8

‘Janey? Hello there … it’s me – Julia. How are you?’

‘Julia, what a lovely surprise. We’re fine, how are you? How’s the job? May said you were a big noise on the Herald now.’

‘Don’t take any notice of Mum, she exaggerates,’ Julia said. ‘Listen, I’ve got a week’s holiday due, and I wondered if you could stand having me to stay. I’m tired, actually I’ve been working flat out, and a breath of sea air and a few days with you and David would be heaven …’ She paused, praying that her cousins weren’t going on another trip, or coming to London to shop before Christmas.

Janey sounded delighted. ‘What a good idea – darling Julia, we’d be thrilled to have you. When do you want to come?’

Julia sighed with relief; her stomach had knotted with tension as she made the call. As she had said to Ben, this trip was crucial … and it had to seem completely unconnected with her work. An innocent holiday with relatives. That’s why a hotel wouldn’t do. King had used surveillance before, with fatal results for Jean Adams. She and Ben were sure they were still being followed. ‘Would Monday be too soon? I’m desperate for a break.’

‘You sound it,’ Janey Peterson remarked. ‘Monday would be lovely. Let us know what time your flight gets in and we’ll meet you. David will be thrilled … you’re such a favourite of his. Do you want to have a quiet time or shall I organize some jollity? It’s up to you.’

‘Whatever you like – so long as there aren’t any journalists!’

‘Nobody in your league over here,’ her cousin said. ‘I’ve boasted about you to all my friends for ages … now I can show you off. See you on Monday. Bye, Julia. Bye.’

They had retired to live in Jersey when David Peterson’s mother died, leaving him her house. They had been there for two years, and Julia had seen them on trips to London. They declared themselves blissfully happy on the lovely island. David Peterson had been a consultant at one of the big teaching hospitals, and had a thriving practice in Harley Street. He had abandoned what he described as the rat race of the National Health and private medicine in England for a similar job in Jersey. His mother was May Hamilton’s sister. He was fifteen years older than Julia and his wife Janey was a bouncy forty year old who was mad on tennis and sailing. They were a warm and friendly couple, and Julia had always got on very well with them. She pushed her hair back, making a mental note to get it cut before she left.

The Petersons knew everyone in Jersey. They were hospitable and popular. Their circle was not confined to the multi-millionaires who settled there for tax reasons. David’s mother had been a long-time resident, and her legacy entitled them to move to the island without the stringent financial conditions applied to the super rich. They could get her the introduction she needed. She called through to Ben at his office.

‘I’ve fixed up to go on Monday,’ she said. ‘I’m going up to see Western.’

On the other line Ben said, ‘Don’t be surprised when he makes it easy for you. She’ll have told him you’re on to something.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Julia bristled in Evelyn’s defence. ‘She wouldn’t do that …’

Ben didn’t answer. He just said, ‘I’m glad you’ve fixed it, but I wish you’d let me come with you.’

Julia said, ‘No, darling. My mother called this morning. She thinks you’re great. So do I.’ She hung up and dialled through to Western’s private number, and arranged to go up and see him in an hour.

‘I can’t see why you need to take time off,’ William Western said. ‘All you’ve done is help Stevens put together a feature on blackmail among MPs that anybody could have written.’ He stared at her accusingly.

‘The feature’s explosive,’ Julia protested. ‘Everyone says so.’

‘I’m the one that matters, and I don’t think so,’ he snapped. ‘If you hadn’t hooked Leo Derwent there’d be no excuse at all.’

‘He’s already given us valuable information,’ she countered.

‘Nothing I didn’t know already,’ Western remarked. ‘I knew about the deal King’s putting together in the States. Whether he’s bringing in that ghastly daughter to take over from him is irrelevant to me. So is the Life Peerage. He’s out for my head, and so far nothing’s been dug up to stop him. Now you come and ask for a holiday … my wife said you were tired and needed a break. I said it was bloody nonsense.’

He waited. Evelyn had primed him carefully. ‘You’re supposed to think it’s genuine, Billy. I said I’d persuade you she would benefit from a few days away. Don’t let her see you know there’s a reason behind it. Be nasty. She’ll expect that.’ Evelyn was his right arm, he thought. Shrewd, invaluable in situations where feminine judgement was so superior to his own. And ruthless, as he said. She liked Julia, that was genuine. But she would sacrifice her without a qualm on his behalf.

Evelyn Western hadn’t betrayed her trust, Julia decided. She had kept her word, in spite of Ben’s suspicions. ‘Lord Western,’ she said. ‘I do need just a few days to clear my head. Then I promise you,’ she emphasized the word, ‘I promise you I’ll get a breakthrough before Christmas. If I don’t –’ she faced him calmly, ‘then I’ll put my resignation on your desk on the first of January.’

‘And I’ll accept it,’ he said briskly. ‘Oh, all right then, take a week, if it’s so essential to you. I’d get into trouble with my wife if I didn’t say yes. Pity she took such a liking to you. When do you want to go?’

‘From Monday?’

She hadn’t confided fully in Evelyn, so he tried on his own account. ‘Where are you off to? Sunshine, I suppose …’

‘No, I’m going to stay with some cousins, that’s all. Thank you, Lord Western.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ he grumbled, ‘thank Evelyn. But I’ll hold you to that promise. Before Christmas.’

