Our man in Camelot

Her husband gave a disapproving grunt, as though he deplored the lowering of the drawbridges. 'Well, it was 'Keep Out' here in the old days, that's for sure. I'd guess this was a fortified farmhouse once upon a time, complete with loopholes covering the entrance.'

'Gee—fortified against what?'

'Uninvited guests.' Audley pointed towards the sea.

Mosby stared down the gorse-covered hillside into the combe which cut the cliffs almost down to the little rocky beach below. Suddenly, unaccountably, he remembered the passage he had been reading a few moments before in Keller—the letter written by the Roman bishop bewailing the dreaded barbarian: Unexpected he comes: if you are prepared he slips away… Shipwrecks do not terrify the Saxons: such things are their exercise… For since a storm puts us off our guard, the hope of a surprise attack leads them gladly to imperil their lives amid waves and broken rocks…

The red-orange glow from the setting sun had seemed to warm the landscape until this moment. But now it was cold, with the promise of darkness to come. And now he felt what the bishop had felt fifteen centuries ago— and what Audley knew too, so well that he instinctively echoed it in an unguarded thought, because they were both in the business of watching for uninvited guests.

'Ugh!' Shirley shivered. 'I must remember to lock the door tonight.'

Audley looked at her rather vaguely over his spectacles; either he had a low sex-drive or Faith Audley was damn good in bed, Mosby decided. Then he was aware that the pale eyes had moved on to him, and that they were no longer vague. He had the uncomfortable feeling that his thoughts were being read with a remarkable degree of accuracy.

'What my wife means,' Audley began, as though the previous remarks had never been made, 'is that the possession of old property differs from ownership of new… A modern house is in the nature of a consumer durable, like a refrigerator or a mass-produced car. It may have more than one owner, but it has a decidedly finite life-span. But an old house is different: you don't use its life up—it uses up yours.

As a historian you should understand that, Mr Sheldon.' He smiled suddenly. 'But of course you're not a historian, are you. I was forgetting.'

Of course he was not forgetting at all: his approach was at once typically British and as transparent as that of a well-mannered but inquisitive twelve-year-old.

Anthony Price - Our man in camelot

Mosby laughed. 'Sorry to disappoint you. I'm a dentist.'

'A dental surgeon,' amended Shirley quickly.

'Same thing. Pull 'em, fill 'em, straighten 'em. A plain honest-to-God dentist.' He shook his head. 'My wife has this thing about my being a dentist—'

'I do not!'

'Sure you do, honey—admit it, don't fight it. Lots of dentists' wives have it. Hell, lots of dentists have it.'

'Have what?' asked Faith politely.

'The feeling that dentists are medical students who couldn't quite make it. Nice guys, but only good enough for pulling teeth… And I shouldn't really say 'pulling teeth' either. A lot of dentists, if you mention 'pulling teeth' they get excited and very upset. You got to say 'extract' or they get uptight—

they're very formal about what they do because they have to impress you how important they are… Me, I don't need that—I'm not a retarded doctor, I'm a dentist.'

'And that's important enough,' said Audley gently.

'Sure as hell it is. When a kid comes to me and he's knocked out his front teeth—or when a young girl comes to me, and she looks at me and I look at her, and I know she can't get a boyfriend because her teeth are all wrong— then I don't need anyone to tell me I'm important. And what's more, I can put it right, and that's one hell of a lot more than some doctors can do with some of their problems, poor guys.'

He grinned all round.

'Mose, honey,' Shirley protested, 'I don't think any of those things you said.'

'You do so. It's just you haven't learned to be a dentist's wife yet, that's all.'

Audley coughed. 'And you can always cry all the way to the bank,' he observed helpfully. 'In my brief experience of American dentistry I formed the opinion that it was… ah… shall we say, well-rewarded?'

Mosby nodded agreement. 'You're so right. Beats most doctors any day. And you can be a good dentist and not kill yourself with overwork—you can see your families and have your hobbies. When I get out of this man's air force, you just watch me do it.'

Audley frowned at him suddenly. 'This man's—? Did you say 'air force'?'

'Sure.' Mosby nodded back cheerfully. 'I'm over here with the good old USAF—the 7438th Bombardment Wing.'

'Stationed over here?'

'USAF Wodden—in Wiltshire.'

Audley looked at him thoughtfully. 'F-llls, that would be—or is that Upper Heyford?'

'Upper Heyford? Man, they're the enemy. In the event of hostilities we take them out first—Upper Heyford first, then the Russians, that's the word.'

'What my husband means,' chipped in Shirley, 'is that on the base they spend all their time trying to be better than Upper Heyford.'

'And Alconbury—don't forget Alconbury. The hell with the Reds—just beat Heyford, beat Alconbury,'

said Mosby breathlessly. 'More sorties, better RBS figures—that's what the General lives on. One day he's