scatter of starlings drifted up against the gold of the sky, turned and were swept sideways, curving around and settling again.
The unhappiness in Corcoran’s face was clear. Joseph knew him far too well to misread it. And there was fear as well, but subtle as a half-forgotten scent.
Joseph did not even know what the prototype was, or what it was designed to do. He could deduce its importance from Corcoran’s manner, from Matthew’s repeated visits to him, and above all from the fact that Corcoran himself believed one of his own men could be driven to commit murder to prevent its creation. That had to mean that the Germans had placed a man in the Establishment, secretly waiting his time, perhaps since the beginning of the war, an Englishman prepared to betray his own people.
Would Corcoran condone murder to preserve the invention? If it saved as many lives as he implied, if it even turned the tide of the war at sea, then yes, of course he might!
“Shanley . . .” He turned toward him again. “For God’s sake, be careful! If you know who it is, protect yourself! If he killed Blaine to sabotage the project, he’ll certainly kill you to protect himself! He’s ruthless, and you have no idea who he is!” The thought of Corcoran as a murder victim was unbearable. He was laughter and bright memories, reason, courage, and hunger for life. He was the bond with all that was good in the past now slipping away like the light fading on the horizon as the wind rose rustling in the elms. Joseph needed to cling to him and protect him, as if in some way he could even reach John Reavley through him.
Corcoran smiled, and for a moment there was an intense joy in his eyes. “Thank you, Joseph,” he said with a huskiness in his voice. “But I’ll be safe. You needn’t worry.”
“Do you know who it is, Shanley?”
“Do you think I would defend him if I did?”
“Wouldn’t you? If he were crucial to the project?”
“And he would give it to the Germans?” Corcoran said with mockery in his disbelief.
Joseph would not be diverted. “If you thought you could use him until exactly the right moment, then betray him before he betrayed you? Is that not what this kind of battle is about?”
Corcoran smiled. “My dear Joseph, I can’t answer that. I don’t know, because I haven’t faced the situation yet.” His eyes were dark and gentle as he looked back in the fast fading light. “But don’t fear for me. I’m very careful. Believe me, I care about the project more than anything else in my life. It is brilliant! More than I dare tell you. It would save not only a million lives, but Europe itself. That has to outweigh individual justice or even individual lives, hard as that is.”
There was no argument to make. Joseph stood silent, but the fear for Corcoran sank deeply into him.
It was not enough for him simply to pity or to fear. All the love in the world was worth nothing if he did not act. He had unraveled murder before now, even when he had not wanted to know who had committed it. Now, when it mattered desperately, he must try again—with renewed conviction.
CHAPTER
TEN
This!” Detta said with complete conviction, her eyes alight, herlips smiling. “It’s perfect!”
Matthew looked at it. It was a man’s wristwatch of a highly individual design, with a thin green circle around the face that was only visible when the light caught it. “It’s excellent,” he agreed, more bitterly aware of the irony than she was. It was a gift for her father, to her an Irish Nationalist fighting for his country against the British oppressor. There was nothing in her face, in its passion, laughter, or wild imagination that let him believe she also knew that he was the man who had ordered the murder of his parents. For him it was not just a war of nations but an acutely personal violation that would last as long as he lived.
“Yes, it’s excellent,” he agreed, struggling to mask his feelings. He refused to imagine Hannassey wearing it.
“Thank you for being so patient,” she said warmly. “It’s always difficult to know what to choose for a man. Women are easy.” Her expression was pinched with momentary pain.
She had never mentioned her mother. He had not wondered before what had happened to her, or if she was still alive. Perhaps she too had died tragically, even violently, and Detta had a burden like his to bear. Why had he not considered that? Why had he not considered many things, now that it was almost over—and one of them was going to pay the price of losing? He forced any dark thoughts from his mind.
“It was a pleasure,” he said aloud.
She gave a little laugh. “Liar!” she retorted, but there was no anger in her. She paid for the watch, and he could see that it was more expensive than she had anticipated, but the extra sacrifice gave her happiness. It was ridiculous that it should hurt him so much. He could give nothing to his father now. And here was the Peacemaker’s daughter, eyes soft with joy because she could give him something that cost her dearly. He walked outside while she finished the transaction.
A moment later she joined him in the street and they crossed into the park. The late afternoon sun was warm, creating an illusion of timelessness that both of them seemed willing to indulge in.
From where they were they could see at least twenty other couples, some walking arm in arm, many standing idly under the trees, some sitting on the grass. They passed one man wobbling on crutches, his left leg missing below the knee. The girl with him was white-faced and she kept looking away, as if afraid she would embarrass him by seeing his awkwardness. Perhaps she was revolted and knew he would see it in her eyes. Matthew caught it in her face, and for an instant hated her for it.
Detta touched his arm. “Some people can’t help it,” she whispered.
“We have to help it!” he exclaimed when they were out of earshot. “Won’t she expect him to love her when she’s older, when she’s put on weight and her bosom sags, or her skin has blemishes? Or does she think she’s always going to be so pretty?”
“She isn’t thinking, Matthew,” Detta answered drily. “She’s just feeling. She loved him as he was. You grow old slowly, this is all in a few days. And maybe he pushed her away? Have you thought of that? When we’re hurt in body and dignity, sometimes we take it out on those closest to us—and they don’t know what to do or how to help. She’s maybe hurting, too.”
He looked at her with surprise and a flood of perception he knew he should have had before. “You’ve seen that.” It was not a question.
She gave a little shrug, swinging her skirt with the elegance of her stride. “Irishmen are no different,” she answered as she walked ahead of him, the sun gleaming on her hair, catching rich, red lights in its darkness. She was slender, and there was the grace of a wild creature in her, moving when and where she would. The elusiveness of her was part of what Matthew loved. She made other women seem tame, too easily caught and held.
In the distance a band was playing, something patriotic and sentimental. Before the war the German bands had played here. Funny that Matthew should equate that music with peace now! What a blessed, lost innocence that was.
Three young men walked by together, in the uniform of the same regiment. They were laughing, teasing each other. They moved with a kind of unity, as if there were an invisible thread that governed them all.
A nursemaid pushed a perambulator. She seemed like a relic from another age.
A man stood in the middle of the grass, looking from side to side as though utterly lost. His face was bleak. Matthew had not seen these symptoms before, but Joseph had described them to him. The man had been so battered and deafened by the guns, seen such horror, that his mind had refused to accept any more. He had no idea where he was; the only reality was inside him, and that was unbearable.
This one looked about thirty years of age. Then as Matthew and Detta drew closer to him, Matthew realized with a twisting pity that he was probably more like nineteen or twenty. His eyes were old, but the skin of his cheek and neck said that he had barely reached maturity.
“Are you lost?” Detta said to the young man. She spoke softly, with a sweet, urgent gentleness.
He did not answer.
She asked again.
He looked at her, then the present returned to his mind. “I suppose so. I’m sorry. You look different. You’ve grown your hair. I thought you said you’d cut it off. Machines, or something. Caught in it—tore it right off.