‘I know you will,’ Julia answered. ‘And I’ll deliver.’

She went down in the private elevator to her own floor. Inside her office she sank down in one of the big armchairs.

‘What a bastard,’ she said aloud. ‘If I’m right, he’ll eat his words. That’ll be some consolation. He said I could name my price, and, by God, I’m going to! And for Ben, too …’

Harold King had called a special board meeting in his private penthouse. On occasions like this he used his sitting room instead of the massive boardroom on the floor below. His sitting room was the chosen venue whenever he pushed through something of dubious legality. It overawed his company secretary and his finance director. They sank or swam with Harold King and they wouldn’t give him any arguments, whatever he suggested. Gloria was there too. She had been admitted to the Board of his Pension Fund. When that formality had been completed, the real work would begin. The transfer of millions of stocks and bonds held on behalf of King’s thousands of employees into an investment company of which he had dual control with his daughter. Then, he could fly back to New York and wind up the financing deal with Field. After that Christmas at Gstaad as usual. He had a house there; Marilyn skied and so did Gloria, who showed nerve and unexpected athleticism on the slopes. He had given up some years earlier. One fall where he pulled thigh muscles and was out of action for weeks had taught him to be his age. He read biographies and travel books in the sunshine and planned for the coming year. He loved Switzerland.

It reminded him of home. Gloria was quiet that morning. He had asked her briefly if she’d given Leo Derwent his marching orders the day after their argument, and she’d nodded rather sheepishly and said, yes, she wouldn’t be seeing him any more.

King didn’t think about it again. She had never deceived him or disobeyed his wishes. He thought she seemed subdued that morning, when she should have been excited. While they waited for the secretary and the other director, King said suddenly, ‘What’s wrong with you, sweetheart? You don’t seem yourself. Got the curse?’

Gloria hesitated. She was miserable instead of happy. She had lied to him, and she hated it. But she was torn between guilt and a growing obsession. She loved him, he was her world. But seeing Leo wasn’t a disloyalty. It didn’t change her feelings for her father. It was harmless. Nothing had happened between them. They met once or twice a week, went to the cinema or the theatre. Sometimes they had dinner together in a discreet restaurant where they were unlikely to meet anyone they knew. It was completely harmless because Leo had made no sexual advance. The idea of a sexual encounter with a man had always disgusted her. But what she imagined would happen with him at first tantalized her and then obsessed her. It spoiled her lovemaking with an older woman she had met.

She was restless and dissatisfied, and the lesbian lady soon went looking for another lover. She took in a deep breath. ‘Daddy,’ she said. ‘Daddy, don’t be angry, but there’s something I want to tell you.’

King had answered his own question. Women were often funny at the menstrual cycle. He wasn’t listening properly when she spoke. ‘Been running up bills?’ he joked with her. ‘Your mother was complaining about it yesterday. She says you’re always buying clothes … “Why not?” I said. “Why shouldn’t she? She can have everything she wants and more.”’ His secretary buzzed through that the two men were in the outer hall. ‘Ah, here they are. Remember, always insist on your employees being punctual to the second. It’s good for them. And always make a point of keeping them waiting. That’s good for them, too. But not this morning. We’ve got a lot of business to get through.

‘Send them in, send them in,’ King said. He slipped his arm round Gloria for a moment. ‘Naughty girl,’ he said. ‘Spending so much money. You’re going to start earning it now …’ Gloria said nothing. The moment had passed. She wouldn’t get up the nerve to try again.

The flight to Jersey was bumpy; Julia was never airsick and she loved flying. It was a blustery day with rain clouds gathering above the island, but, as always, the temperature was mild. Janey came hurrying to meet her at the airport.

‘Julia darling,’ she exclaimed. ‘How lovely to see you – David couldn’t get here, he had an emergency at the hospital. How was your flight?’

‘A bit rough, but it didn’t bother me. You’re looking great, Janey. I haven’t got much luggage. I always look as if I’ve come to stay for a year when I go away – I tried to cut down on it this time.’

‘You can stay as long as you like,’ Janey enthused. ‘All our friends are dying to meet you.’ On the drive down to Trinity she chatted at top speed.

Life was uneventful, the usual round of parties gathering momentum for Christmas, their trip to France had been great fun, but she got a tummy bug which rather spoilt the last few days … David was happier than ever, enjoying his work and finding plenty of time for golf or sailing. It had been such a hassle living in England, nothing on earth would persuade them to go back now. Julia let it flow over her, making appropriate comments. The Petersons had a charming house, legacy of his mother, with the lush garden for which Jersey was famous. The rain had started, and they hurried inside. ‘Damn,’ Janey said. ‘It was glorious yesterday, blazing sunshine and quite warm. I hope it’s not going to be like this for your visit.’

‘I shan’t mind,’ Julia told her. ‘It’s such a treat to get away.’

They were sitting with a pre-lunch drink in the comfortable sitting room. It had french windows and a view of the beautiful garden. The rain lashed down against the view.

‘You do look a bit tired,’ Janey remarked. ‘Have a nice rest while you’re here. Nothing wrong, is there?’

