The Avenue of the Dead Read Free Page B

it.
    She felt as close to him at that moment as if he were still alive and would suddenly put his arm around her. The wind dropped and the sky was washed clear of strident reds and mauves and glowed serenely blue in the new morning. And there Davina asked the question of herself. Should she go back and accept the brigadier’s challenge? Would Ivan want to be revenged?
    She knew the answer as clearly as if he were beside her and had spoken. Revenge was sterile. The brigadier had made a mistake when he suggested that as a motive. But Ivan had given his life to frustrate the evil which was destroying human dignity and freedom. It had not been a vain sacrifice. He had done the Russians and their system incalculable damage. If she went back to work, it must be with the same objective. To frustrate and defeat the system which had claimed so many lives, besides Sasanov’s. To battle with his enemies, for his sake.
    She turned away from the ring of stones. He had bought a postcard of them from the little gift shop. That postcard went all the way to Russia to his wife. She had died peacefully in a Moscow clinic, and then Davina and he had married in Australia. They wanted children. In the aftermath of shock and grief she had miscarried. The loss was only a part of that other, greater loss. There was no point in thinking about it.
    She drove back to find the household awake, her mother in the kitchen making breakfast, her father running the bath upstairs. Like all old houses Marchwood had vociferous plumbing.
    â€˜Darling,’ Betty Graham said, ‘where on earth have you been? Out at this hour!’
    Davina kissed her lightly on the cheek. She wasn’t a demonstrative person, and such tokens of affection were rare. ‘I woke early,’ she said, ‘so I took myself off to watch the dawn. Here, I’ll make the coffee for you. Why don’t you have breakfast in bed sometimes, Mother? You’re always running after other people.’
    â€˜I enjoy it,’ her mother said. ‘I’m good at gardening and I’m good at looking after people. I’m afraid it would sound pretty dreary to all those bustling ladies in Women’s Lib. But it’s my contribution and I like doing it. Oh, Davy, mind the toast, it’s burning – I’ll have to get a new toaster, that thing burns the minute you take your eyes off it.’
    â€˜You’ve been saying that for the last two years,’ Davina reminded her. ‘I’ll get you one as a present. A going away present.’
    Betty Graham turned round quickly. She was a woman who disliked secrets, and pretending that James White hadn’t told them anything made her uncomfortable.
    â€˜Going away? Do you mean you’re going to take that job James talked about?’
    Davina nodded. He wouldn’t have told them the truth. Whatever the lie was, she would support it. And typically, it would put him, the old family friend, in a good light. ‘I thought about it,’ she said. ‘And I felt I should pull myself together and get on with life. Ivan wouldn’t want me to sit around battening on you and father any longer. You’ve been wonderful, seeing me through the last six months. I couldn’t have survived without you. But I’m going to take this job and see how it works out.’
    â€˜I’m so glad.’ Betty Graham’s smile was warm. ‘I’ve been so worried about you, Davy. I know how much you’ve suffered over all this, and I’m not very good at talking about things. Neither is your father. But we just hoped being here would help you. We do love you very much, you know.’
    â€˜I know,’ Davina said. ‘Now don’t go on like that or I’ll make an idiot of myself and start crying. You make some more toast and I’ll call Father. I’ll ring the brigadier this morning.’
    Their conversation was brief.
    â€˜I’ve thought it over,’ Davina