[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.All Harry told me was that one of his men was badly injured by a sniper, and getting him to the medics delayed his unit so much that they missed much of the fighting.“You knew him well?” I ask.“No.Not then, anyway.We met again a couple of years ago, of course, over the Saudi deal.” I smile ignorance and he explains, “The yard here,”—he points a hand in the general direction of Ipswich—“was tendering for the patrol boat order against several places in Europe.They needed all the help they could get.Harry persuaded the government to get behind it, got things going on the diplomatic front.” He gives a slow nod of acknowledgment.“And very effective he was too, so they say.”This does not surprise me.Harry loved manoeuvring people and situations towards a goal, enjoyed using his power as an MP.Most of all, of course, he loved being at the centre of things.“And then,” Moreland continues in a voice that is oddly diffident, “he did me a great favour once.”I do not doubt this either.Harry was a firm believer in the bestowing and collecting of favours; it was the currency by which he operated.If I am at all surprised, it is that Moreland should have been the beneficiary of Harry’s largesse.As an overseer of boatbuilding projects, I would not have thought Moreland particularly influential.I do not ask what this favour might have been.In the way of favours traded between men, I imagine it is something that Moreland would rather not discuss.“Harry never talked about the Falklands,” I say reminiscently.“Nor about the Paras, either.I don’t think—“I pause, examining the remark for disloyalty.“I don’t think he ever really enjoyed soldiering.”Moreland opens his mouth to speak, then changes his mind.Finally he says with a shrug, “Well, it’s a fairly dubious way to earn a living, isn’t it, even at the best of times.”“Dubious?” An odd word.“Oh, I don’t mean dishonourable.” He chuckles drily.“I mean that you join up because—in my case anyway—your father was in the Marines, and his father before him, and in your eighteen-year-old innocence you think it’d be a good idea to do a few years’ service, have a few years of stretching yourself in very well-defined directions.”“And then you go to war.”“Yes, strange that.You get to think you’ll never do any real fighting and then suddenly there you are.It’s the real thing.” His eyes veer towards the fire.He says with a grunt of disdain, “People being killed.Friends.Nobody really warns you how you’re going to feel about that.” His face tautens.His eyes swing back to mine.I glance quickly away.I stare at the ashes.I’m not sure I am in the right state of mind for this sort of discussion.When I glance back, it is to find Moreland watching me.“I think Harry was rather like you,” I remark.“I think he joined because of his father.I mean, if one’s looking for reasons.Losing his father so young, there was a sort of inevitability.A psychiatrist would probably say so, anyway.”Moreland nods pensively, though I have the feeling that his thoughts, whatever they may be, are directed less at Harry than at me.Josh comes into view, staggering under the weight of a slopping bucket.Moreland, catching my flicker of amusement, follows my gaze and, jumping to his feet, hails him.“Easier to take the plates to the bucket, Josh.” Collecting the plates, Moreland scoops the bones into the embers and, shooting a quick smile in my direction, goes to meet Josh, who, having lowered the bucket to the ground, is resting athlete-style, bent forward, hands braced on knees.I am on a downward slide from the wine, sleepy, mildly befuddled, pleasantly detached.As Moreland demonstrates dish-washing techniques to Josh, I get off my wooden perch and stretch out on the grass, eyes closed.It would be easy to doze but if I do I know I’ll have trouble sleeping tonight, and it is the nights I’ve come to dread.After a time I hear feet approaching and the sound of someone dropping onto the ground not far away.“I trust Josh is going to maintain this sudden enthusiasm for washing up,” I murmur.“Ahhh.” Moreland draws the sound out into a small laugh.“I’ve done my best to encourage him,”“Funny how men are perfectly capable of these things when it suits them.” I soften my voice to show there is no rancour in this.“Ha! Now there’s a statement that a man answers at his peril!” But his voice is warm; he enjoys this sort of debate.“But you’re right.Of course you’re right.Guilty as charged.Most men, anyway.Naturally I am a glowing exception.But m our general defence.I must say that we used to be encouraged—still are, really—by, dare I say it, women, who make us feel unwelcome and incompetent in the kitchen.”“No man in my life has ever been made to feel unwelcome in the kitchen.” I say.He laughs, but a little awkwardly, and I sense Harry’s presence, a shadow that falls across the conversation.Then, as if in reply to some question, Moreland says, “But he’ll be all right, Josh.He’ll be fine, you know.He’s got…” He hums as he searches for the word.“Passion.Real enthusiasm.”I ponder this compliment.Passion is not something that I would immediately consider in relation to Josh—or many other children for that matter—but in a sense Moreland is right; it is a good and positive thing to possess.Unless it is powerful and dark, like Harry’s.Moreland continues in what I realise is a single chain of thought, “But you…” He is unusually hesitant.“…well, I imagine things are not going to be so easy for you.” He adds quickly, “I mean, legally.Financially.”I open my eyes a fraction.The clouds bulge darkly overhead.“Well, no.I don’t think these things ever are.”“I had a friend once…Her father was lost at sea.The family had a terrible job sorting it out.” I turn my head.He is sitting with his arms resting on his knees, squinting sideways at me.I sense an element of preparation in this, that he has guided the conversation towards this point.He goes on, “The first lawyers got it wrong and wasted two years.The family ended up having to sell their house.I just wondered…” The slight awkwardness again, which seems uncharacteristic of him.“You’re all right for advice, are you? I know you’ve got Leonard.But what about experts? Has he managed to find the right people for you?”It occurs to me that I could take this as an intrusion, that Moreland is overstepping the marks of our new acquaintance, but for some reason his interest does not bother me, perhaps because it is purely practical—about the only sort of interest I can deal with—and clearly well-meant.“I think so
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]