‘No,’ Julia smiled at her. ‘Nothing. Just a lot of work and pressure. Nothing a few days with you and David won’t put right. How are the boys?’

They had two sons in their late teens, one up at Cambridge, the other travelling through Australia before starting medical school. Julia hadn’t seen them for over a year. The schoolboy seemed nice enough, the undergraduate was rather arrogant and offhand. He had reminded her of Felix at the time. Felix. She hadn’t thought about him since Ben told her how readily he had co-operated in contacting Joe Patrick. She was surprised that Ben, who had always been so scathing about Felix, spoke rather well of him. He wasn’t jealous, that was why. Felix was part of her past. She looked up quickly when her cousin said, ‘How’s the boyfriend?’

‘Which one?’

‘Oh, my goodness … like that, is it? Lucky you.’ Janey laughed. ‘Felix, I met him with you last time we were over. Who else have you got in tow?’

‘Felix and I broke up quite a while ago,’ she explained. ‘I’ve met someone else. He’s pretty special.’

‘I’m glad,’ Janey said. ‘Felix wasn’t for you, darling. David couldn’t stand him, I can tell you that now. I thought he was rather a dish, but a bit brash. What’s the new one like?’

‘Older than me this time,’ Julia admitted. ‘Very bright indeed. We’re living together to see how it works out. He’s divorced, but a long time ago. It was a bad experience. We aren’t going to rush anything. But he’s lovely. You’d like him. So would David.’

‘You should have brought him over,’ Janey said. ‘What’s he do?’

‘He’s on the Herald,’ Julia answered. ‘He was my boss until I got this new job heading up “Exposure”. Next time you come to London, we’ll fix dinner together.’

After lunch, Julia unpacked and asked Janey if she’d mind if she went for a walk. A large red setter wagged its tail at the word, and Julia offered to take him with her. It had stopped raining. The sun was forcing shafts of light through the retreating clouds, the air smelt sweet and warm after the rain. Janey didn’t offer to go with her. She had things to do, because a couple of friends were coming to dinner. Not a party, she assured Julia, not on her first evening, but two very close friends …

Julia set off with the sleek dog on a lead. There was a path leading down to the shingle beach and she took it. Once off the road, she unleashed the setter who bounded happily up and down.

He was on the island. His photograph was imprinted on her mind, like a transposed negative. Nearly fifty years ago, young, smiling, confident that he would live out the conflict that was claiming so many lives. And with him was another figure, less well defined but clear enough. She stopped and paused to throw a piece of driftwood for the setter. It raced into the surf to bring it back.

If King’s bloodhounds had tracked her to the island then she had very little time to waste before they picked her up.

Tomorrow, she decided. She would go back now, and help Janey in the kitchen and suggest it.

Janey was taken by surprise. ‘Richard Watson? Yes, we know him. He’s very nice, lived here for years. He was a friend of David’s mother. Why do you want to meet him especially?’

‘I read a book he wrote,’ Julia said. ‘Actually it was my boyfriend who read it and passed it on. He said it was very interesting and well written. About his time in the army and being a prisoner of war. I think it was privately printed … it said in a footnote he’d retired to live here. I’d rather like to meet him if you can arrange it.’

Janey said, ‘I never knew he wrote anything. He was rather a successful businessman. ICI, I think. I’ll ask him to dinner. What a good idea. He’ll be flattered at you wanting to meet him. We’ve told him all about you.’

Julia smiled. ‘I hope he won’t be disappointed.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ her cousin said. ‘He loves attractive women. I’ll call him now.’

Julia finished laying the table. She could hear Janey’s voice and then her cheerful laugh. She came in and said, ‘It’s all fixed. He’s asked us to dinner. Tomorrow. He had arranged a small party and he was thrilled at the idea of meeting you. Says he’s read all your stuff in the newspaper. He’s making it black tie in your honour!’

‘How very sweet of him. Thanks, Janey,’ she said. ‘I brought a silk shirt and a long black skirt, will that do?’

‘Of course … we’re not that smart over here. You’ll look terrific. You always do.’

The evening was relaxed. David Peterson made a fuss of Julia, opening a bottle of champagne to celebrate her arrival. The couple who came to dinner in the spacious kitchen were a retired diplomat who was a native Jerseyman and his English wife. They were full of amusing stories about his last posting in Rio de Janeiro. Janey told them about Richard Watson’s invitation. They assured Julia that she would like her host and find him an interesting man with a lot of personal charm. ‘He’s all of that,’ David agreed. ‘I always thought he and my mother might get together. But they never did. She was very fond of him.’

‘He’s been a widower for years,’ the diplomat’s wife said. ‘People get set in their ways. Quite a number of ladies have had their eye on Richard but he’s never fallen for anyone. I think all those years as a POW had an effect on him. It was an experience that marked a lot of people. My brother for one. But he was with those bloody awful Japanese. Came home and went into the Church. He’s a parson in Norfolk. High Anglican, never married. Loves bells and smells. Extraordinary … But he seems happy enough.’

