Tomorrow's ghost

''Always had his nose in a book, young Jack' - Rifleman Sands.' Paul nodded at the shelves. 'Thought he was going to be a schoolmaster, young Jack, did Rifleman Sands ...

scholarship boy at the grammar school, with his nose always in some book or other when he wasn't working at his odd jobs. And that's really how it happened, I suppose: the General kept an eye on him because he was RSM Butler's son - gave him the job because he was RSM Butler's son. Sands was there when he gave it to him. And then saw how much he read, and gave him the run of the library too ... One lonely old man and one lonely small boy - no mother, and Father Butler busy with his politics and his trade unionism when he wasn't working ... and the old General's only son had been killed by the Afridis ten years before, up in Waziristan somewhere, and his wife had died of 'flu donkey's years earlier, just after the '14 - '18 War. One plus one equals two ...

I guess young Jack must have aroused the old man's interest first, because he was his father's son. Then the interest became a sort of hobby, because the boy was intelligent...'

More than that under the surface, Frances suspected. There was a familiar enough pattern here: the age gap was such that the two of them would probably have been able to talk to each other in a way that they could never have talked to anyone else. She could remember the confidences she exchanged with Grannie, which went far beyond anything either of them had told Mother. And, for a guess, unspoken love would have followed spoken confidences.

As always, she was surprised how the memory of Grannie still ached. Or not the memory, but the loss.

'And then the interest - the hobby - became an obsession.' Paul gazed into space for a moment. 'You know, they wrote to each other once a fortnight. Butler and the General -

never failed. Sometimes it was only a note from Butler. And sometimes, when he was away at the war, and when he was in the thick of it in Korea, the letters would bunch up and arrive together. But the General would give Rifleman Sands a letter to post every other Monday, rain or shine, every one numbered in sequence. And he'd report to Sands how Butler was getting on - the day Butler's Military Cross was gazetted they both got stoned out of their minds, Sands says. Started with champagne, which neither of them liked, and finished up on 40-year-old malt whisky, and Sands sprained his ankle trying to get on his bicycle afterwards, and was off work for a week.' Paul grinned at her suddenly. 'Got his money's worth out of our Jack, the General did, in Rifleman Sands'

opinion - or value for money, anyway. And so did Sands himself, he was quite frank about it: nice little private nursing home, with pinchable bottoms - not a lot of change out of ?100 a week, I should think - all at Rifleman- Colonel Butler's expense. And not in the General's will, either - the General took it for granted that Butler would do it, and Butler did it.'

'Does that make Sands a reliable witness?'

Paul laughed. 'The old bugger doesn't give a damn. With his pension and his investments - he's been a bachelor all his life, and the General made his investments for him - he's got enough to see himself out, no problem. He said so himself.'

'Then why does he accept money from Butler?'

'Ah - now that's interesting. He does it to please Butler.'

'To ... please - ?'

Paul nodded. 'That's got you, hasn't it! Autres temps, autres maeurs, Princess ... You see, the way Rifleman Sands was brought up - and the way Rifleman-Colonel Butler, our Jack, was also brought up, just one street away in the same district, also on the wrong side of the tracks, but in the same world as the General - was that if a man did his duty to the best of his ability, then everything would be all right, come what may. You can laugh - '

'I'm not laughing.'

'Then bully for you. That makes you a very old-fashioned girl, I can tell you ... But I've talked to a lot of these old boys, when I was pretending to be an historian, and trying to find out how they stood it in the trenches. And it all comes back to the same thing: they didn't think it was religious, but they were all brought up on the Bible and it's straight out of St. Paul to the Colossians, chapter three: And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not to men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance, for ye serve the Lord Christ.'

Good God! thought Frances involuntarily: Paul Mitchell quoting the Scriptures - it wasn't so much surprising that he could recall the words accurately, because his amazing capacity for recall was well-known, as that he accepted their importance in preference for more cynical interpretations.

'So Rifleman Sands considers it his duty to let Butler do his duty. Which in turn allows Sands to leave his money to Army charities - mostly the British Legion - which Butler himself knows perfectly well, because he's an executor of the will ... I tell you.

Princess, it's all absolutely incredible. And at the same time it's beautiful as well, the way both of them have it worked out between them - where their obligations lie.'

He was telling her something now. Maybe he didn't think he was - maybe he was simply blinding her with what he took to be irrelevant facts, however academically interesting - but he was, nevertheless. He was telling her something of enormous significance.

'What about those letters? The General would have kept them - did they go to the Imperial War Museum?'

Paul shook his head. 'No way we're going to get a look at them. They're safe in the bosom of the regimental archives somewhere - he didn't include them with the papers he gave to the museum. And I mean safe. Because when he handed them over he slapped a 50-year embargo on them, and only he can unslap it ... the adjutant made that crystal clear.'

He paused for a moment or two, ran his finger over some of the books casually, and then glanced sidelong at her. 'A decent fellow, the adjutant ... didn't know Butler himself, too young, but he produced a couple of old sweats who knew him pretty well, and put me on to a retired half-colonel

of the Mendips who was one of his subalterns in Korea ... Lives not far from here, the half-colonel, so I took him in en route. And there was another chap I talked to this morning, ex-Rifles ... I've covered one hell of a lot of ground since last night, and that's the truth.'

He was impressing her with how much he knew, and how much he had to offer.

And also that he was nearly ready to start trading.

'But he didn't tell me about the letters, the adjutant - I heard about them from Rifleman Sands. And when I phoned the adjutant back he said - ever so politely - that if Her Majesty wanted to see them it'd be a case of