A Conspiracy of Faith Read Free Page A

far as she knew, people in the intelligence services still lived reasonably normal lives alongside their jobs. Their own life together was in no way normal. Unless intelligence work also involved being unfaithful, because as far as she could see, that was the only possible explanation for his behavior.
    She gathered the plates and thought about giving him an ultimatum there and then. Risking the anger she feared but had yet to experience to its full extent.
    “When will I see you again?” she asked.
    He looked at her and smiled. “I’ll be home next Wednesday, I imagine. This type of job usually takes a week, ten days at most.”
    “You’ll be home just in time for your bowling tournament then,” she said sarcastically.
    He stood up and put his arms around her, drawing her in toward the bulk of his body, clasping his hands under her chest. The feeling of his head on her shoulder had always sent a tingle down her spine. But now she pulled away.
    “True,” he said. “I should be back in good time for that. So before you know it, it’ll be last night all over again. OK?”

    After he had gone and the sound of the car engine had died away, she stood for a long time with her arms folded and her gaze out of focus. It wasone thing to be lonely in life. But it was quite another not to know what you were paying that price for. The chances of ever catching a man like hers cheating on her were minimal, she knew that, even though she had never tried. His territory was a vast expanse, and he was a careful man; everything in their life indicated that. Pensions, insurance, double-checking of windows and doors, suitcases and luggage, desk always tidy, no hastily jotted notes or receipts left behind in pockets or drawers. He was a man who left no trace. Not even the scent of him remained more than a few minutes after he had left the room. How would she ever uncover an affair unless she put a private investigator on him? And where was she supposed to get the means to do that?
    She thrust out her lower lip and expelled warm breath slowly into her face. Like she always did prior to an important decision. On the riding ground before clearing the highest obstacle. Before choosing her confirmation dress. Even before saying her vows in the church. And before going outside to see if life might be any different there in that gentle light.

3
    David Bell, a convivial hulk of a police sergeant, liked to take things easy, to sit and stare out at the waves as they smashed against the rocks. All the way up at John O’Groats, Scotland’s very extremity, where the sun shone only half as long but twice as stunningly. This was David’s birthplace, and it was where he intended to die when his time was up.
    David Bell was made for the rugged sea. Why should he idle away his time sixteen miles farther south in the office of Bankhead Road Police Station in Wick, when this slumbering harbor meant so much to him? It was a fact he made no bones about.
    It was also the reason why his boss always dispatched him to sort things out whenever there was trouble brewing in the communities up north. David would trundle up in his patrol car and threaten the local hotheads that he’d call in an officer from Inverness. It was generally enough to settle things down again. In these parts, no one wanted strangers from the city nosing about in their back gardens any more than they wanted horse piss in their Skull Splitter ale. It was more than enough having folk come through for the Orkney ferry.
    Once things quieted down, only the waves remained, and if there was one thing Sergeant Bell had plenty of time for it was the waves.
    Had it not been for Bell’s characteristic sedateness, the man who found the bottle might have hurled it back whence it came. But since the sergeant happened to be sitting there in his neatly pressed uniform with the windin his hair and his cap on the rock beside him, handing it to him seemed the obvious thing to do.
    The bottle had been