‘Which is surely all that matters,’ David said tartly, Julia noticed. Then she remembered that, unlike the rest of the family, he was a regular churchgoer. The more they talked about Richard Watson, the more intrigued she became. There was nothing in the slight volume of his wartime reminiscences that marked him out as different from thousands of other young middle-class men who became officers in the forties. But forewarned is forearmed. Watson was obviously no elderly waffler who would part with information freely. She would have to tread carefully. Before they went to bed, Ben telephoned her. Janey took the call and said, smiling slyly at Julia, ‘I think it’s the boyfriend, darling. You can take it upstairs if you like.’

‘Thanks,’ Julia said. ‘I’ll do that.’

His voice was reassuring. She felt a pang when she heard it.

‘How are you? How’s it going?’

‘I’m fine. Everything’s going better than I hoped. I’m seeing our man tomorrow night. Janey fixed it up for me. They’re being so sweet I feel lousy to make use of them like this. I miss you, Ben. I really do.’

‘Me too,’ he said. ‘The flat’s like a bloody morgue. Pussy won’t settle down either. We’re both just too fond of you. Get this interview over and get back as soon as you can. I don’t like you being out in the big world on your own. No signs of any followers at the airport?’

‘No, but I wouldn’t see them if there were,’ Julia pointed out. ‘If King’s still got tabs on us, someone is probably on the island looking for me by now. So long as I connect with Watson before they pick me up, it won’t matter. Then I’ll think of an excuse and come home. Don’t worry about me, darling. Take care, won’t you?’

‘You too,’ Ben said. ‘I love you. Call me tomorrow night. Doesn’t matter what time.’

When he had rung off, Ben took the cat on his knee and skimmed through the book with the smiling young officer on the cover. He paused at the group photograph in the middle section. There weren’t that many privately printed records of one man’s war. A few dozen at the most. Memories of men grown old or dead who had fought in a war the world wanted to forget. But if he had chanced upon it, thanks to his War Office friend’s suggestion, why shouldn’t someone else with an interest in the subject? Someone with powerful resources at the push of a button, who knew what they were looking for … He shouldn’t have let Julia go there alone. His instincts had been against it, and he’d let her overrule them. He swore at himself for giving way. Just twenty-four hours more. Then he would insist she come home or he would fly out, however much she argued. On that resolution, he was able to sleep.

Joe Patrick cursed the detective agency contact. They met at a pub in the City and in the seclusion of a corner table, Joe Patrick hissed four-letter insults at him. The man sat stolidly, not answering, showing no emotion, though a line of red crept up his neck from under his collar. Patrick leaned towards him, teeth bared, menacing as a rat at bay. ‘Jersey!’ he spat at him. ‘Fucking Jersey and you lost her at the airport – Jesus H. Christ—’

‘We sent a man over on the next flight,’ the agency man protested. ‘He checked all the hotels and she’s not registered. Nobody answering our description has booked in anywhere. He even went round the bloody Bed and Breakfasts, and you know how many of them there are …’

‘I don’t fucking know, and I don’t care,’ Joe snarled at him. ‘What else have you tried?’

‘Her office. We asked for an appointment. Her secretary said she was on a week’s holiday. No contact number. Said she’d give us a provisional for ten days’ time but couldn’t confirm till Hamilton got back. Look, stop bollocking me for a minute, will you? Maybe she is on holiday. Staying with friends—’

‘Then find the friends,’ Joe said. ‘Your job is to know where she is and what she’s fucking doing twenty-four hours of the day, till I tell you to get off the case. You find her, you hear me? Or no payment. My boss pays for results, not some arsehole who can’t get his act together because the cow gets on a plane!’ He stood up, buttoned his long cashmere coat. He was white with rage and fear of King’s reaction. ‘You can put the booze down to expenses,’ he said. ‘And hope you get paid …’ Then he pushed his way out through the evening crowd of drinkers. He was in a vile mood. Fear made him vicious. He needed to take it out on somebody. He unlocked his car and drove back to his flat, seething at the agency, at King, at the stinking luck that lost Hamilton on a stinking pissing little island. He dared not tell King. And he dared not keep him in ignorance either. That would be the most dangerous. King wanted daily reports. He conveyed that the immediate threat from Hamilton was over, but he never let up on his precautions. Belt and braces was King’s motto. The bitch had taken a holiday. Just before the launch of the new ‘Exposure’ feature in November. ‘Very likely,’ Joe said savagely, cutting through the traffic. Leaving the lover boy behind. The team were still covering him, and he was in his office and flat, without any change in his routine.

Maybe that meant it was a genuine holiday … Joe bit his lower lip, trying to reassure himself. If Harris had gone with her, it might well have been an assignment. He could try that on King. He could try anything but it wouldn’t stave off his rage. And that rage wasn’t confined to a flow of insults and abuse. Joe didn’t give a toss about that. Words didn’t hurt him, but losing money did. That wounded him. King took a lump out of his retainer when he fouled up anything, and that made Joe Patrick bleed.

He parked his car in the underground garage of the apartment block and took the lift up to the third floor. He opened the front door very quietly. He moved with the stealth of a stalking animal. He’d catch those two bitches out whatever they were doing. They wouldn’t expect him to be back so early. They’d be sitting on their black arses taking it easy. He’d give them a nice surprise.

‘It is a marvellous place to unwind,’ Julia said. ‘I slept so well last night.’

