Free The Samurai Inheritance by James Douglas Page A

gave an involuntary flutter when he realized the identity of the caller.
    ‘Dr Ross,’ he managed to keep his tone neutral, ‘I didn’t expect to hear from you again.’
    ‘And I didn’t expect to be calling you ,’ she laughed, but it sounded a little forced to Jamie’s ears. ‘It seemed very unlikely that I could help. But your puzzle intrigued me and I did a little more digging. I think I may have something.’
    ‘Yes?’ He doubted the laconic monosyllable was the reaction she expected, but the prospect of meeting Magda Ross again caused mixed emotions. He wasn’t sure how he should react and her next suggestion only compounded his confusion.
    ‘I thought perhaps it might even be worth you buying me lunch.’
    Jamie blinked. ‘Did you have anywhere in mind?’
    ‘Yes, but I hope you are not a vegetarian.’
    The Grill Royal turned out to be not far from the hotel, on a riverside terrace just off Friedrichstrasse, by the Weidendamm Bridge. It had been across the Weidendamm that Martin Bormann, Hitler’s right-hand man, made his fateful and ultimately fatal bid to escape Berlin. Jamie couldn’t look at the bridge without seeing the single Tiger tank roaring forward into an ambush of Soviet anti-tank guns, followed by thousands of terrified refugees and soldiers. Most of the escapees had been mown down by the pitiless soldiers of the Red Army.
    As he walked into the understated foyer he reflected that a Tiger tank might come in handy to protect him during the coming meeting. Not so much from Magda Ross, but from himself. In spite of being, he considered, a perfectly intelligent specimen of the male of the species, women – Abbie Trelawney apart – had somehow managed to remain a constant mystery to him. He wasn’t altogether sure why. He hoped that would change with Fiona, but there were times when he felt hopelessly out of his depth. What was worse, even on short acquaintance Magda Ross had the same effect. Just being in the same room with her had been a drug on the senses.
    He’d done a little research on the venue after he’d agreed to the meeting. His first thought was that Dr Ross didn’t get out much, because she was certainly making the most of the opportunity. The Grill was part art house, part restaurant, and part place to be seen if you were a certain type of Berliner: the type with more money than you knew what to do with. Jamie had plenty of experience of upmarket restaurants in London and elsewhere, but the £150 steak was a new personal high – or low, depending on your point of view. If Magda had the same taste in wine she did food, Keith Devlin’s retainer was in for an interesting afternoon. He only hoped it was worth it.
    Undeterred, he marched briskly into the restaurant thinking virtuous thoughts that were immediately banished when he was confronted by the table she occupied. Magda Ross sat with her back against the wall directly below a larger-than-life picture of a pretty girl with her left nipple hanging provocatively from her top. Jamie was far from inexperienced with women, but the combination caused his steps to falter. His smile froze and even though he kept his eyes firmly on the woman at the table his expression must have told its own story. Magda turned and craned her neck to look at the picture on the wall behind before facing him with a wry grin.
    ‘Don’t get any ideas, Mr Saintclair,’ she warned. ‘This is none of my doing. You can blame it on the drooling waiter across there. He claims this is the last seat in the house, but I have my doubts about his motives.’
    Taking his seat with as much decorum as he could muster, Jamie looked over his shoulder to where a heavy-set young man in a white shirt did indeed only have eyes for table number nineteen. That would have been understandable even without the attraction of the mammarian study on the wall. Magda Ross looked as if she’d just stepped off a catwalk. She wore a suit of shimmering raw silk that exactly