Tomorrow's ghost

God rot Graham Alexander Bell or Thomas Alva Edison, or whoever. You may be a female Bachelor of Arts in English Literature, Princess, but I'm a Master of Arts in History, where facts still count for something ... and I'm not getting the right answers. Which worries me more than somewhat.'

'I'm sorry to hear that, Paul.' Beneath the froth he did sound worried, and that purged her anger. 'I really am.'

'So you should be. Because you should be worried for yourself too, my girl. And worried on two counts, also. Or at least two.'

'And what are they?'

'Oh, you can laugh.' He didn't sound his casual self, and that equally purged any shred of humour from their situation. 'It's Jack Butler's promotion we're supposed to be superintending. Has it occurred to you ... that might be true?'

'I assumed it was. Isn't that why it's important?'

'Too true. But I think I know what the promotion is.'

The Ring of Power, thought Frances - and then backed off from the image. Whatever power Colonel Butler was in line for, it had nothing to do with fairyland, or Middle Earth, or Cloudcuckooland; it was life-and-death power here on earth, her earth.

'And what promotion is that, then?'

'I'm not telling you - on this line. Four hours from now, where will you be, Frances?

We have to talk, you and I.'

He really believed his 'palace revolution' theory, she believed that now. And, allowing for paranoia being an occupational hazard of their profession, she was beginning to believe in his belief.

'I'll be at Colonel Butler's home this afternoon - and this evening, I hope.'

'Why there, for God's sake?'

'I have some answers to get, like you, Paul.'

'Christ! I'm dim, aren't I! Madame Butler, I presume?' He breathed out. 'They're really pushing it, aren't they!'

'Has it occurred to you that they could be right?' she pushed him deliberately, even though she knew the answer: Paul's distinction between right and wrong was always strictly factual, not ethical. Neither cheating nor any other morality came into it.

'You better believe that I have. Princess. That's the main thing that worries me. And that's why I need to see you. We have to talk!'

He wasn't going to go further on his own account. But he might go further on hers.

'So what's the second thing that should worry me? .You didn't actually get round to telling me.'

'Nor I did ...' He left the answer hanging in the air for a moment. 'They gave you carte blanche for the job, did they? They said you're the boss?'

'Yes.'

'Me too. So who was the first person you wanted to talk to about Jack Butler?'

David Audley -

Paul hardly waited for an answer. 'David Audley, of course. Because he's known Jack from way back - even before that file started, if my scuttlebut is correct ... Only carte blanche doesn't include David Audley, does it? Right? Or Hugh Roskill?'

Now he was pushing her.

'I'll bet you tried, Frances - because you've got some pull with Hugh Roskill from your happy little secretarial days ... And did they tell you that your handsome Wing Commander just happens to have winged off somewhere on business, where you can't pick his brains - did they tell you that?'

She hadn't even got as far as a refusal on Hugh, thought Frances: she hadn't even understood what she was into at that stage. 'So what?'

'Roskill doesn't matter much, but David Audley does - did you know that Jack Butler is godfather to David's daughter, the apple of his eye?'

'Yes - '

'Of course, David makes no secret of it. And I bet Jack Butler's a damn good godfather too. He's a great one for anniversaries, so he'd never forget a birthday - and he probably checks on the poor kid's catechism too, I shouldn't wonder.'

'Get to the point, Paul.'

'Don't be dim, Frances - that is the point. Among other things David Audley is almost certainly the greatest living authority on the life and times of Jack Butler.'

'But also a friend of his.'

'After a fashion. It's more of a love-hate relationship, actually - old Jack doesn't altogether approve of some of David's professional attitudes, David's too much of a maverick for him ... But even if I grant you friendship - and admiration - it wouldn't make a jot of difference if it came to a security crunch. Because under the skin our David is a real hard bastard - which you should know as well as anyone, Frances, having seen him in action.'

That, undeniably, was true, thought Frances. In professional matters David was not, decidedly not, a follower of the Marquess of Queensberry Rules.