Burghman said there’d been a problem but it was fixed and the slate was as clean as it needed to be.’
A deer had appeared from the thicket on the far shore of the lake. It looked around, advanced with delicate steps to the water’s edge, lowered its head and drank.
‘Never saw the point of killing animals like that.’
‘No,’ said Palmer.
‘I might have another smoke.’
A breeze had come up, worrying the trees, worrying the water. Palmer lit a cigarette, handed it over, lit another.
‘As it needed to be. That’s not the same as clean.’
‘No.’
‘This guy’s tried the media. Could try again.’
‘We’ll hear, we’ll have some notice,’ said Palmer.
‘It’s late to be caught in the rain, Scottie.’
They heard the sound of a jet on high, the booming hollow sound, filling the world, pressing on trees and water, on the throat. The deer started, was gone.
‘Won’t happen,’ said Palmer. ‘But we may have to go on with the Brits. I wanted to ask you.’
‘Don’t let Charlie near them. Subtle’s a Mossberg up the arse.’
‘I’ll go myself.’
‘Good. Time. Going back tonight.’
Out of the wind, on the path, deep in shadow, their heads down, feet disturbing the leaves. The other man looked at Palmer and Palmer looked at him, and they both looked away.
The man said, ‘Well, judgment. Live or die by your judgment.
Comes down to that.’
Palmer nodded.
‘But you know that, Scottie.’
‘I do. Sir.’
They walked, smoking, smoke hanging behind them like ragged chiffon scarves, the dark rising beneath them.
53
…WALES…
When they were on the motorway, he told her to drop him somewhere, anywhere, a petrol station, but she said no, they were going somewhere safe, he could decide what to do then.
Niemand didn’t argue. He tried to stay awake but the car was warm and quiet, the smell of leather, soft classical music on the player, and his head lolled and he fell asleep. He woke several times, registered nothing, and then they were entering a village on a narrow road with houses on both sides.
‘Almost there,’ said Jess.
He was asleep again before they were out of the village. He woke with the car going uphill on a stony dirt road, tight bends, their headlights reflecting off pools in the wheel ruts and turning stone walls silver.
They stopped.
An entrance, an old wooden gate.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘This is it.’
She was looking at him.
‘Where?’ he said.
‘Wales.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Gate.’
He got out, shaky legs, no feeling in his feet. Wet air. Cold, a wind whipping. Dead black beyond the beam of the lights and the only sound the expensive hum of the Audi.
He expected resistance but the gate swung easily, old but maintained, no squeaks, grease in the hinges.
She drove through. Niemand closed the gate. He walked to the car, hurting in many places, the balls of his feet. He didn’t mind. He was glad to be alive. There was a Greek saying for what he felt, for gratitude for life outweighing pain and suffering. He reached for it, the tone of it was in his head, the way it was said, but the words didn’t come.
He got in. They went up a narrow, steep driveway, turned left. The headlights caught one end of a low building, a long cottage, small windows, and they went past it and lit up another building, a stone barn, a big building with brace-and-bar doors and a dormer window.
Jess stopped and got out, the engine running, the lights on. She stretched, arms to the sky, fingers outstretched, then she bent to touch her toes. She was smaller than he remembered her to be.
‘Let’s put it inside,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’m looking after someone’s baby.’
‘Me,’ said Niemand. ‘I’m the baby.’ He said the words without thought but he didn’t regret them, wanted to apologise more fully, thank her.
Jess didn’t reply. She went to the doors, fiddled with keys and unlocked two padlocks. Niemand opened the doors, new doors. The Audi’s lights lit a large space, new concrete floor. A vintage Morris Countryman was to the left, the one with a wooden frame. On a rack against the back wall were big tools: snipper, chainsaw, hedge- trimmer. In front of them stood a stack of bags of fertiliser. To the right, in a line, were an ordinary lawn mower, a ride-on mower, two trail bikes, a mulcher, all new-looking and clean.
Jess parked the Audi.
Lights off. Pitch dark.
The cabin light came on, she got out, opened the back door and removed their bags, closed the door. Dark again.
They didn’t move for a moment, silence.
‘Good gear,’ said Niemand. ‘And neat.’
‘Doctors,’ she said. ‘They’re rich. He’s a slob but she loves order. She wants to come and live here for a few years, grow things.’
He took the bags, closed the doors, and she padlocked them. They walked around the house to the front door, crunching the gravel.
‘No electricity,’ said Jess.
Inside, she found a candlestick close to the door and lit the candle with a plastic lighter. They were in a small hallway, coats and hats above a bench. Three doors opened off the room. She went first, through the lefthand one into a big low-ceilinged room. He could make out armchairs, a sofa, an open hearth.
‘There’s a generator,’ she said, ‘but the lamps will do tonight.’
He followed her through a door into a kitchen. There were Coleman lamps on a shelf. She lit two, she knew what she was doing, how to pump them. The grey-white light brought back memories for him, other places far away and long ago.
‘You need to eat,’ she said.
‘No,’ Niemand shook his head. ‘No thanks.’
In the car, he had woken each time with the nausea he always felt after fear, after firefights, any violence, the sick feeling, and with it the physical tiredness, as if some vital fluid in his body had been drained.
‘Are you…?’
‘Yeah, fine.’
His whole torso hurt, felt battered. It wasn’t a new feeling. The first time was at the School of Infantry, he had boxed against men much bigger, much stronger, badly overmatched, taking heavy body punches, to the ribs, the shoulders, low blows too.
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
