‘ “Limejuice”.’ Cathy sounded slightly offended. ‘ “Limejuice”, Father.’
‘Jolly good!’ The false encouragement sounded equally unnatural.
‘Off you go then, love.’
But that wouldn’t do for Cathy Audley—Tom wanted to shake his head at the man, but he was staring too fixedly at the archway.
The edge of the tray stayed in view. ‘But… but…’
‘Off you go!’ Then Audley looked at Tom, and understood the limits of obedience belatedly. ‘I’ve got Tom Arkenshaw here to protect me, Cathy love—that’s what he’s here for.’ He grinned hideously at Tom. ‘Isn’t that so, Sir Thomas—?’
Tom smelt the bonfire again, and thought that he would never smell a bonfire in the future—if there was a future—without smelling his own inadequacy. ‘That’s right, Miss Audley,’ he agreed.
‘ What’s this?’ Another voice from somewhere behind the child startled him just as the tray, and that part of her which he could see, disappeared. ‘Have you broken something, Cathy—?’
‘ “Limejuice”, Mummy—’ The child cut through her mother’s angry question ‘—Father says “Limejuice” !’
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Tom strained his ears to catch the woman’s reaction, but there was only a moment’s silence hemmed in between the wall and the house, against the distant drone of a faraway aircraft. Then there came a clink of teacups on the tray followed by the sound of the back door closing. So… whatever it meant exactly, that codeword, it was a Word of Power—and Audley was blessed with intelligently obedient womenfolk, young and old, when matters came to their crunch.
‘As I was saying… I don’t know.’ Audley attended to him again.
‘But. . he missed, anyway.’
Tom felt the hardness of the flagstone under his hipbone. ‘You also said that he fired from somewhere on the hillside.’
‘So I did.’ Audley sounded curiously relaxed now. ‘Because from the bottom of the garden he couldn’t have missed —I also made that assumption.’
Tom frowned at him, trying to remember the bottom of the garden.
There had been a hedge—? He couldn’t remember, damn it!
‘It’s a bare hundred yards.’ Audley shook his head. ‘I think the bullet went just over my head, maybe a bit to one side… It’s a long time since I’ve had that disagreeable sensation—or I suppose it could be called “agreeable”, relatively speaking… But then, again, I wouldn’t have imagined that I heard it if it hadn’t missed, would I?’
How could he be so damned cold-blooded? thought Tom irritably.
“Thirty-nine years, to be exact.‘ Audley’s eyes glazed at the memory. ’And I was also sniped at several times in Normandy, the Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State year before—Jerry loved to pick off silly fools who poked their heads out of their tanks… But, of course, I never heard a bloody thing— no— there was one time…‘ He focused on Tom, and dropped the rest of the irrelevant anecdote instantly. ’About a hundred yards, the end of the garden, anyway. So if he had a Brown Bess, and this was Waterloo, that’s about what I’d expect.
Because the French skirmishers shot at Mercer in front of his battery for about half an hour—and from considerably less than a hundred yards, too—also without hitting him.‘ He nodded at Tom, as though childishly pleased with himself at the thought. ’ ”So long as they were aiming at me I wasn’t worried“—didn’t he say something like that?‘
Tom smelt bonfire again. And now there was a wisp of smoke to go with the smell. But, much more confusing, was the thought that any competent marksman, let alone a professional, could have missed anything, at any practical range, with a modern rifle; or…
had Audley moved— or had he himself moved— at that precise instant, when the finger had squeezed so gently—?
‘You said… from the hillside?’ Tom felt his anger well up. ‘And bugger Waterloo!’
‘Yes—quite right!’ Audley mistook anger for urgency. ‘My dear boy—I’m only talking because I’m shit-scared—I’m sorry! You may be used to this sort of thing, from the Lebanon, or wherever…’ Audley closed his eyes and screwed up his face. ‘Im only trying to reassure myself… that he isn’t coming down the garden right now, to spit in my eye, for God’s sake!’ He kept his eyes closed. ‘But… there’s a track up the hillside—it goes Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State diagonally from left to right, with bushes on the outer edge for cover… And that would give him a nice clear long shot on to this terrace… God only knows the distance, downhill—more than a quarter of a mile, but less than half, so say about six hundred yards.’ He opened his eyes again. ‘Easy access from the road down the bottom—quick getaway. The bugger must be kicking himself now, missing at that range, whether he’s still there or not—eh?’ He watched Tom. ‘But how long do we wait for him to get cold feet?
Until I get rheumatism?’
‘No.’ At that range the man shouldn’t have missed, thought Tom.
But he certainly wouldn’t miss twice, if he got a clear shot.
A clear shot! he thought suddenly, staring upwards.
‘No,’ he murmured, twisting himself off his hip on to all fours.
‘So what—’ Audley’s mouth opened as Tom raised his head above the parapet ‘—for God’s sake, man! Get down!’
Tom studied the view gratefully. If there was a hedge at the bottom of the garden he couldn’t see it, never mind the hillside beyond.
What had deceived him had been Faith Audley’s estimation of the direction of the wind: it wasn’t blowing directly towards the house, but more diagonally, so that they were only on the edge of the thick clouds of smoke which were now billowing from the orchard across the lawn.
He got to his feet. ‘Your wife said you were good with bonfires.’
He grinned happily down at the big man. ‘I can see that she was right.’
Audley stared at him for a moment, then raised himself quickly.
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State
‘Ouch!’ He rubbed his hip fiercely. ‘Damned old bones!’ Then he considered his handiwork. ‘Ye-ess… I’d forgotten about that.’ He nodded at Tom. “That’ll be the damp stuff on the top catching—
smoke… The trick is to get the driest material underneath, with an access for air to windward—that makes for a hot heart, and then you can burn anything if you’ve graded it properly. But you must get the ash straight on the flower beds, when it’s properly cooled, and before it has a chance to rain—it’s useless once it’s been rained on, you know.‘ He climbed stiffly to his feet, to tower over Tom.
‘Is that so?’ said Tom politely.
‘Yes. The rain washes out the potash.’ Then Audley gestured towards the archway. ‘Do you think it might be advisable to run like hell now, while we can? Before I exhibit unbecoming twitches of fear—?’ He started to move before Tom could reply. ‘In fact, I think I’ll lead the way, just in case you’ve forgotten it.’
Tom followed him back into the kitchen passage, and watched him lock the back door and shoot a massive iron bolt.
‘There now!’ Audley turned to him. ‘I observe that you are unarmed. But I take it that you have your armament in your car?’
‘As a matter of fact… no, Dr Audley.’
‘What?’ Audley started to move again. ‘But I thought you fellows were all armed to the teeth—’ He flung the words over his shoulder ‘—apart from which, I had the impression that you said that you had come to babysit me—?’
‘Yes—’ Tom had to trot to keep up with him as they reached the Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State kitchen ‘—but we weren’t expecting—’