‘Is he good looking?’
Lily considered. ‘I’d say so … if you don’t mind the scar.’
‘Scar?’
Lily put up a hand and mimed raking it across her brow. ‘Tiger claw is what they say in the canteen. Silvery against the tanned skin.’
Phyl stared. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’d mind the scar. Is he much liked?’
‘Oh, yes, he is!’ Lily stopped short. Her response had been too ready and too warm. She tempered it with: ‘Well — as far as any of the upper echelons are ever popular with the men. Here’s your cocoa, Phyl. They like him, first because they actually think they know him — he goes out on the beat with them sometimes and talks to them. Remembers their wife’s name next time they meet and all that rot. And then — he’s active. Gets things done.’
‘You’ve got to admire that.’ Phyl spoke grudgingly. ‘What’s he stirring up at the moment?’
‘Several irons in the fire. He’s all in favour of getting the motorized division going and he’s running experiments — I’m not kidding — with radio telephone systems to install in the pursuit cars. They think soon they’ll be able to direct the drivers from the top floor of the Yard! I talked to one of the sergeants who’s training as a driver for the Flying Squad. He was full of information. Sandilands prides himself on what he calls his “hands-on” style. A bit too literally, according to the sergeant, when the hands in question are on the steering wheel of a car doing fifty miles an hour down Oxford Street. “Terrible driver but halfway human” seems to be the verdict.’
‘And what do you make of him, this half-human Jehu who likes to get his hands on things?’
‘Oh, he presents himself well. Good tailoring but nothing flamboyant. Neat haircut, army wrist-watch. Looks like a soldier in civvies.’ And, reprimanded by Phyl’s arched eyebrow, she added: ‘Well, he has a very nice smile.’