar about her.

"Can I help you?" he said in a stern voice.

She swung round alarmed at his voice, "Oh, I did knock, but there was no response; I thought you must have been at breakfast only I need to change my clothes."

Robert broke in "Are you sure you have the right room madam?"

"Yes of course I am," she frowned "didn't they tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"That I'd," she stopped a sudden thought had occurred to her, her face flushed. "Oh, my God you must think I was trying to." She paused, "I think I had better explain."

"Yes I think you had better," Robert replied sternly.

She stepped from the cabinet, the light from the window falling on to her face. Robert was immediately drawn to her eyes; they were green and what he had thought was dark brown hair was, in fact,deep auburn.

He realised; she was really quite beautiful; her voice had a melodic reassurance to it.

"You see," she began, "this was my room, but when I saw you last night you look so worn out and ill that I decided to let you have it. You certainly looked like you needed a bed more than me."

"I don't understand," said Robert, "this room had been booked for me."

She smiled, "From what James the bar man told me, when you hadn't arrived at six someone on reception fouled up, and re booked it out. I don't think there was a spare hotel room available anywhere in London last night, what with airline passengers and people who couldn't get home due to the fog."

"So what you are saying is there was no room for me."

"Yes it seemed that receptionist was thrown into a right state when you turned up. All the rooms had been booked solid."

Robert frowned trying to digest what she had said; finally he asked "So where did you sleep?"

"Oh, I was all right I doubled up with Marge, my sister; it was like we were kids again," she said smiling.

He noticed that when she smiled dimples appeared at the corner of her mouth and her nose crinkled.

"It appears that I'm deeply in your debt. Miss err?"

"Teresa Kerr but please call me Terry."

"Well Terry, I honestly can't thank you enough, I was really worn out, last night, and it had been a long drive to get here. By the way, I'm Robert, Robert Barlow".

"I know," said Terry, "Your photograph, what you did in Afghanistan, and what's happening today has been in the papers for the last few days."

He looked surprised, "Never the less I am very grateful for what you did for me."

"That's all right, always glad, to support our boys in blue," she said smiling once more.

Trying to salvage the situation Robert said, "Look I've ordered some tea and toast would you like some, you could use the bathroom and change in there if you like."

"Well I could do with a shower, if you sure you don't mind, and my wash bags are already in there."

"Always glad to help a lady in distress."

They both laughed, her laugh was infectious

She returned to the cabinet after selecting some clothes then returned, "I'll try not to be too long."

"There's no rush, take your time."

After the bathroom door closed, Robert rang through to reception to amend his order, and then began to clean up the room of his clothing, seeing his Grange track suit he slipped out of the bathrobe and put it on.

He was hanging up his best uniform when there was a knock at the door.

A waiter entered carrying a tray after placing it on the coffee table by the window and receiving a tip from Robert he left.

He was pouring out a cup of tea for himself when Terry emerged from the bathroom.

She had changed into jeans and a royal blue polo shirt, and she'd tied her hair into a ponytail and for the first time Robert really noticed her figure.

She had long slim legs emphasised by the tightness of the jeans, her breasts were rounded but unlike the modern trend not too large. She must be about five foot seven or eight, quite tall for a girl he thought.

"Shall I be Mum?" he asked.

She chuckled "Please, white no sugar, do you mind if I pack my things I'm booking out today."

"Help yourself."

She reached into the wardrobe and took out a case, seeing Robert's case on the ottoman she placed hers on the bed.

"Don't let your tea go cold," warned Robert.

"Not be a minute there's not much to pack."

She returned to the table taking a seat opposite Robert, "There that didn't take long did it. There's only my wash bags to go in, then I'm done."

"Are you on holiday here in London?" She had a faint accent that he was struggling to place.

"No," she smiled," I live here in London, I've place in Chelsea."

Robert looked perplexed.

She continued, "We knew it would be a late night, it being the last night of the tour, and when the fog really started to thicken at five. John my manager, suggested over the phone that he book rooms for Marge and I here, knowing its only two hundred yards from the theatre, and it could be difficult getting back to Chelsea".

Suddenly he knew who she was.

"You're Teresa Kerr a sort of classical singer."

.

Terry chuckled "sort of, yes."

"Oh, what an idiot I am, of course, you sang at the Aid for Hero's concert at the Albert Hall."

She nodded.

Robert continued, "I'm not really into music or TV for that matter, preferring to read, but I remember seeing a poster advertising the event in Afghanistan," he said somewhat sheepishly.

"Thank goodness not all the public are like you, I'd go broke," she said bursting into laughter.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door; Robert went to answer it.

A tall man dressed in a black three-piece suit, clutching a bowler in one hand and a slim briefcase in the other, stood in the doorway.

"Flight Lieutenant Barlow, how do you do, I'm Captain Richard St John." Presenting a card from his waistcoat, the Grenadier Guards part on the card, confirmed Robert's suspicion of the man's tie.

"I'm with the palace staff, equerry actually," he said making his way into the room passed Robert.

Spotting Terry who was about to take a bite from a slice of toast in her hand.

"Good morning," he said nodding his head.

Terry merely nodded back.

"Oh, this is Miss Teresa Kerr. Terry, Captain St John." Robert said as a way of introduction.

"Well old boy," the Captain began, "I'm in a frightful rush today." Sitting down in Robert's chair uninvited.

He open the brief case and selected a slim folder; he continued "I know I should have seen you yesterday afternoon, but the blessed weather put paid to that. Now I have to dash around to see those who will be attending the investiture this morning, and I still have four more calls to make. So you will forgive me if we forego the pleasantries."

Opening the folder revealed a single sheet of paper and a card with what looked like the word Pass in bold letting.

He removed a gold Parker pen from his coat pocket and looking at Terry he said, "You did say Teresa Kerr?"

Robert nodded; He's recognised her; he thought.

He wrote something on the card then replaced his pen. "Well that just about does it", handing a sheet of paper and card to Robert, he said "I've organised a taxi for you, it will be outside reception at twelve forty five prompt. This outline's the do's and don'ts regarding Her Majesty. But some one-will be there to run you through the procedure when you arrive. You'll need to present the pass at the gate for the police to let you in. Any question's good." Not waiting, for Robert to reply.