“I’m inclined to think that it’s a more selective affliction,” Legister persisted. “Rooted in a sense of self-preservation.”
“Sir Gruffydd’s been sick,” Owain managed to say. “He’s still convalescing.”
“Really? He was remarkably himself at our morning meeting yesterday.”
Owain’s hands, clamped on the curve of the leather upholstery at his thighs, felt tacky. He was sweating, certain that Legister could smell it.
“Well, no matter,” Legister said. “You’ve had the consolation of a recent reunion with your brother, I gather. Dinner, wasn’t it?”
He had no reason to deny it. “Is that illegal?”
“I’d gained the impression from your uncle that the two of you weren’t particularly close.”
“He was in town. He looked me up.”
“He had important things to discuss?”
Legister removed one of his contact lenses and inspected it on the tip of his fingers. For a few moments he looked vulnerable, a skew-eyed mole forced abruptly into the light; but Owain knew it would be foolish to assume he had gained any temporary advantage.
“Didn’t you have microphones planted in the salt and pepper pots?” he retorted. “Someone squatting under the table?”
Legister slipped the lens back into his eye. “If only our budget allowed such luxuries. He was anxious to speak to you?”
“Who says?”
“A visit to your quarters. A three-course meal in privileged circumstances. Past differences reconciled?”
“No.”
“It wasn’t just a social meeting?”
“He was trying to mend fences. To impress me.”
“Indeed? And how, precisely?”
Owain was finding it difficult to adjust to this new line of interrogation. Difficult and dangerous. Suddenly Legister was more interested in Rhys than the fate of his wife. He needed to be very careful about what he said.
“Hard to imagine he wouldn’t have shared confidences with you. You were together—what was it?—three or four hours?”
“You’re asking me to inform on my own brother?” Owain said with as much indignation as he could.
“Ah.” Legister invested the exclamation with feline satisfaction. “Am I to assume he was rather indiscreet?”
“No.”
The car abruptly darkened. We were travelling down the Whitehall Underpass, its overhead necklaces of red and white lights almost festive. The tunnel was closed from dusk to dawn to non-military traffic, and any civilians seeking shelter there risked being shot on sight.
“What did you and your brother discuss?”
An image of Rhys, swilling down wine and jabbering at the table.
“Old times,” he said.
“You understand what I am asking you. Did he talk about his work?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Owain said angrily. “What has this to do with your wife? Do you think they’ve eloped together?”
It was a stupid, tactless piece of flippancy. Legister did not even deign to comment on it. “You said he was trying to impress you. What did he talk about? The latest initiatives in the military sphere?”
Too quickly Owain said, “I know nothing about that.”
“About what exactly?”
“Nothing.”
“I would have thought that both of you would be eager to share your intimate knowledge of recent developments. After all, you are the commander-in chief’s aide.”
“My uncle doesn’t confide in me.”
He felt that in a sense this was true. Or that somehow he was being deliberately excluded from the old man’s confidence.
They came out into daylight again. A trio of aeroplanes swept overhead: RAF Swordflashes, their wedged wings in forward-facing position. Though they were flying low, their passing was silent: the car was well soundproofed.
“You’re his nephew,” Legister said. “He’s always taken care to nurture and protect you.”
The Whitehall bunkers faced him. The Bentley pulled over.
“Even to the extent,” L went on, “of salvaging both your careers.”
It was like a slur. Owain didn’t hide his anger.
“I didn’t ask for a staff posting,” he said hotly. “I’d rather return to combat duties.”
“No one doubts your bravery, major. But the times also demand balanced judgement. I rather feel you show tendencies to martyrdom arising from a misplaced sense of loyalty. Things are not always what they seem. Even within a family.”
Words. The more Legister spoke, the more his meaning slipped away, was swallowed up into the shrill noise in his head.
“Whatever you want from me,” he said, “I can’t provide it.”
Legister opened the door and climbed out. He indicated that Owain should do likewise. Somewhat awkwardly, feeling as though his limbs were newly bestowed, he did so.
We were outside the road that led to the Westminster complex. I made Owain take a deep breath of air, as much for my own relief as his.
“You have been most unhelpful, major,” Legister said without resentment.
“Do you expect me to compromise myself?”
“Of course not. I expected that you would dissemble. But if I discover that Marisa is dead or harmed on account of your activities, even your uncle’s protection will not save you.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
I was standing beside a reedy pond with pollarded willows. A pub on the corner opposite. Intermittent traffic passed, going around a mini-roundabout. In the near distance stood a substantial spired church in buff stone that sat like a becalmed vessel in a sea of grass. Beyond it was a line of buildings.
Something in my overcoat was vibrating.
I fumbled in my pocket, pulled it out. Tanya’s mobile. I pressed the answer button. “Hello?”
“O? Where in heaven’s name are you?”
I looked around again. “Blackheath.”
“What?”
“I’m by the pond. Opposite the Hare and Billet.”
“I’ve been frantic. How did you get there?”
I struggled to remember. “Bus.”
ÜA bus?”
“To Lewisham. Walked up the hill.”
There was a pause before Tanya said, “Why?”
Why indeed? Had it been a whim?
“I needed to get out,” I told her. “I think I’d started to scare you.”
“This is what scares me, Owen. What have you been doing?”
“Just walking around. Taking in the sights.”
“You’re all right?”
“Fine.” At least I’d had the sense to take her mobile.
“It’s been over an hour. I didn’t know where you were. I’ve been driving the streets, phoning everyone I could think of. Geoff’s on patrol even now. We were going to phone the police.”
“Ah. You didn’t notice your mobile was gone?”
“That’s the only reason we kept hanging on. There’s half a dozen messages on it. You didn’t have it switched on.”
Perhaps I’d activated it by accident. Or more likely unconscious design.
“Sorry. I was going to leave you a note. Your bedroom door was locked.”
She said nothing to this non sequitur.
“I thought you might need a little space,” I said.
“Not at the expense of total loss of peace of mind,” she told me with feeling. “It was really irresponsible of you.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t done anything, have you?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Accosted strangers. Run around naked singing the national anthem.”
“I’ve been walking. Keeping myself to myself. Shoes are a bit muddy.”
“I’m coming to get you.”
“OK.”
“Stay there.”
“Righty-ho.”