Jerry’s heart sank. He looked up and down the street nervously, his forehead now beaded with drops of sweat. He was dispirited, perplexed and strangely anxious. His heart was pounding. Could Jacob see him?
The phone was ringing again, vibrating in Jerry’s hand. He answered it.
“Hi, we cannot let these calls last too long Jerry. Now, can you hear me clearly now? … You may speak, yes or no, Jerry?”
“Good, that’s marvelous. Now Jerry I want you to walk to Covent Garden and find the New London Theatre. I want you to stand outside and wait for me there. Do you think you can manage that? It should take you 10/15 minutes. I will ring you again in 20. Is that clear?”
Jerry was feeling nautious and wet with sweat, his head had started to throb but he wanted to meet this fascinating man now more than ever.
“Yes, I think I can manage that. I know where that is. I’m heading there now”
The line went dead again.
He turned, heading back to the station as he knew he needed to cross Kingsway and was pretty sure if he walked down Long Acre he was going to make Drury Lane in 15 minutes. He had worked in this area when a young man, as a messenger for Woman’s Magazine but his memory was a little hazy and the area had changed a lot.
He quickened his pace as the cold wind blew across his face and he welcomed the cooling blast for his face was now streaming and he felt hot in this overcoat. He wiped his forehead with his coat sleeve as he mumbled to himself – ‘Charley Malloy? What are you on matey? What is your problem? Why can you never keep your head straight?’
He had crossed the road and set off toward Long Acre when the silken voice again interrupted his thought train.
“Jerry, how nice to meet you at last.”
Another gust of forceful and icy wind buffeted Jerry as he turned to see who was speaking. It was a younger man also wearing an overcoat who had been walking behind him. He had sleek, very dark hair, almost black and oily, a chiseled profile with a square jaw, a sort of Mediterranean complexion and his clothes were sharp and business like if not a little dated. Jerry felt he might have stepped out of a quirky, 70’s caper movie. He wore a crisp white shirt with a dark tie, polished brogue shoes and as if by some strange coincidence, he wore a pair of leather gloves not unlike Jerry’s.
One of those leather-gloved hands was now extended to Jerry as the man’s face came toward him and opened with a warm flashing smile.
“Hullo”, the handsome man said, “you must be Jerry, I am Jacob Vorst.”