French Leave (27 page)

Max woke on Saturday morning totally unrefreshed. Sleep had been troubled by the problems that had haunted him the previous evening. Images of people had paraded through his mind as he attempted once more to read the biography of Sir Edmund Hillary.

The Smiths, whose lives had been broken up by the loss of their only son; Minnie Carr who, paradoxically, suffered similarly; a scared, despairing child fated to become just like the very people she presently condemned; a tailor's dummy parading as an estate agent and calling him Mr Goodey; Clare, to whom he had stupidly confessed secrets; Dan Farley, naked and vomiting beside a rotting barn; the spoiled and egotistical Trish Stannard; her bigot of a mother.

It had been recollections of that pair that had stopped him from calling Livya yesterday. He would not be as weak as Farley had been over a woman. This morning, he knew he could not let the silence continue between himself and someone he cared for. Clare had not offered advice; she had simply listened. Did she see reflections of her own relationship in what he had told her in that beguiling dusk beside the river?

A sudden sense of betrayal had him reaching for the telephone. He punched in Livya's landline number and waited with quickened heartbeat.

‘Livya Cordwell.' It was the voice of someone roused from sleep.

‘Hi! Thought I'd call early before you shoot off on urgent business.' It was not what he had meant to say, and had it sounded rather cool?

‘That was yesterday. Can you believe I have an entire weekend to myself? Talk to me nicely; tell me gentle things. I intend to stay in bed until mid-morning, so I need cosseting words and sweet promises that'll keep me in this drowsy state until you end your call. Then I'll slip back into sleep without any problems.'

Cosseting words and sweet promises? What on earth did she mean? Not an account of how he had found Dan Farley, and certainly not a description of the apartment he had viewed with Clare before having dinner with her.

A sexy chuckle came over the line. ‘Lost for words, Steve? I can almost picture your expression.'

‘If I was there with you you'd have no difficulty slipping back into sleep after my
physical
cosseting,' he said, back on course now she had called him Steve.

‘Not with that strapping to inhibit you,' she said softly. ‘Come over when she's removed it and declared you fit for anything.'

‘You come here. There's less chance of my father calling you out urgently at the worst possible time.' He developed that thought. ‘Why didn't you come last night, knowing you had a free weekend?'

‘We were together only four days ago, and I really need to laze around and recoup my energy. I'm dog-tired, and I know I was snappy with you on Tuesday. When we meet next time I want us to have a truly relaxing time.'

‘And I want to resolve this bloody long-distance relationship. It's been going on for nine months and I . . .'

‘I know, darling, but now isn't the moment to make important decisions. We have to get together and review all the options; take time over something demanding dramatic changes.'

‘I'll come over on the noon flight and return on the late one tomorrow night. That should give us long enough.'

‘Max, you're being uncharacteristically impetuous. That's no way to make a decision that'll affect our careers.'

‘Bugger our careers! I'm talking about happiness, peace of mind, enduring devotion, a home together, children . . .'

‘Marriage?'

‘Of course marriage.'

There was a brief silence. ‘That's why I said we have to get together and review the options. We can't do that with a phone call.'

Max was heading on a course that refused to meet buffers. ‘I can ask you to marry me with a phone call. And you can give me your answer with a phone call.' Into the resulting silence, he said, ‘Livya Cordwell, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

‘You silly, romantic idiot,' she said softly.

‘Is that a yes?'

There was another brief silence until she said, ‘If we decide we can make it work.'

‘I'll come over.'

‘No, Max. Nothing's changed. I'm still dog-tired, and you're in the middle of two complex cases.'

Feeling thwarted and needing an outlet for his strong feelings, he said, ‘I've solved one, and the other is close to resolution.' She failed to respond. ‘As a woman who's just been proposed to you're supposed to be in transports of delight and eager to be given a diamond ring to dazzle your friends and colleagues with. I want to fly over and buy you one.'

‘Oh God, one of us has to be sensible about this, and you appear to have been reading too much Barbara Cartland. We're not straight out of the egg, Max. We've been around a bit and seen the pitfalls; why marriages fail. We're both aware that our respective careers could be a stumbling block and we need to consider those problems before we go ahead with something like this.'

Deflated, disappointed by her common-sense attitude when he was hyped-up, he made his feelings apparent. ‘You're right. I've mistimed it. Should have waited until I could go on one knee with low lights and champagne, and produce a velvet box containing an impressive solitaire.'

After a moment or two, Livya said, ‘You can do all that once we've thrashed out the pros and cons of living as a married couple, darling. One thing, though. I have my Slavic grandmother's betrothal ring. I'd prefer that to a modern solitaire.'

‘Yes, of course. But you won't start wearing it until we've thrashed out the pros and cons?'

‘That's only sensible.'

‘Yes.' He tried to sound sensible. ‘As soon as this remaining case is wound up, I'll take a week's leave, possibly longer. I've several days due to me. If you tell my father you need a long break at the same time, we'll consolidate our plans.'

‘The first weeks of October should be ideal. I know there's a good chance of a quiet period then.'

‘That's five weeks away!'

‘We'll talk every evening, and it'll give us time to get our minds around the issues involved.'

‘The main issue is that I want to be with you all the time.'

‘Exactly, darling, so we have to work out the best solution to that.'

He knew, even then, that she did not consider it to involve relinquishing her appointment as ADC to Brigadier Rydal, and he ended the call unsure whether she was engaged to him or not.

Restless, angry with himself for handling things so badly, deeply disappointed with Livya's response to his proposal – weren't women supposed to be thrilled and excited on such occasions? – Max had to ease his frustration with action. Tamping down the urge to take the noon flight anyway, he drove to the river. A skiff was out of the question and he very soon discovered the strapping round his chest also made a canoe impossible to control. Yet he longed to seek the solitary, shady stretches of green water, where he could ease his bruised spirits.

