At the turn-off for the London road, just before the pub, he braked and paused, and only when someone honked behind him was the decision made for him, and he drove on, down the hill and into the driveway of The Glebe.
Nurse appeared at the sound of his tyres on the gravel, almost as though she had been listening out for him.
‘Well, Frederick, we didn’t expect to see you so soon. How long is it now?’
‘About six weeks, I suppose. I was hoping to see some of the others.’
‘Our Geoffrey left when you did.’
‘No,’ said Troy. ‘He left weeks before me. It was Alfie left when I did. The day before, in fact. I suppose I was wondering about the General.’
‘We lost the General.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘He didn’t make it.’
The almost military style of the euphemism startled him.
‘When?’
‘This morning. About six thirty. He was not responding to treatment. His heart and kidneys were weak . . .’
‘Is he still here?’
‘Yes. We don’t have a morgue. He’s laid out in one of the single wards.’
‘Can I see him?’
She thought for a second. Another of her little battles with her sense of authority.
‘I don’t know. Some people are shocked by the fact of death. Have you ever seen a dead person?’
‘I’ve seen more corpses than I can count. I’m a policeman.’
The mask slipped just a fraction. ‘You kept pretty quiet about that. OK. Follow me.’
His sparse hair was neatly brushed and combed, his moustaches trimmed, his hands crossed on his belly, his skin waxen, all but translucent. His eyelids looked older than parchment, beaten thin by time. Only the rims and lobes of his elephantine ears showed colour where the blood had pooled blue at extremity. It was corny but it was the only thing that occurred. The old man looked as though he were sleeping.
Troy had thought this and moved on to nothing more profound than the residue of his own affection for the old man. Nurse peeked over.
‘It’s the passing of an era, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘When one of them goes.’
It was as blithely trite, as barren of thought as anything he’d ever heard her utter, but it was accurate. As unerringly accurate as she’d be when she said the same thing at the passing of General Eisenhower or Field Marshal Montgomery or Churchill. In their passing, passed the era. And God alone knew what kept Churchill alive.