She didn’t look particularly relaxed in Janey’s opinion, but she didn’t say so. She was living at a high pitch with that demanding job; it would take more than twenty-four hours of beneficial Jersey air and slow tempo to get through to her. ‘I’m so glad,’ was what she said. ‘The Lejeunes thought you were a star. Madge phoned this morning. They say you must come over for lunch if you stay a bit longer.’

‘How nice of them,’ Julia said, feeling guilty at the deception. ‘I’d love to – but I don’t think I can take more than the week.’

They were such nice uncomplicated people. She thought suddenly, walking along the beach with Janey and David and the joyous red setter, that she had forgotten what normal couples were like. The island and the Petersons were light miles away from the brittle, power-hungry circle in which she had moved for so long.

And they weren’t dull; their lives were busy and their interests were wide. They travelled, they read voraciously; there wasn’t a single new novel they couldn’t discuss. They were making plans to come over to London early in the new year and see the latest plays and go to the ballet. David was a fanatic balletomane. They lived comfortable, useful lives, and they based their lives on a set of simple values that had been derided in Julia’s media world for so long that she had been in danger of forgetting them herself. When all this is over, she made a private resolution as they walked together, I’m going to think about changing things. I’m going to talk to Ben and see what he thinks. Then, dressing for this all-important dinner, Julia mocked herself. Opting out wasn’t a real option for her. It was an indulgence, a fantasy, engendered by envy of her cousins’ easy lifestyle. She’d go mad with boredom after a few months. And so would Ben Harris. No cosy domestic routines for them. Babies in prams and gardening at weekends. What a fool to have imagined it.

She looked very elegant in the long, pencil-slim velvet skirt. The cream silk shirt was simple, too, with the simplicity of haute couture. Her red hair blazed like a bonfire round her head. Richard Watson liked attractive women. She hoped he wouldn’t be disappointed. She checked her watch. She was ready. Seven-thirty, and she was down in the hall waiting for Janey and David. Lateness made her very uptight. It was a bad start to what might be a difficult evening. She needed to be at ease with herself. And it might be an advantage to get there independently.

She knew where Watson’s house was; they’d driven over there during the morning as part of a shopping, sight-seeing tour of the island before going out to lunch at Longueville Manor. She could drive there in Janey’s car. She went up to the landing and called out. ‘Janey? Look would it be all right if I went on ahead of you? I’d rather like to get there dead on time and I don’t want to rush you. Could I borrow your car?’

Janey’s voice came through the door. ‘Wait a minute –’ then the door opened and she looked round. She hadn’t finished making-up her face. She was always late, and David wasn’t much better. Julia thought he must still be in the shower by the sound coming from the bathroom.

‘We won’t be more than ten minutes … Don’t you want to come with us?’

‘I’d rather get there on time,’ Julia explained. ‘It’s one of my phobias, I’m afraid. I’d really like to set off now … sure you don’t mind?’

‘No, no not at all. You can find your way, can’t you?’ Janey raised her brows at her cousin’s eccentricity, but she didn’t argue. ‘My car keys are on the hall table. Don’t take David’s by mistake, will you … he goes absolutely ape if anyone touches that precious new Volvo of his. See you there, then.’

As she went downstairs, Julia heard her shouting to her husband.

‘David! Hurry out of there, darling – Julia’s gone. Got a thing about being late. Must be the crazy life she leads …’ And then, muffled as Julia reached the ground floor, ‘No she hasn’t taken your car …’

It was a lovely night, quite crisp with bright stars in the cloudless sky and a fresh breeze blowing in from the sea that made her huddle into her velvet coat as she crossed the courtyard to the garage. The drive took twenty minutes, because she couldn’t drive fast on the twisting, narrow roads. Rich immigrants with their Rollers and Bentleys were a joke among the islanders. There were few inland roads wide enough for two cars to pass each other.

The house stood on a rocky promontory overlooking the beach and the sea far below. It was illuminated like a beacon in the darkness, and, as she crossed the driveway, the exterior lights came on automatically. She parked the car and got out. The sharp salty air stung her face. Two steps up to a large white-painted front door. She rang the bell. After what seemed a long pause, she rang a second time. Almost as soon as she took her finger off the brass button, the door opened. A tall man was silhouetted against the inner hall light. She said quickly, ‘Mr Watson?’

‘Yes, I’m Richard Watson. And you must be Julia Hamilton, David’s and Janey’s cousin. Do come in out of the cold. Quite a wind’s come up tonight.’ He stepped aside and closed the door. ‘I came ahead of them,’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t mind, am I the first?’

He smiled down at her and held out his hand. ‘Yes, you are. How very nice, it will give me a chance to talk to you before anyone else arrives. Let me take your coat. You know, Miss Hamilton, I recognized you from your photograph in the Herald. But you’re even prettier in the flesh.’ He had a gentle hold of her arm, and he guided her through the hall and up a short flight of stairs. The house was very warm.

Julia looked round and turned to him. ‘What a fabulous room. Oh, and look at that view!’ She walked over to the floor-length plate-glass window that made up almost one wall. He came beside her. Lights from the house swept down the cliff; below them a cluster of houses with a bigger building rising up on the very edge of the dark shoreline, gleamed and shimmered with lights. And, far out, the sweep of a lighthouse beam flashed across the inky sky in warning of the rocks.

