Remember Me?

Lady Sylvia Vaughan looked out over the Thames from the office of Lord Ambrose Vaughan, MP for Greyminster, as she sorted through his mail. She checked it for junk mail, then constituency mail, and other policical stuff, all the while hoping that it wouldn't be long before her brother got himself a proper secretary. But he had not expected to be elected, and so nothing was in place yet. Still, after life with the Green Man, this was the most boring thing on earth. Looking away from the river, she turned her attention back to the mail.

Only to almost drop everything, as she found a letter addressed to herself. Typed on an old manual typewriter, it was an invitation for her to meet someone in the Victoria Tower gardens, that green space lying between the Palace of Westminster and Lambeth bridge. The letter was not even signed. By all rights, she should have ignored it, but bored people often do things they shouldn't, and so, at the stated hour, Lady Sylvia Vaughan was stood in the Victoria Tower Gardens, wondering just who had written to her, and why.

And, more importantly, just how she was supposed to know who it was. After all, there had been no signature on the letter. And the number of people in the gardens was always fairly substantial. Mostly tourists, and, on good days, people having their lunches (although she preferred a nice little Cafe near the Home Office). That made it safe, however, for surely no-one would try to attack her in such a public place, where every building overlooking her was in some way connected to the business of Government?

"I see you came, lassie."

A familiar voice caused Lady Sylvia to start. She turned round, a smile on her pretty face, to see a patrician figure in bark suit and bowler hat, carrying a cane, rather than an umbrella.

"Sir Richard Arcos!" she exclaimed. "You wrote that letter?"

"All on my own," Sir Richard gave her a courtly bow. "I apologise profusely for any howlers in the spelling, of course. After all, I am used to having a girl do the typing for me. But this is a rather sensitive matter. Hence meeting you here, rather than at the House of Commons or my place."

"What's wrong?" Lady Sylvia moved closer to the old gentleman.

"Nothing, my dear," Sir Richard shook his head. "Absolutely nothing. I simply need your help in a little matter - a little matter that could see us both in prison."