The Lazarus Gate Read Free Page B

and quiet, at least for a while, without the pressure of keeping up appearances. I felt agoraphobic, like an animal too long in captivity, uncertain of the conditions of its release. I tried to put aside such foolishness but, as we rode, I confided in Denny that there was more to my choice of lodgings than just assets.
    ‘In truth,’ I explained, ‘I do want somewhere homely, as you put it. I’ve been away for too long, Jim; experienced more than anyone’s fair share out East. I don’t mind telling you that I was already feeling stifled when I reached the embassy in Hong Kong—every dinner a formal one, every conversation stuffy and centred on politics. I just want to lay my head on a soft pillow and eat some hearty food that hasn’t been prepared by the finest chefs money can buy. A comfortable boarding house sounds far more appealing to me right now than a stuffy hotel or large, empty townhouse. Does that make any kind of sense?’
    Jim tipped his head back and laughed. ‘Not really, old boy, I’d live in first-rate hotels all my life given half a chance—but I think if I were in your shoes I wouldn’t make much sense either.’ I couldn’t help but laugh with him, and yet I wondered what would happen to him if he were sent out to the front line, far away from the finer things in life to which he was so obviously accustomed. Would he be so ready with a jest if he’d seen all that I had?
    * * *
    The growler rattled its way along cobbled streets, the sound of the horses’ hooves almost drowned out by the rhythmic clattering caused by the steel-rimmed wheels of the carriage. I gazed out of the small window as Jim prattled on about all that was current in London; the latest stage shows, museum exhibitions, fashionable writers and society scandals. He was rarely serious, and I wondered how on earth he could command the respect of his men. One soldier rode with us, whilst the other accompanied the driver. The man in our cab was a youthful private, not a day over eighteen I guessed, conspicuous by his silence.
    ‘You know,’ said Jim, ‘our fathers knew each other. Colonel Denny often talked about Brigadier Hardwick. He was a good soldier, by all accounts.’
    ‘Yes, he was. It was all he knew. And Colonel Denny? Is he…?’
    ‘Oh, he’s very much alive, the old goat,’ Jim laughed. ‘Terrorising the servants, running the old house like a military academy.’
    ‘I know that part,’ I said, staring out of the window. ‘I often think I should have just given in, and joined up sooner.’
    ‘But you had other dreams. Fathers always want their sons to follow in their footsteps, whether they want to or not. I’ve seen it before—luckily, when I was a boy, I just wanted to be a cavalryman; and here I am.’
    ‘I wish you more luck than I’ve had,’ I said, earnestly. ‘Following in my father’s footsteps hasn’t been quite what I’d expected.’
    ‘Ah, yes. I heard you had a rough time of it. Wounded? Or captured?’ He looked as though he regretted the question as soon as it escaped his lips.
    ‘Captured. Six months, near as damn it.’ Jim looked at me, partly pityingly, partly in wonder.
    ‘I hear conditions out there…’ Jim stopped short.
    ‘The Burmese rebels have methods of torture that are alien to an Englishman. Even now the memories are… well, let’s just say I don’t like to dwell on it. It was only after my release that I discovered how long I had been imprisoned.’
    ‘I don’t mean to pry, old boy…’ Jim said.
    ‘No, it’s fine,’ I said, somewhat disingenuously. I wondered if Jim had been ordered to coax answers from me. I had experienced plenty of that recently, but I had no desire to hide anything from the army, no matter how painful the memories.
    ‘Why did the rebels release you? Did you ever find out?’ Jim asked.
    ‘No one knows. It was sudden and unexpected—maybe they realised I wasn’t going to talk, and decided that they should get some value from me