When she turned round he was watching her and smiling. He was a handsome man, with deep blue eyes. The hair was thick and grey, and a small well-trimmed moustache was like a relic of the soldier he had been so many years ago. He had the upright, lean figure of a much younger man. ‘It is even more spectacular in the early evenings,’ he said. ‘The sunsets here are unbelievable … every colour in the rainbow. It’s a shame it’s dark, but it’s still beautiful. That’s St Brelades down below, with the Cour Rouge Hotel. It used to be marvellous, but it’s always full of tourists now. What can I get you to drink? Gin, whisky, vodka, or white wine?’

‘Vodka,’ she said, ‘with ice and tonic. That would be lovely.’ He poured her drink and came back with a whisky for himself. ‘I do hope I haven’t been a nuisance getting here dead on eight o’clock. I think the dear Petersons thought I was quite mad, but they weren’t nearly ready, and I’m paranoid about being late.’

‘I’m delighted,’ Richard Watson said. ‘It’s rather unusual, isn’t it? Ladies aren’t famous for time-keeping. My late wife never managed it. How charming you look. It is a thrill to meet you, Miss Hamilton. And may I call you Julia?’

‘I was going to suggest it,’ she said. His charm was washing over her, soothing and seductive. He must have been a serious knockout with women only a few years ago.

At that moment the doorbell sounded and Richard left the room.

Julia turned back to the window. He was right, daylight would be the time to see it at its best. Sunset, or dawn. But she wouldn’t be staying.

A middle-aged couple came into the room, led towards her by their host.

‘Julia Hamilton, Bob and Fiona Thomas.’ The man had a hearty handshake and a hearty voice. ‘You’re Janey’s and David’s famous cousin, aren’t you? We’ve heard all about you, haven’t we, Fi?’ He also had a hearty laugh. His wife was small, very thin and spoke in a very quiet voice. ‘Yes, we have. Aren’t they here?’ She looked round.

‘I was early,’ Julia explained. She saw the woman’s quick scrutiny of her clothes. Satisfied, she smiled at Julia. ‘I expect David was held up at the hospital, he works so hard. They’ve been telling everyone about your visit. You’re quite a celebrity before we’ve even met you.’ Small and thin, with that reedy voice, she was rather a bitch, Julia decided. There was only one way to deal with that. She smiled sweetly at her, and turned to talk to her husband.

‘This is my first visit to Jersey,’ she said. ‘It’s such a lovely island. I’m already determined to come again in the spring.’ He beamed appreciatively.

‘I should hope you will. Come and see us next time. This is all in your honour, you know. Dick was just having us to play bridge and have supper till he heard you were here.’

‘I told you,’ his wife murmured, ‘you’re a celebrity … It’s Janey … I can always tell when she’s a mile off. One of those wonderful voices that carry.’

‘Well, nobody can say that about you, Fi, can they … can’t hear a bloody word she says half the time.’ Bob Thomas guffawed at Julia. She laughed. She said to his wife, ‘One thing about Janey, she always says nice things about people, so it doesn’t matter if they do hear what she’s saying.’

The drinks before dinner lasted half an hour. Watson was generous and knew how to get a party going. Soon they were all mingling, paying special attention to Julia as the only stranger in their midst. Even the waspish Fiona Thomas came up and tried to make amends. ‘You’re right about Janey,’ she whispered. ‘She is kind to everyone. I didn’t mean to say she had a loud voice. It’s just that Bob shouts all the time and I feel nobody ever listens to me.’

Julia softened. ‘I’m sure they do.’

Richard Watson came up and led Julia aside. ‘I hope Fiona’s been behaving herself,’ he said quietly. ‘I saw you being nice to her. She can be a bit sharp, but she’s had rather a difficult life. Bob’s been a great swordsman in his time, and she had a lot to put up with from pretty women. Dinner’s ready. I can see Maria signalling. What would I do without her? The Portuguese are such lovely people. Shall we go in?’

They went into dinner in a glass-fronted room that seemed to be suspended over the cliff. Watson placed her on his right. The table was elegant, with candles and silver, the food compared favourably with the best London restaurants. Julia began to enjoy herself; the atmosphere was relaxed, so civilized and friendly that her tough, competitive world seemed a moonshot away. It was seductive, but she resisted. It wasn’t a social occasion. It was the culmination of a careful plan, undertaken at risk to herself if it misfired.

‘The definition of age’, Richard Watson was saying, ‘is a desire to talk about the past. I find myself doing it more and more. I spent a few nights in London with my nephew … the solicitor. You met him, Janey, he came over for a sailing holiday last summer—’

‘Yes, I remember him, charming young man,’ Janey said brightly.

Richard Watson grinned. ‘Not particularly, he’s rather bumptious and pleased with himself, but at least he’s kin, so I keep in touch. He took me out to dinner at his smart club – excellent food, much better than restaurants – I found myself talking about the time I spent as a prisoner of war. I don’t think I’d thought about it, let alone talked about it, for years! But there I was in full flood, banging on about being captured and spending three years in a camp in Germany. I suddenly realized he was bored stiff, poor chap. So I cut it short and changed the subject. I felt what a boring old fool I’d become.’

