The Deputy Under Secretary read the lesson, standing at the brass lectern with its eagle wings spread to support the huge Bible, lifting his eyes from the page every few lines as if to show that he wasn’t just reading, but passing on the prophet’s words as they originally came to him.
As they walked down the aisle the organist was playing The Day Thou Gavest Lord is Ended and as they went slowly down the path of the churchyard to the open grave Katie realized that of all the people there the only ones she knew were her mother and Cartwright.
At the graveside she barely heard the vicar’s words, and when they lowered the coffin into the grave she didn’t look down but up to the soft blue autumn sky. The big white cumulus clouds were quite still. It was the kind of day they would have enjoyed on the Seamaster, messing about in Chichester creek.
Nothing about the ceremony moved her. She despised the whole rigmarole as she knew Boyd would have done. The decisions about the type of handles on the coffin, the choosing of hymns, arguing with her mother who wanted to invite people back to the flat after the funeral. All of it was meaningless. She shed no tears, and was oblivious to the hands that took hers and the lips that pecked her cheek. All she wished at that moment was that he was waiting for her at the flat and could share her disgust with this whole circus of death. If only he could come back, just for five minutes, so that she could say how much she had loved him.
The Deputy Under Secretary hurried to her as she reached her car. “Just a brief word, Mrs. Boyd. Perhaps a word of down to earth practicality might help. I put a very strong case to the Minister, and I was grateful that he agreed that a full pension would be paid. Full salary, and index-linked of course. The whole of your life-time. And of course the Fund will look after all today’s expenses.”
When Katie didn’t reply beyond a nod the DUS turned to her mother laying a plump hand on her arm. “She’s been so brave, this dear girl. It hasn’t gone unnoticed. And now …” he shrugged “… we must leave her in your safe hands.” She didn’t believe a word of the rigmarole they had told her. Jimmy Boyd was dead and that was all that mattered to her.
In the shared official car back to London the DUS sighed without looking at Cartwright.
“Thank God that’s over. D’you think she rumbled anything?”
“I’m sure she didn’t.”
“Very attractive … soon find someone … amazing how our chaps always get pretty girls.” He chuckled. “Except you and me of course. What are you doing tonight?”
“I’ve got a ticket for the Festival Hall.”
“Who is it?”
“Itzhak Perlman.”
“What does he do?”
“Plays the violin.”
“Does he now. Is he any good?”
“He’s one of the three best in the world.”
“Really? I must remember that. One should know these things.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ted Allbeury was a lieutenant-colonel in the British Intelligence Corps during World War II, and later a successful executive in the fields of marketing, advertising and radio. He began his writing career in the early 1970s and became well known for his espionage novels, but also published one highly praised general novel, The Choice, and a short story collection, Other Kinds of Treason. His novels have been published in twenty-three languages, including Russian. He died on 4th December 2005.
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