The Memory Trap

war, of course. So Fred knew all about him, I suppose. But he had a pretty good hidey- hole, all the same

— the Special Branch fellows were tearing their hair, I heard tell.'

Peter Richardson: ' He had ... a friend he could trust. That's all.'

Laurie Deacon: ' That's not all — that's everything, and a bit more, by God! It's just like in that book you gave my daughter, David — when she was little . . . and you ordered me to read it to her at bedtime. I've never forgotten it.

Because it could be any of us.'

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'What book was that, Laurie? Pippa's had so many birthdays — ?'

Laurie Deacon: ' That Kipling book, of course — your favourite, you said. . . And there was this story in it, about these three old Norman knights scheming to prevent another invasion of England. And one of the things they do is to plant a false message on the enemy, across the Channel . . . the sort of thing you chaps do all the time these days, I shouldn't wonder . . . telling 'em that all their plans had been betrayed — remember?'

'Yes. 'Write to any man that all is betrayed, and even the Pope himself would sleep uneasily', Laurie. That's why you've got a numbered account in Zurich, eh?'

Laurie Deacon: ' Huh! Every sensible man takes precautions.

In fact let's play a little game, then. If all was betrayed, have you got a bolt-hole? Is there anyone you'd trust absolutely, life-and-death? Will you play my 'Kipling Game' — ?'

Peter Richardson: ' There's a girl, lives in the Cotswolds . . .

Sophie Kenyan. Married my best friend . . . should have married me. But she wouldn't give me up to anyone —'

'I'll never know why I said it. But I did,' Richardson gave Sophie an apologetic look. 'I could have bitten off my tongue . . . Too much of David's claret, maybe. And . . . I must have thought I was among friends.'

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'And so you were.' Audley fended off Buster irritably. 'I promised him his secret was safe with me, Sophie. And I told him that my word-of-honour was good for a thousand years

— like Sir Richard Dalyngridge's — 'Dalyn-gridge' with a 'y', actually — in the Kipling story. And I have kept my word.'

And now he really could smile genuinely at her at last: after this, so long as she was present, Richardson could deny him nothing. 'Only then, you see, Frederick Clinton challenged us to his little game. Or, his 'experiment', as he called it ...

Memory versus memory, Old Dog versus Young Dog, Sophie.'

'Why did he do that?' She looked from one to the other.

'Huh!' Richardson got up to pour himself another drink. 'He could be a mischievous old sod when he wanted to be. He probably wanted to take David down a peg, at that!'

'Or teach you a thing or two, my lad.'

'He certainly did that, by God!' Richardson shook his head at Sophie. 'I was his very own new recruit, my love. And in one of their silly aptitude games — one of their less dirty games —

I'd scored rather high marks, for memory apparently. So he wanted to show me off, I reckon.' He drank. 'To show how smart he was by showing how smart I was, when it came to

'automatic recall' — 'automatic recall'?' He cocked the jargon at Audley. 'But he waited two or three months before he hit us with his 'experiment', didn't he? Yes — it was exactly six months before I went into the field for the first time, playing games for Jack Butler on Hadrian's Wall.

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Because that was on a — ' He bit the rest off with a scowl, and pushed the dog out of his way to regain his chair. 'Get over, you great lump!'

It was on a Monday? Or a Friday? Excitement slightly tinged with envy tightened Audley's chest as Richardson automatically displayed his special aptitude before realizing what he was doing.

He smiled at Sophie again. 'I had the pleasure of meeting you that time, because of that, anyway. I wanted to see Peter's paragon of secrecy!'

'And that was his first piece of blackmail.' Richardson nodded at his paragon. 'The second being that, after Fred Clinton had challenged us both, he — ' he pointed ' —

suggested that the crate of champagne was his. Because he was inhibited from providing a full account of the evening by his so-called word-of-honour . . . Otherwise, I would have won — in spite of his plying me with drink, Sophie.'

'No. I would have won.' He had plied Captain Peter Richardson, Fred's clever new boy, with drink, Audley remembered guiltily. 'Our separate reports are still in the files — do you know that, Peter?' He smiled at Sophie, who was regarding them both with a mixture of comprehension and absolute incredulity. 'But without your name, of course.'

The truth was ... it might have been smarter to let the clever new boy win, and give Fred his satisfaction. But he had never liked losing, either then or now. 'I know what you're thinking: childish games ... all quite ridiculous, eh?'

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