He stared outinto the congregation but the man with the crew cut had vanished. Heignored his hastily prepared, woolly notes that he had intended to read about‘the wonderful man’ that was Peter Coldrick. He was more interested infinding this menacing visitor. He searched the shadows at the back andsides of the church but couldn’t see him.
‘Okay,’ thevicar said uncertainly, advancing towards the pulpit, ‘thank you very much forthat, Norton. I’m sure nobody in this room will forget our dear brother,Peter anytime soon.’ Morton left the platform and returned to his seat.
‘Where did thatman go?’ Morton whispered.
‘What man?’Juliette said.
‘He just creptin and sat behind you.’ He wasn’t sure why but she turned just to be sure therewas nobody there. It wasn’t like PCSO Juliette Meade 8084 to misssomething like that. Morton began to wonder if he’d imagined it. After all, it was a long distance from the back of the church to thefront. No, there had definitely been somebody there.
‘Did you get agood look at him?’
‘Averagelooking with short hair.’
‘That’ll make amemorable e-fit,’ Juliette whispered. ‘Not Daniel Dunk, then?’
‘No,’ Mortonsaid with certainty.
Thecongregation stood for the final benediction.
‘Lord our God,You are the source of life. In You we live and move and have our being. Keep us in life and death in Your love, and, by Your grace, lead us to Yourkingdom, through Your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.’
‘Amen’ Mortonand Juliette said, slightly out of kilter with one another.
‘There nowfollows a private service at the crematorium,’ the vicar hastily leapt up toannounce. Morton wondered if it were actually possible to have a moreprivate service than this. He hoped that since Soraya hadn’t mentionedit, Peter Coldrick’s best friend, Norton might be excused from the cremation. The old couple shuffled along the aisle towards them and out the back of thechurch.
‘Come on, let’sget out of here,’ Juliette said, and they made their way out into the lateafternoon sunshine.
‘I need to talkto you about my funeral,’ Morton said.
‘What?’
‘Morton, hangon,’ a voice called from inside the church. It was Soraya. Sheburst out onto the steps. ‘I just wanted to say thank you for doing thereading, it was lovely, really. Peter would have been verytouched.’ She looked at Juliette and smiled. ‘You must beJuliette?’
Julietteoffered her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, despite the circumstances.’
‘Likewise. I took his advice,’ she said, nodding her head to Morton, ‘and moved in with mysister but I think he’s being a teeny bit overdramatic. Oh, which remindsme, here’s her address. It’s only the other side of town.’
Morton shookhis head, taking a small yellow Post-It note with a scribbled address onit. ‘I wish I were being overdramatic, Soraya. They blew up ourhouse yesterday.’ He realised how theatrical that had sounded but therewas no way of playing it down.
The smiledropped from Soraya’s lips. ‘Surely not?’ She looked at Juliettefor confirmation. ‘My God. I mean, you’re alright, aren’t you?’
‘Apart frombeing dispossessed and having nothing other than the clothes we stand in, we’refine,’ Juliette said.
‘Oh golly, I’mso sorry. At least you’re alive, though.’
‘There isalways that.’
‘And you thinkit’s because of Peter?’ Soraya asked.
‘I can’t thinkof any other reason why someone would plant enough Semtex under my house todestroy a small town.’
‘God,’ Sorayasaid. ‘By why, for goodness' sake?’
‘That’s whatwe’re trying to work out,’ Juliette said.
The vicarappeared from the church and touched Morton’s sleeve. ‘Lovely reading,Norton, lovely reading. He must have meant a great deal to you.’
Morton smiledpolitely and tried not to stare at the small furry creature resting on thevicar’s head.
‘Will you bejoining us at the crem, Morton?’ Soraya asked. ‘We’re going to be placingPeter’s ashes in his parents’ grave in Sedlescombe churchyard.’
‘Sorry, we’dhave loved to come but what with all that happened yesterday we’ve got a lot tosort out,’ he said, questioning in his mind whether it was right to say theywould ‘love’ to attend a cremation.
‘I understand. I’ll catch up with you in a day or two. Take care, won’t you.’
Morton andJuliette stood back and watched respectfully as Peter Coldrick’s coffin wascarried from the church by six pallbearers and loaded into the waiting hearse.
Juliette tookMorton’s hand. ‘Come on then, Norton, let’s go back to your dad’s andorder a pizza or something.’
‘Good idea.’
Chapter Twelve
4thApril 1944
Frederick James Windsor-Sackville marched purposefullythrough the wide, oak-panelled hallway, having just arrived from a privateWhitehall meeting with several other key members of government. Atsixty-four years, Frederick’s severe angular features and unforgiving eyesbelied his age. He wore his best suit with a ruby tie and handkerchieffrom the breast pocket. He had a fine clipped moustache, which he trimmedreligiously each morning.
‘Go and fetchDavid?’ he told one of his staff, who was following slightly behind.
‘Yes, sir,’ hereplied, scurrying off to find Frederick’s son, David.
‘I’ll be in mystudy,’ Frederick barked, striding along the vast hallway, under paintedportraits of his distant ancestors. He paused momentarily and looked upat his father’s picture, hanging grandiosely above his study door. Frederick hoped his father would approve of all the sacrifices and difficultdecisions he had taken during the course of this ceaseless conflict in order toprotect the good name of the Windsor-Sackvilles, a job his son and heir, Davidwould need to continue. He had shown excellent political wit aroundParliament, becoming a genuine asset to Churchill’s Coalition Government. With shrewd guidance and direction, he was sure his son could aim for the verytop. The Windsor-Sackvilles had to benefit from the war. David’s only misdemeanour so far
