the tears trapped beneath her eyelids. “I wanted to do something different,” she said at last. “I wanted to get out there into the real world and do something exciting, just for once. Something that would matter.”
She skimmed her gaze over me briefly, then let it fall. “I’ve always been really good at organisation,” she said, now talking to the worn carpet in front of her feet. “I can plan and organise a children’s party, a conference, a fund-raiser.”
She glanced at the three of us briefly and gave what might have been a self-derisory laugh. “All three at once, if you like. It’s easy. Multitasking, my daughter-in-law would call it. Somebody told me that was what ninety percent of close protection work was all about. Organising security during transport, hotels, restaurants. That’s what fascinated me about the job. Not all this running around in the mud and the dark, being screamed at by a bunch of thugs.”
Her face collapsed again, and she brought her hands up to cover it. Elsa put her arm back around Shirley’s shoulders and gave her a helpless squeeze. She flashed me a look of reproof from behind her glasses.
“Anybody on the job would give their right arm to have you co-ordinating all that kind of stuff behind the scenes for them,” Jan said suddenly. “It’s not all gung-ho bullshit. You hang in there, girl, and don’t let the bastards grind you down.”
In spite of herself, Shirley smiled wanly but looked no more convinced. We tried for another half an hour to talk her into finishing what she’d started. When the memories of the cold and the tiredness and the bullying had faded, she’d always berate herself for giving in. What was a few weeks of discomfort, compared to a lifetime of regret?
In some ways, I had done exactly the same thing. Given in when the going had become too difficult. Maybe the sense of disappointment I’d felt then went some way towards explaining some of my actions since. My occasional stubbornness to the point of stupidity. My disinclination to just let things go, however prudent a move that might turn out to be.
When we left her, Shirley seemed more positive, but there was an underlying sense of defeat about her. I knew we hadn’t really got the message through.
***
Shirley wasn’t the only one who was feeling low. There were a lot of subdued faces in the dining hall that evening. Lack of sleep and a punishing regime of exertion and mental fatigue was taking its toll. As I ate I had the chance to quietly observe the people around me. Even Declan was looking miserable.
I was beginning to pick out faces from the crowd. They were becoming more individual and distinct, and so were their abilities. McKenna had started out badly and gone downhill from there. It wasn’t so much that he was sitting a little way apart from the others, as they were sitting apart from him. He was picking at his food, with his head down and his eyes fixed to the tablecloth in front of him.
A couple of places away was a big Welshman called Craddock. He was an ex-Royal Engineer with a robust sense of humour, who was sailing through the course with a calm that sometimes seemed almost drug-induced. The more Todd had ranted at him that morning, the more serenely Craddock had taken it. I wondered if it was a deliberate ploy.
The German contingent were all very competent, with Hofmann probably in the lead, but Elsa not far behind him.
Of the rest, Romundstad was the quiet one of the bunch, but I had a feeling he might turn out to be a very useful player in the long run. He’d certainly been the best of us during the afternoon session. We’d spent part of it on more driving drills, and the rest learning immediate first-aid from Figgis for dealing with our damaged principal.
I’d done first-aid before, from simple stuff right up to full scale simulated casualty exercises with the army. I’d even had to cope with more genuine medical emergencies – involving myself as well as others – than I liked to think about.
At the Manor, though, things were slightly different. Figgis had headed up the usual priority checklist of Breathing, Bleeding, Breaks and Burns with another point of consideration. Being Safe.
“If you’re still under fire, or in a position where there is still a threat, it’s pointless trying to start CPR on the guy,” he’d said. “You
We’d all nodded, sober, then he’d added. “Oh, and the most important rule. What do you do if it isn’t your principal who’s hit, but another team member?”
There was a moment of silence. I think we all knew the answer he was looking for, but nobody had wanted to actually come right out and say it.
It was Romundstad who’d spoken, frowning as he tugged at the trailing end of his moustache. “Nothing?”
Figgis nodded, looking round at the various degrees of discomfort and distaste on the faces of the class.
“That’s right. It doesn’t matter if he’s lying in the middle of the street screaming. You get your principal to safety first, then you help your mate, but
“Penny for them?”
I shook myself loose from my recollection and found Rebanks hovering next to my chair. He’d finished his meal and was carrying a mug of coffee. “Sorry?”
“You look deep in your thoughts,” he said, grinning. “I was just offering you a penny for them. Did old Figgis come over too graphic on the blood and guts front today?”
I smiled back. “No, he was very restrained,” I said. “Hardly anybody fainted.”
He hitched his hip onto the table next to me, made himself at home. “You don’t strike me as the fainting kind of girl,” he said. He eyed me momentarily over the rim of his mug as he took a swig of his drink.
I waited a beat, then said sweetly, “I was talking about the blokes.”
The instructor’s grin grew wider.
Now, I thought, would be a good time to ask my awkward questions. “You said this morning that there’d never been an accident on the range.”
“That’s right,” Rebanks said smartly. “And I aim to keep it that way, which is why I don’t appreciate pillocks like Mr Lloyd.”
“I did hear,” I said, as offhand as I could manage, “that there was something that had happened recently. That somebody was killed out here?”
“Where did you hear that?” Rebanks tensed, then took a drink of his coffee, making a real effort to relax.
I shrugged. “It was just a rumour.”
“Yeah,” he said with a touch of bitterness about him, “and we know how easy those start.”
“So,” I said, “any truth in it?”
He shook his head, but his body language shouted that he was lying. “Nah. You don’t want to believe all the gossip you hear.”
Undeterred, I tried a different tack. “So, is it true we’ll be firing Hydra-Shok hollowpoints on the range next time?”
“What?” Rebanks said, his voice almost a yelp. He swallowed before he went on, more calmly, “Waste good stuff on you lot? No chance. Where did you hear
“Oh, someone mentioned it, that’s all,” I said, waving another vague hand in the direction of just about everyone else in the room.
“Well they’re talking bollocks,” Rebanks said firmly. “We don’t have any in the armoury.”
There was a pause, then he turned the tables on me. “So,” he said, “you did pretty good this morning. Where did you learn to shoot?”
I laid my knife and fork on my empty plate and pushed it away from me slightly before replying. “I did a bit at a local gun club – before they closed it down, obviously,” I said.
“No military stuff then?” he asked, voice a shade too casual.
Physically, I sat still but mentally, I jumped. What had I done to give myself away?
My mind threw a rocky excuse together with all the care and skill of a third-rate cowboy builder. “We’ve an army camp with an outdoor range near where I live,” I said. “I went there once to see if I fancied joining the