‘That’s the trouble,’ Bob Thomas snorted. ‘The young think they know it all.’

Richard Watson said gently, ‘Didn’t we? I know I never listened to a word my father said after the age of eighteen. Sad thing was, you know, when I did come back from the POW camp, we couldn’t communicate at all. Of course, they were delighted to see me – my mother cried and rushed off to make tea; my old father managed to put his arm round me and then hurried upstairs with my bag. He just didn’t know what to say.’

Julia judged the moment had come. ‘Did it affect you badly? It must have been awful trying to adjust.’

‘It wasn’t easy,’ he admitted. ‘I’d come back home a stranger. To myself as much as to them. I didn’t realize what the loss of freedom had done to me. I couldn’t make my mind up about anything. I’d lost the habit of taking decisions. If someone had told me what socks to put on in the mornings, I’d have done it.’

‘How long did that last?’ Julia leaned close, engaging his full attention.

‘Couple of years. I tried several jobs, couldn’t settle to anything. It was quite a common manifestation of POW fatigue. Then I was taken on by ICI as a trainee, and I got interested. Absorbed, actually. And it all started to come right after that.’

Julia took a breath. Now.

‘I read your book,’ she said. ‘I have a friend who’s mad on the last war and he gave it to me to read. I really enjoyed it. Did you map it out while you were in the prison camp?’

‘Yes,’ Richard Watson said, ‘I did. It was so desperately boring and miserable, and so damned cold in the winter … We were always hungry, too. Most of the chaps spent their time talking about escape or playing chess, or bridge. I worked on my insignificant wartime memoires. I can’t believe you found them interesting, but I must admit I’m flattered.’

He smiled at her.

Bob Thomas boomed out, ‘Book? What’s all this, Dick – been keeping secrets from us?’

‘It was years ago – long before I came over here,’ Richard Watson protested. ‘I had some copies privately printed. I didn’t know there were any circulating anywhere. I just wanted to get it off my chest, I suppose.’

‘Hidden talents,’ Bob Thomas had their attention. ‘Better watch out, Julia, or you’ll have a rival in Dick here … I’d like to read it some time. I bet you’ve a copy of the great work stashed away. The army was the best time of my life. I often regretted not making a career of it. Too young to get into the actual war, but I enjoyed my National Service.’

He looked around for approbation.

Julia said quietly, ‘Did you feel like that, Richard? Your book didn’t read like that.’

He turned to look at her, and then, suddenly, he turned away.

‘I hated the army,’ he said. ‘I hated everything about it. And I wasn’t a good soldier. The idea of killing someone absolutely appalled me. I had no blood lust.’

‘Did you ever kill anyone?’

He hesitated for a moment. Then he said, ‘No. But I did save a man’s life.’

‘One of ours?’ David Peterson spoke up.

‘No. It was a German.’

Julia said quickly, ‘How? How did you save him?’

‘I stopped my sergeant from murdering him,’ he said.

‘Good God—’ Bob Thomas was leaning across the table. ‘Go on, tell us about it.’

His wife said, ‘How riveting,’ but nobody noticed.

‘It was in the Western Desert. We were on the run from Rommel’s Afrika Corps – before Monty took over – and we’d got separated from our unit. We were trying to get back to Tripoli. There were seven of us. My captain, Tim Phillips, me, the sergeant and four privates. The desert was crawling with desert patrols, mopping up after the battle. We picked up this German on the way. He had a slight leg wound, and he’d no weapon. I’d say he’d deserted. We took him prisoner because it was safer than leaving him, and have him warn one of his own patrols we were in the area … I knew the sergeant wanted to shoot him. He was that sort of man.

‘We struggled on, hoping to get clear before nightfall, but the German lagged behind, he’d lost quite a lot of blood, and he was a miserable specimen anyway, couldn’t have been more than eighteen, if that …

‘The sergeant started chivvying him along with a bayonet, but he couldn’t keep up. We saw a dust cloud in the distance. That meant a German armoured patrol was coming our way. We clambered down into the wadi and dragged the boy down with us. My captain took out his revolver and held it to his head. He told the German he’d blow his brains out if he made a sound.’

Richard Watson filled up his glass with wine. ‘He didn’t mean it. His hand was shaking like a leaf and he was scared stiff. I was watching our sergeant. He had his bayonet at the ready. He said, “We can’t risk a shot, sir. And he’s slowing us down. You put that away and I’ll finish him off with this!”’

Julia said, ‘You mean he was going to bayonet him?’

‘Oh yes, wouldn’t have hesitated. None of the others said anything. He’d had Tim Phillips under his thumb from the start. He actually started to holster his revolver, so I had to do something before the boy was killed.’

‘And what did you do?’ she asked him.

He shrugged. ‘Nothing heroic, I’m afraid. I just announced loud and clear that I wouldn’t be a party to murder. Meaning they would have to kill me, too, to stop me reporting what had happened.’

‘God,’ David Peterson said. ‘That was brave.’

‘No it wasn’t,’ Richard Watson insisted. ‘But it stopped them. So we went on and left the wretched German behind.’ He offered Julia more wine. She refused.

