The Old Vengeful

matters.

But ... I admire your father's work—I think The Dover Patrol was a fine book . . . and I could do this.' He paused. 'Also . . .

I'm between books myself at the moment, so I have several spare months.'

Well, there was an opening, even at the risk of emphasising her ignorance. 'Forgive me for asking. . . but you must understand that I don't read books about the World Wars . . .' It was harder than she'd expected, and she felt the blood rising in her cheeks.

'What books have I written?' The laughter lines crinkled on his face as he came to her rescue, making it older again, where his recent embarrassment had made him seem younger. 'Or were you going to ask whether I write under my own name?'

'Oh no—that's the coward's question!' She felt herself melting under such candour. 'But honestly, I haven't seen any of your books—and I'm sure that's my fault for being unobservant—'

'I doubt it. But I did have a modest success with my book on dummy3

the Hindenburg Line a few years back. And then there was the one on the battle of the Ancre . . . after which I completed Professor Emerson's definitive work on the Somme, though I can take no credit for that, of course . . . And finally, I have a new one coming out in the spring, about the Irish Guards in the war— Watch by the Liffey, that is ... When the last survivors of the 1st Battalion were hanging on to the edge of Zillebeke Wood on the outskirts of Ypres in '14 they heard a German band playing 'Die Wacht am Rhein', and one of them said 'Well, we'll give the bastards 'Watch by the Liffey' in reply'.'

On the back of a book in Margaret's shop—was that where she had seen him, his face? thought Elizabeth.

'Plus the obligatory thesis, and the articles on this and that.'

He fumbled in his top pocket. 'Perhaps I should have given you my card to start with.'

She read the card: Paul Mitchell . . . and on one side beneath, The King's College, Oxford, with a telephone number; and, on the other, 21B Namier Street, London WC2E 8QJ, with another number.

'And, if you'd like to check up further . . . I'm really a sort of civil servant, but I have this prolonged sabbatical, and the Hobson Research Fellowship at the King's College to make it economic—for me and the Civil Service both ... In a year's time Whitehall and Oxford and I must decide where my proper home should be.' He smiled disarmingly at her. 'But in the meantime you can call either the Master's secretary at dummy3

the King's or Sir Terence O'Shea at the Home Office, and they'll each give you the same dull answer. I'm perfectly respectable.'

In spite of all her previous second thoughts about him Elizabeth was perversely disappointed. The respectability was all there, but the romance was lost in the safety of such references.

'The only thing is that I'd like to—' Paul Mitchell stopped abruptly, staring past her.

'Ah, Dr Mitchell!' The Vicar materialised at Elizabeth's shoulder. 'I see that you have found our Miss Loftus . . .

Elizabeth, I confide that you have had a profitable afternoon?'

For the first time the 'proposition' became real to her. Since Father's death she hadn't seriously thought about his unfinished book—indeed, she hadn't really thought about it at all. Yet now she realised that in its relatively advanced state and with this man's expertise—alleged expertise, anyway

—it could become a real book, making real money for her . . .

Except that money was now something she didn't need.

But then, she didn't need to keep it: she could easily solve that problem, and even assuage her conscience a little, by assigning the royalties to St Barnabas' tower.

That thought, and the discovery that having so much had not made her eager for more, raised her spirits. 'Yes, Mr Bickersteth, I do believe that I have.' She swept the piles of dummy3

10p pieces into her cash-box with a flourish so that each of them could take that how he liked.

'I'm glad to hear it.' Dr Mitchell's cheerfulness clearly indicated his interpretation. 'And I liked that 'confide' too, Vicar. Would that be ecclesiastical usage or something from your naval background? Didn't Nelson try for 'Nelson confides' first before Trafalgar, only his signal lieutenant edited to 'England expects' to save the extra flags?'

The Vicar chuckled, but Elizabeth found herself speculating about Dr Mitchell again. It was reasonable enough that he should have asked the Vicar to point her out, and Crockford's Directory would have supplied details of the Vicar's naval career. But why had he gone to such trouble?

'You've met before, then?' She spread the inquiry between them.

'Only this morning, Elizabeth, only this morning,' said the Vicar. 'But we have an admiral in common—eh, Dr Mitchell?'

'Hah—mmm . . .' Dr Mitchell appeared not to have heard. 'I was just going to ask Miss Loftus, Vicar—but I can ask you just as well, or even better—how long her duties are going to detain her here? I'd very much like at least a sight of the manuscript before I go back to London, Miss Loftus . . .

Perhaps I might call on you early this evening—and then dinner afterwards?'

He was certainly taking her at her word in the way that word dummy3

suited him. But, what was more, he was carefully doing it in public in such a way that she could neither doubt his intentions nor refuse him without insult.

'Well. . .' she looked to the Vicar for help.