A Prospect of Vengeance

war — or even his father's war, which was the same one — the '39-'45 one. But the one before that, with all the trenches and the barbed wire . . . And that is a long memory for you.'

'But that was a story, not a memory, Reg — ' Jenny started, razor-sharp as ever, but then caught herself. 'But . . . go on

— ?'

That's all. For Masson, for my money, there's still something down there. But there's no way we can get at it at this moment — not without crossing the locals, never mind whoever else is nosing around. There just aren't enough bushes you can hide behind, to drop your boot.'

'Yes. I see.' She had what she wanted there. 'But . . . you put your toe in ... I can't say 'Audley's water' without seeming indelicate, Reg . . . but you did take your boot off for him too, didn't you — yes?'

'Took it off, aye. Didn't dip me toe, though.'

'Why not?'

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'Didn't need to.' Buller paused. 'Didn't want to, either.' He cocked his head slightly. 'Remember that book you and Mr Robinson did a few years back, about the Vietnam business, and all that?'

Jenny frowned. ' The Vietnam Legacy! Yes, Reg — ?' The frown cleared slightly. 'You and John did some of the leg-work for us, of course. You covered that Chicago reunion I couldn't get to — and you traced that amazing Green Beret man who ran that mission up in the mountains, out West.'

'That's the ticket. The Grand Tetons. Always wanted to see them, ever since I saw 'em in Shane when I was a lad.' The eye cocked at Ian. 'Didn't see 'em though, did I! Low cloud, there was, the whole time I was there — d'you recall me telling you about it?'

'I do, Reg.' What Ian chiefly remembered was Buller's explanation that 'Grand Tetons' meant 'Big Tits'. 'But what have the. . . Grand Tetons to do with Audley, Reg?'

'Not the Grand Tetons.' The ghost of a wink accompanied the name. 'After I'd finished with Major Kasik I had a day or two spare, so I drove up from Jackson Hole to Yellowstone, where there's this great big National Park, with all the

'geysers' spouting and fuming. And it was autumn then, with a nip in the air, like it might start snowing any moment . . . And there are all these little pools of water, clear as crystal and fresh-looking, with lovely colours — pale blues, and greeny-blues ... In the hot summer maybe they'd look cool, but when it's colder you might reckon they'd be just dummy2

nice an' warm, to take the chill off your fingers — or your toes.' As he spoke, Buller turned back to Jenny. 'But it 'ud do a bit more than that. Because it's bloody boiling, scalding hot, is what it is — one dip, and you're cooked to the bone.

And no saying 'Ouch! I won't do it again!' and 'Next time I'll know better', and 'Now I want to go home'.' He flicked a glance at Tully. 'If it's Dr David Audley you're after, then it's in for a penny, in for a pound — no half- measures, Lady.'

For a moment no one wanted to break the silence which followed this latest gypsy's warning, the truth of which Ian knew that he alone shared with Reg Buller. And, when he thought about it, the only truly curious aspect of it was that, if it was true, Buller himself had turned up at the rendezvous this morning, in spite of his own well- developed sense of self-preservation. But then, when he took the thought further, there were a lot of contradictory aspects in Buller's character and curriculum vitae.

Then Jenny filled her glass again. 'Ian — ?' She glanced quickly at John Tully's glass, knowing that it would still be half-full, before returning to Buller. 'Are you trying to frighten me, Reg?'

Buller held out his empty glass. 'Would I do that, Miss Fielding?'

'Champagne, Reg? On top of beer?' But she poured, nevertheless. ' Yes — if you thought it would do any good.'

'Any port in a storm, madam — even fizzy rubbish.' The bulbous nose wrinkled again. 'And therefore ... no ... because dummy2

I know you've already made up your mind.' He took another gulp, and spluttered. 'But you have been paying for a

'reconnaissance', and that's what I have given you.'

The emphasis on Buller's first person singular — and no one, not even John Tully, and not even Jenny herself, was a more singular first person — gave Ian his opening. 'Are you saying that we're already blown, Reg?'

'What?' John Tully was bristling, before he spoke. 'You said ... we were 'already' in for a pound . . . having spent some of our pennies, Reg.' He drew Buller's attention, overriding Tully. 'Does that mean someone is on to us —

already?'

Buller concealed any gratitude he might have behind another gulp, and another hiccup. 'Well . . . maybe you've been up to something I don't know about, Mr Robinson — like having some young lady in your bedroom, and a jealous husband . . .

like it would have been in the old days.' He grinned, and then nodded at the typescript on the table. 'But with the book you're writing ... I don't see the National Union of Teachers

— or the Department of Education, and that Mr Baker —

hiring anyone to watch this place, to see who comes in, an'

goes out, of a wet Sunday morning, anyway.' He carried on the nod towards the window, out of which only well-bred, or well-heeled, or otherwise upwardly-mobile local Hampstead residents might be observed at such times, down Holly Row.

'But someone is watching you, and that's a fact.'

To their credit, nobody moved to verify this information; at dummy2