‘Did he understand? Did he know what was going on?’

‘Oh, he knew all right. He was shaking with terror. I was sure he understood more English than he let on. He didn’t say anything. But he looked at me as we left him. It was very odd, that look. I couldn’t make it out. Our sergeant came up to me and said, “You made a mistake there, Sir.”’ Watson mimicked the heavy sarcasm in that one word. ‘“You should have let me kill the little bastard. Mark my words, he’ll send a bloody patrol after us.” Which’, he said slowly, ‘is exactly what happened. We were captured within the hour.’

‘What an extraordinary story,’ Bob Thomas said.

Richard Watson looked round at them. He sighed. ‘It didn’t end there, I’m afraid. Phillips and I were put in a truck and taken back to a POW compound at their base. Preferential treatment for officers. The Germans were like that. The other five were marched off to join a column of British prisoners going to the rear. They came under crossfire; the sergeant was the only one to survive his wounds. The other four poor lads were killed. I only found out about it when the war was over because Phillips kept in touch and he made enquiries about his men.’ He paused and Julia saw the muscles tighten in his jaw. ‘He had some crack-brained theory that they’d been gunned down deliberately. The crossfire story came from the sergeant, but Phillips said he couldn’t find any official record of a skirmish between our patrols and theirs anywhere in the area. He’d got a real bee in his bonnet, but nothing came of it. You know, I’ve often wondered whether those poor devils would still be alive if I hadn’t interfered.’

‘You can’t possibly blame yourself,’ Bob Thomas insisted. ‘You did absolutely the right thing. More than a Hun officer would have done for one of ours, I’d say. Though it was quite a clean war—’

‘Who would have shot them?’ Julia said. ‘Wouldn’t the sergeant have reported an atrocity like that?’ She had to clear her throat and swallow, it was suddenly so dry.

‘Well, he didn’t,’ Watson answered. ‘It was just talk, and Phillips tracked him down, but he stuck to his story … You’re right, Bob, it was a clean war in the desert. There weren’t any war crimes … most likely due to Rommel. He was a Prussian of the old school. Well –’ He smiled at them. ‘Sorry to have bored you with all this. Comes of getting old, I’m afraid. Now, let’s have some coffee. Janey, would you look after Julia and Fiona for me, and we promise not to sit on here too long.’

Janey led the way upstairs. ‘How weird,’ she said. ‘What an awful story. But he was right to save that poor German. He couldn’t help it if they got killed in a battle afterwards, could he?’

‘No,’ Fiona Thomas whispered. ‘But I think he blames himself deep down.’

It was long past midnight when Julia was able to leave at last. And get to a telephone. Ben, she thought. Oh Ben, you’re not going to believe this. My God. I can hardly believe it myself … As they gathered round the front door to say goodbye, she managed to draw Richard Watson aside. ‘What happened to Phillips? Is he still around?’

‘No, he died back in eighty-one. Cancer. His wife wrote to me.’

‘And the sergeant? Was he the one in the photograph in your book?’

‘Yes, same man. Whenever people go on about German atrocities, I think of him. He’d have bayoneted that boy to death and enjoyed doing it.’

‘And is he alive?’ Julia asked, trying to sound casual.

‘I’ve no idea,’ his tone was suddenly abrupt. He turned away from her and kissed Fiona Thomas good night. It was a very firm dismissal of the subject.

He was smiling, his charming self again, when he said goodbye to Julia.

‘Thank you for a wonderful party,’ she said. ‘And I really did enjoy your book.’

‘I’m flattered,’ he said, but the eyes were wary in spite of the smile. ‘It was just an exercise in self-indulgence.’

Julia stood her ground. ‘But you never mentioned this amazing incident –’

‘Perhaps I didn’t feel it reflected much credit on anyone,’ he said coldly. ‘And Phillips was very much alive. I’m not an investigative journalist, you see. I didn’t want to inflict hurt. It has been a pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll come to see us all again.’

‘I hope so, too,’ she said and shook his hand. ‘Thank you again.’

At ten-thirty next morning Ben made the call as they’d arranged. Julia went through the charade for Janey’s benefit, saying guiltily, ‘That was the office – I’ve got to go back early. I’m so sorry to cut it short like this. I’ve had such a lovely time.’

‘Oh damn,’ Janey exclaimed. ‘I’d planned a big drinks party so all our friends could meet you. It was going to be a surprise before you left. Damn …’ she said again. ‘David will be so sorry he hasn’t seen more of you.’ Then, because she was good natured, and she saw Julia looking embarrassed, ‘Oh, never mind, I’m just being selfish, that’s all. Of course you’ve got to go. Sorry I made a fuss. Come in the spring and we’ll do it all again. And don’t tell your bloody office where you’re going!’

‘Janey,’ Julia said, and put her arms around her, ‘you’re sweet to put up with me, messing you around like this. I will come in the spring, and you and David have promised to come to London before that and I’ll fix a gala evening with the parents and my new man. That’s a promise. Now I’d better call the airport. I really am sorry.’

And she truly meant it. But, if she could have grown wings, she’d had flown home to Ben Harris at that very moment.