Here Be Monsters

'Oh - come on, Elizabeth! Jack Butler's on leave, because he has to take some leave, some time… So he made bloody sure that David wasn't around, when Fatso Latimer was running the shop. And Fatso wouldn't have summoned David back if there wasn't an emergency - he may be a basket-hanger, but he isn't an idiot.' He glowered at her. 'And I'm being sent back to Cheltenham. Though there's precious little I can do there in David's absence.'

When he delivered the final emphasis she knew that he wasn't going to tell her any more.

But, because of his weakness (and however badly that made her feel, for pressing that unfair advantage), it was worth one more push - even if she had to lead in with that wrong question, which she had managed to avoid.

'All right. So maybe there is some sort of emergency. And maybe the Deputy-Director is going to give it to me.'

'No 'maybe' - '

'All right - no 'maybe'.' She concealed her pleasure, but thought that he was a fool not to allow for it. But then, where she was concerned he was quite often foolish, they were agreed on that. 'And I'll even grant you the field- work hypothesis - though you haven't supported it with a single hard fact.' That was the first element of the push. Now for the second. 'But why should that be bad for me?'

He pursed his lips. But, of course, he wasn't that foolish: he knew when he was being pushed.

'For heaven's sake!' She acted out a pretense of irritation by settling her handbag under her arm and swaying towards the door. 'I've had practically two years here - even allowing for the instruction courses, and the information seminars, and all the rest of it… I know we are

'Research and Development', and not an active department. But we do undertake field-work on occasion -I do know that too.'

dummy2

What she also knew was that she didn't need to elaborate on that. He had been engaged in field-work when they had first met. And she had been the field in which he had been working.

'Yes.' He couldn't escape from his own memories. 'We do field-work.'

'So what are you complaining about?' The truth about Paul was that although he was reputedly very good in the field, he had several very bad experiences among those memories, which were probably warping his judgment now. Nevertheless, the more he agonized, the more certain she was that he had something more than hypothesis to go on.

A tiny muscle twitched in his cheek, betraying the clenched teeth beneath.

Field-work, thought Elizabeth happily. 'You're just wasting my time.' She settled her handbag under her arm, and started to make the beginning of her turn towards the door.

'Elizabeth - !'

So much 'for the running of the Sun and the rising of the Moon! thought Elizabeth. But this wasn't the moment to remind him of their already-forgotten treaty - not when he was cracking.

'Well?'

'I can't tell you what I think you're going to do. But you mustn't do it.' For a moment he was lost for words. 'Field-work is always a matter of choice - we're not contracted to do it.'

Those were the wrong words, even though accurate. Because they both knew that she couldn't refuse, even if she had wanted to. Which she didn't.

'Why can't you tell me?'

'Because… if I'm right - ' He damn well knew he was right! ' - it's a secure classification.

And I can't buck that. Not even for you.' He shook his head.

God! No wonder he'd been treading like a cat on hot bricks! And - if he was on a knife-edge with the Deputy- Director, as he well might be, being Paul - those bricks would have been more like red-hot if he'd accidentally stumbled on a secure classification! Because -

because, if he even mentioned it to her (having once been cleared for it himself), and then she let it slip, she would have to account exactly where and how she'd got it. And that would be all nine lives at one go for the cat.

dummy2

Poor old Paul! she thought, with all the tolerance of pleasure: to be admitted to such a classification was a mark of professional confidence - not a snake, but a ladder. So he couldn't have told her in advance anything better calculated to encourage her to accept whatever was offered - he'd got it all dead-wrong again!

'Ah!' Now she could afford to be merciful. 'Yes - of course.' Nod to him - she owed him that, at least: he'd come in far too close for safety already, knowing already that those tripod masts were there in harbour, waiting for him.

But now he was fumbling in one pocket after another, to find something. 'But I suppose there's no reason why you shouldn't have read the newspapers.' He was fiddling with a tiny fragment of newsprint, to prise it out from his wallet. 'David always says that half our work starts in print somewhere, long before we get a tip-off. So you could have read this, from last week's Telegraph.' He looked at her as he offered it. 'And that will establish whether I'm right, anyway.'

Elizabeth took the fragment. It must have filled a hole somewhere, at the bottom of a column: just one small paragraph, with a little two-line heading. It was, she remembered from the Newspaper Course, what they called a 'filler'. And the Telegraph liked fillers -

those tiny bits of news which might, or might not, see the light of day, according to the space left by more important stories above.

Just a matter of chance, in fact - Pointe du Hoc -