Voices on the Wind Read Free Page B

them with his napkin. He loved his ‘things’ as he called them. He dusted the good china himself, and made his own mixture of beeswax and turps to preserve the furniture.
    â€˜It’ll be years before he comes to trial,’ his guest said, ‘you know what the French bureaucracy is like. Some kind of deal will be arranged, I’m sure. Too many important people have too much to lose if he is allowed to give evidence. They won’t let it happen. So there’s no need for us to worry.’
    â€˜I don’t worry,’ the Colonel said. ‘It would be much easier to block any investigations now than it was after the war. And just supposing things got out – would you really mind, after all these years? I’m damned if I would!’
    â€˜That’s not the official view,’ the younger man reminded him. ‘They don’t want the past raked up.’
    â€˜Then why don’t they do something about it? We would have done. I think this is a very good port. Sixty-two was a great year.’
    The Colonel’s white hair gleamed in the candlelight. His friend smiled and shook his head. He hadn’t changed. He had never hesitated to sanction murder. He was incredible in those days. He really could get people to die for him as well as kill. ‘It is good,’ he agreed, finishing the port. ‘You certainly do yourself well. Food was first class.’
    â€˜Morag’s a competent cook,’ his host agreed. The previous subject had been abandoned. They wouldn’t mention it again. ‘She’s improved; I sent the old dear on a course two years ago. Ten days in Paris. She loved it, and she came back full of enthusiasm. The English can never really make good sauces, but her pastry was like a feather. Mille-feuilles that melted in the mouth, too.’
    â€˜Bit extravagant, wasn’t it?’ His friend said this with a smile.
    â€˜Why not? I’ve nobody to leave money to; not like you, old chap, with your nice family. How is my godson Richard, by the way?’
    They talked about innocent topics like a young man’s career at the Bar, and the vagaries of a certain daughter-in-law, until it was time to break up their evening together. The host snuffed his candles carefully, not spilling any wax. He didn’t clear anything away. Morag’s husband, who had been his batman till he retired, cleaned up in the morning. He locked the front door, checked the safety catches on the windows at ground-floor level, and went up to bed. He had enjoyed his dinner. He liked his old friends, and that particular colleague had been his closest associate. Brilliant chap. Mind like a Chinese puzzle. Married a nice girl. The Colonel spent weekends with them during the summer. But he didn’t mind staying in London; he loved his house and his hobbies and became restless if he stayed away too long. He felt relaxed and contented. At three o’clock in the morning he woke with a fit of palpitation. He had remembered Katharine Alfurd.
    It was a very long time since Katharine had cooked for anybody. Dorothy insisted on doing it when she came over. She apologized to Paul, ‘It was a scratchy lunch, I’m afraid. I’ve been so occupied since yesterday, getting things in order. How do you like your coffee? I haven’t had time to make notes or get any papers together. I’ve only got some letters and they’re personal. I’d like to begin at the very beginning if you don’t mind.’
    Paul said, ‘Please, that’s what I want.’
    She liked the Frenchman. Silly for a woman of her age to warm to a man so much younger, but there it was. He could be my son, she thought, and took comfort from that. ‘I may be a bit long-winded,’ she said. ‘If you can’t follow it, just stop me and say so.’
    She lit a cigarette. ‘It started after I’d been in the Wrens for two months. I got this letter right out of the