For the Good of the State

the kitchen.

Don’t…’ He trailed off, as though he was thinking again, and drew a deep breath. ‘Someone’s just taken a shot at us, love—from somewhere up on the hillside. What you heard was the bullet hitting the window— okay?’

For a moment of disbelief the tray was steady as a rock. ‘Yes, Father?’ Then it trembled. ‘Now?’

‘Wait!’

Tom stared at Audley, aware irrelevantly that he could now smell the bonfire against which Faith Audley was closing her windows.

‘There’s my good girl!’ said Audley softly. ‘Go back and find your Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State mother. Keep away from the windows. Find her… and say to her

“Limejuice”—“Limejuice”— got that?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘Repeat it—’ Audley held his voice so unnaturally steady that the steadiness somehow emphasized his urgency ‘—repeat it, love, please.’

‘ “Limejuice”.’ Cathy sounded slightly offended. ‘ “Limejuice”, Father.’

‘Jolly good!’ The false encouragement sounded equally unnatural.

‘Off you go then, love.’

But that wouldn’t do for Cathy Audley—Tom wanted to shake his head at the man, but he was staring too fixedly at the archway.

The edge of the tray stayed in view. ‘But… but…’

‘Off you go!’ Then Audley looked at Tom, and understood the limits of obedience belatedly. ‘I’ve got Tom Arkenshaw here to protect me, Cathy love—that’s what he’s here for.’ He grinned hideously at Tom. ‘Isn’t that so, Sir Thomas—?’

Tom smelt the bonfire again, and thought that he would never smell a bonfire in the future—if there was a future—without smelling his own inadequacy. ‘That’s right, Miss Audley,’ he agreed.

‘ What’s this?’ Another voice from somewhere behind the child startled him just as the tray, and that part of her which he could see, disappeared. ‘Have you broken something, Cathy—?’

‘ “Limejuice”, Mummy—’ The child cut through her mother’s angry question ‘—Father says “Limejuice” !’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Tom strained his ears to catch the woman’s reaction, but there was only a moment’s silence hemmed in between the wall and the house, against the distant drone of a faraway aircraft. Then there came a clink of teacups on the tray followed by the sound of the back door closing. So… whatever it meant exactly, that codeword, it was a Word of Power—and Audley was blessed with intelligently obedient womenfolk, young and old, when matters came to their crunch.

‘As I was saying… I don’t know.’ Audley attended to him again.

‘But. . he missed, anyway.’

Tom felt the hardness of the flagstone under his hipbone. ‘You also said that he fired from somewhere on the hillside.’

‘So I did.’ Audley sounded curiously relaxed now. ‘Because from the bottom of the garden he couldn’t have missed —I also made that assumption.’

Tom frowned at him, trying to remember the bottom of the garden.

There had been a hedge—? He couldn’t remember, damn it!

‘It’s a bare hundred yards.’ Audley shook his head. ‘I think the bullet went just over my head, maybe a bit to one side… It’s a long time since I’ve had that disagreeable sensation—or I suppose it could be called “agreeable”, relatively speaking… But then, again, I wouldn’t have imagined that I heard it if it hadn’t missed, would I?’

How could he be so damned cold-blooded? thought Tom irritably.

“Thirty-nine years, to be exact.‘ Audley’s eyes glazed at the memory. ’And I was also sniped at several times in Normandy, the Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State year before—Jerry loved to pick off silly fools who poked their heads out of their tanks… But, of course, I never heard a bloody thing— no— there was one time…‘ He focused on Tom, and dropped the rest of the irrelevant anecdote instantly. ’About a hundred yards, the end of the garden, anyway. So if he had a Brown Bess, and this was Waterloo, that’s about what I’d expect.

Because the French skirmishers shot at Mercer in front of his battery for about half an hour—and from considerably less than a hundred yards, too—also without hitting him.‘ He nodded at Tom, as though childishly pleased with himself at the thought. ’ ”So long as they were aiming at me I wasn’t worried“—didn’t he say something like that?‘

Tom smelt bonfire again. And now there was a wisp of smoke to go with the smell. But, much more confusing, was the thought that any competent marksman, let alone a professional, could have missed anything, at any practical range, with a modern rifle; or…

had Audley moved— or had he himself moved— at that precise instant, when the finger had squeezed so gently—?

‘You said… from the hillside?’ Tom felt his anger well up. ‘And bugger Waterloo!’

‘Yes—quite right!’ Audley mistook anger for urgency. ‘My dear boy—I’m only talking because I’m shit-scared— I’m sorry! You may be used to this sort of thing, from the Lebanon, or wherever…’ Audley closed his eyes and screwed up his face. ‘Im only trying to reassure myself… that he isn’t coming down the garden right now, to spit in my eye, for God’s sake!’ He kept his eyes closed. ‘But… there’s a track up the hillside—it goes Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State diagonally from left to right, with bushes on the outer edge for cover… And that would give him a nice clear long shot on to this terrace… God only knows the distance, downhill —more than a quarter of a mile, but less than half, so say about six hundred yards.’ He opened his eyes again. ‘Easy