The White House Connection Read Free Page B

these,' she said softly, and stubbed out the cigarette with a wry smile, remembering that she'd been saying that for months, and went in search of Hedley.
     
     
Stukeley was pleasant enough: cottages on either side of a narrow street, a pub, a general store and Emsworth's place, Rose Cottage, on the other side of the church. Lady Helen had phoned before leaving London to give him the time and he was expecting them, opening the door to greet them, tall and frail, the flesh washed away, the face skull-like.
     
     
She kissed his cheek. 'Tony, you look terrible.'
     
     
'Don't I just?' He managed a grin.
     
     
'Should I wait in the Merc?' Hedley asked.
     
     
'Nice to see you again, Hedley,' Emsworth said. 'Would it be possible for you to handle the kitchen? I let my daily go an hour ago. She's left sandwiches, cakes and so on. If you could make the tea.
     
     
'My pleasure,' Hedley told him, and followed them in.
     
     
A log fire was burning in the large open fireplace in the sitting room. Beams supported the low ceiling and there was comfortable furniture everywhere and Indian carpets scattered over the stone-flagged floor.
     
     
Emsworth sat in a wing-backed chair and put his walking stick on the floor. A cardboard file was on the coffee table beside him.
     
     
'There's a photo over there of your old man and me when I was a subaltern,' he said.
     
     
Helen Lang went to the sideboard and examined the photo in its silver frame. 'You look very handsome, both of you.'
     
     
She returned and sat opposite him. He said, 'I didn't attend Peter's funeral. Missed out on Roger's, too.'
     
     
'I had noticed.'
     
     
'Too ashamed to show my face, ye see.'
     
     
There was something here, something unmentionable that already touched her deep inside, and her skin crawled.
     
     
Hedley came in with tea things on a tray and put them down beside her on a low table. 'Leave the food,' she told him. 'Later, I think.'
     
     
'Be a good chap,' Emsworth said. 'There's a whiskey decanter on the sideboard. Pour me a large one and one for Lady Helen.'
     
     
'Will I need it?'
     
     
'I think so.'
     
     
She nodded. Hedley poured the drinks and'served them. 'I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.'
     
     
'Thank you. I think I might.'
     
     
Hedley looked grim, but retired to the kitchen. He stood there thinking about it, then noticed the two doors to the serving hatch and eased them ajar. It was underhanded, yes, but all that concerned him was her welfare. He sat down on a stool and listened.
     
     
'For years I lived a lie as far as my friends were concerned,' Emsworth said. 'Even Martha didn't know the truth. You all thought I was Foreign Office. Well, it wasn't true. I worked for the Secret Intelligence Service for years. Oh, not in the field. I was the kind of office man who sent brave men out to do the dirty work and who frequently died doing it. One of them was Major Peter Lang.'
     
     
There was that crawling feeling again. 'I see,' she said carefully.
     
     
'Let me explain. My office was responsible for black operations in Ireland. The people we were after were not only IRA, but Loyalist paramilitaries who, because of threats and intimidation of witnesses, escaped legal justice.'
     
     
'And what was your solution?'
     
     
'We had undercover groups, SAS in the main, who disposed of them.'
     
     
'Murdered, you mean?'
     
     
'No, I can't accept that word. We've been at war with these people for too many years.'
     
     
She didn't pour the tea, but reached for the whiskey and sipped some. 'Am I to understand that my son did such work?'
     
     
'Yes, he was one of our best operatives. Peter's ability to turn on a range of Irish accents was invaluable. He could sound like a building site worker from Derry if he wanted to. He was part of a group of five. Four men, plus a woman officer.'
     
     
'And?'
     
     
'They all came to an untimely end within the same week. Three men and the woman shot...'
     
     
'And