Gerhardt, who hired out the boats, suggested Max take one of the small motor-powered craft. ‘There is no exercise. It is just sit and steer.' Seeing Max's frown, he added, ‘It is possible to go far in this one. To the weir is such easy and you will like to go on a day with sun. Yes, I say you this will be good, Captain.'

Against his inclination, Max set off in what he thought of as a tub more suited to the elderly or a young woman with children.
We're not straight out of the egg, Max
. No, but they were young enough to be impulsive now and again.
You appear to have been reading too much Barbara Cartland
. Books the elderly read to try and recapture their youth? Is that how she saw him?

Unbidden, the old suspicions of her feelings for his father returned. Did she prefer the wisdom and steadiness of an older man; someone who would never make a proposal of marriage over the phone? Was that why she had avoided a direct acceptance?
If we decide we can make it work
.

Even his flippant comment that he should go on one knee, with low lights and champagne, she had countered with the suggestion of waiting until after they had thrashed out the pros and cons of living as a married couple. She did not even want his ring. She had her own.

At that low point he realized he was doing what he had vowed not to: emulating Dan Farley's refusal to look beyond hormonal passion. Opening the throttle, he sent the little craft faster through the water, heading to the unfamiliar stretch leading to the weir. What he should do was go out tonight and pick up a bimbo who would satisfy his hunger and match this urge to go a little wild.

The river was deeper and darker here. It also ran faster after tumbling over the dam. White foam capped the wavelets that set Max's boat rocking. Something about that boisterous water and the thunder of the cascade ahead excited him. It suited his mood. He never came here in the skiff. Too risky. But this broad-waisted little tub could ride the rushing, dancing flow with sensible handling.

The river widened slightly, the banks having been worn away over the years. They were edged with a tangle of debris, deposited by the surge that had been considerably swollen during the recent storm. Now, even two weeks later, the huge glistening wave sliding over the dam breached the banks to swamp the wooded stretch along the first fifty yards.

Max eased the throttle so that he could just hold the boat steady while he gazed in delight at the natural waterfall, enjoying the coolness of spray on his face. Gerhardt had been right. This was very good on a day with sun, and the evidence of power and certainty this gave out restored his equilibrium. The vessel was sucked in towards the right bank, but he was content with that. He was in no hurry to leave this spectacle.

Progress was halted by debris beneath an overhanging bough. Max tied the painter to it, and sat reviewing more calmly what Livya had said. She was right in saying big decisions must be made before they embarked on marriage. As he grew even calmer, the small voice he had heard before whispered that the kind of life Tom had with Nora would never be found with the woman he loved.

Time passed as he recalled the ups and downs of his years with Susan. What had been so wonderfully promising at the start had gone spectacularly wrong. Did he want to risk that happening again? The charm and vibrancy of the weir suddenly vanished and he saw only a cold, green slide of water that carried everything inexorably forward. Go with it, or cling to an anchor and be pummelled by its relentlessness. To defy it would be a long, hard struggle.

Growing cold in the shade of the trees, and chilled by his thoughts, Max reached up to untie the painter. The knot remained untouched as he saw something floating in the middle of storm debris. Something he recognized very well. The body wore combat trousers and a khaki T-shirt.

THIRTEEN

T
om drove to work on Monday morning in a bad mood, wishing the school holiday was over. The effort of keeping their girls away from Jake's club was wearing Nora down. She had tackled him on the subject last night, declaring that it was growing too expensive. Maggie, Gina and Beth naturally wanted to be with their friends, so the outings to
Demoiselle
, or to various local attractions, frequently meant Nora escorting six or seven youngsters. Entrance fees and refreshments, to say nothing of petrol costs, were mounting up in an alarming fashion. She was also having to invent reasons why the Black sisters could not accept invitations, for fear of these culminating in a visit to Jake's summerhouse.

Tom sympathized because it meant Nora had little time to herself, a breather from the demands of motherhood, yet he was unable to see a solution while SIB interest in the sixth-former's enterprise remained. Nora had asked that he tell their offspring why they were being kept from the club, but he claimed it would be putting too great a burden on them and involving them in police activities, which was unacceptable.

At breakfast there had been a difficult scene and Nora had lost her temper. They had turned to him for support, which he could not give. Instead, he had rashly suggested they and their mother could go over for three days to a favourite Dutch holiday resort, where they could sail and waterski on the lake. He had been smothered with kisses of delight from the girls, but received mixed messages from Nora. Maggie's delight had diminished on being told Hans was not included in the scheme. Or any schoolfriends.

Advising them to spend the day packing and preparing for the trip, Tom had then been followed to his car by a wife asking if he would get to the bottom of the suspicion surrounding the DVD club before they were broke.

On reaching Section Headquarters, Tom found the team all looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The advent of Jack Carr's body had started a buzz of renewed interest in the case. The ‘floater', as corpses found in water were named, had been positively identified by Carr's dental records. Because it had been discovered in the river, Klaus Krenkel's men had initially dealt with the case, and a German pathologist had examined it. Once identity was established, the
Polizei
were happy to let SIB work in conjunction with them and gave them free rein.

Tom opened proceedings by dampening any suggestion that the Carr case had been resolved. ‘We have the answer to where he is, but he's left us with a number of questions on why he ended up in the river.' Unable to resist it, he glanced across at Phil Piercey. ‘Rather knocked on the head your theory of Dan Farley killing him and putting him in a shallow grave.'

Undeterred, Piercey grinned. ‘He dumped Carr in the river instead, during that bogus search of the exercise ground. That's when the storm broke and the river broke its banks. Easy peasy!'