Brighton Belle Read Online Free PDF Page A

flat on the Lawns
and she was familiar with the area, especially Adelaide Crescent with its majestic white Georgian terrace. Sometimes at the weekend she liked to walk round the Crescent and enjoy the view of the
sea. A couple of streets along, Second Avenue was residential – a series of fine Victorian pale brick houses with ornate architectural features – and today Mirabelle scanned both sides
of the road as she turned the corner and strode towards the sea. In the old days at the department they would have sent a car on this kind of stake-out. A car was the best cover, or a van, if you
couldn’t get into one of the houses nearby. Stopping at number 22, she hovered on the opposite side of the street, trying to look as if she was waiting for a cab to pick her up, or a friend
to come home.
    There was little remarkable about the house and, excepting the black crepe bow attached to the brass doorbell, there was not much to see. You have to be patient if you’re fishing,
Mirabelle thought, and settled against a low wall opposite. She had read several handbooks on surveillance and knew what to do though she had no practical experience – her role had always
been supportive and, for that matter, strategic. She had buzzed around the office at the department, always busy, for almost eight years, all told. As the cold stone penetrated her clothes and
numbed her buttocks she reminded herself that surveillance was about staying still. This was not in her nature. After about twenty minutes the front door opened and a smart older woman walked down
the tiled path. She was carrying a prescription. It looked as if the doctor was consulting. Mirabelle approached, formulating a plan as she smiled in greeting.
    ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘I was wondering if this is Dr Crichton’s house?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And do you mind me asking, is the doctor consulting today? Only I heard there was a bereavement.’
    ‘Well, I’ve just been to see him,’ the woman said. ‘I know he had a friend of the family staying. Poor soul. Both she and the baby were taken, I understand.’
    ‘Is the doctor in good spirits?’ Mirabelle enquired.
    ‘Seemed fine to me. Mind you, doctors must see that sort of thing all the time, I expect.’
    ‘Yes, of course. I wasn’t sure whether to disturb him. Thank you.’
    The woman disappeared up the road and Mirabelle continued to hover. Several vans passed to deliver groceries further up the street. In the bay window she thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of
a woman but she couldn’t make her out. Waiting for something to turn up was a time-consuming business. Mirabelle knew a successful stake-out could take days or even weeks and she felt
frustrated because she couldn’t leave the office unmanned much longer than lunchtime – it wouldn’t be fair to Ben. Going by the book, she knew that she should monitor the pattern
of life in the house for at least a day or two before even attempting to gain entry. But it was clear that if she wanted to make progress quickly she might have to take some chances. This, however,
wasn’t a war and Mirabelle assured herself that her life wasn’t at risk. It was a doctor’s surgery, for heaven’s sake! The best plan, she decided, was to simply wing it and
go in. There would probably be an explanation for everything, the minute she got inside. Resolve hardened, she climbed the steps.
    The bell was answered by a housemaid dressed in a black uniform with a white apron. She looked tearful.
    ‘Excuse me,’ Mirabelle said, casting her gaze over the dark red hallway behind the girl. ‘I am very sorry to bother you, but I wondered if the doctor might see me.’
    ‘Surgery is over at eleven,’ the maid said promptly. ‘And he’s not NHS today. That’s Thursdays and Fridays only.’
    Mirabelle checked her wristwatch again though she knew the time. It was ten minutes past.
    ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Gosh, my watch is running slow. It’s taken me a while to get