choice. We both know that. Kiling is abhorrent to start with, but it becomes routine. Possibly you felt you had no choice with the men involved in Harry's death, which makes it a noble cause in your eyes. But shooting me would be for nothing more than your own convenience. You might justify it on the grounds of protecting Mrs Lovel, but I don't think that's what she'd want, certainly not here in her own house and probably not anywhere, for that matter. I don't think you want to shoot me. I suspect you're weary of the whole thing.'
He hoped it was true.
'You could be right,' Somers said slowly. 'I lied even to her. Denied I'd ever seen Emmett. It can't be done here.'
He stopped speaking and seemed to be finding it hard to concentrate, though the gun was now pointing directly at Laurence, who was now sure it was loaded.
'It's a bad business about Byers. But it doesn't take away the justice of my mission. If you'd had a son, you'd understand.'
Actualy, I did have a son,' said Laurence. 'He died too.'
In the end it was such a simple thing to say.
Somers seemed distracted by his response. The gun dropped again.
'I'm sorry. This is a bad business.'
He rubbed his eyes. Any energy in him was suddenly gone. He deflated almost visibly.
'Do you know, I feel terribly old al of a sudden? I thought I'd fought my wars long ago. I'l be glad when al this is finished...'
Then he seemed to recolect himself and looked straight at Laurence.
'Because you were so close, I finaly had to tel her,' he said bitterly. 'Teling Gwen the truth, was the worst thing I've ever had to do. Not Brabourne's truth, and certainly not Emmett's truth in al its searing detail, but a truth of betrayal. A truth she would have found out anyway. The scene that folowed was every bit as distressing as you could imagine. But she was no Marjorie, stoic and withdrawn. Gwen just wept in my arms. She got out al the photographs from when Harry was a little boy.
There were not a great many but she had kept them carefuly, and there were his letters home.'
He gestured to the bureau in the corner.
'Catherine was away. We sat until it became dark. Eventualy she lit the lamps, set the fire. I talked about Hugh and Miles for the first time realy since their death. Her tears were for them as wel as for their unacknowledged half-brother, Harry. Our sons. Some time after midnight we went up to bed.'
Instinctively Laurence looked down at the weapon, which Somers was holding without wavering, then made himself return to the other man's deeply furrowed but stil handsome face. The clock on the mantelpiece whirred but did not chime.
'Perhaps it would be for the best...?' Somers began slowly.
Laurence jumped as the door, which had been ajar, opened. For a moment he thought the gun had gone off. Gwen stood there, her face blotched, her hair unkempt.
Somers looked up and attempted a smile. 'Come in, my dear. We're nearly done.'
She walked slowly into the room. Directly behind her was Charles. Gwen stared at both men in front of her with horror and then glanced behind her at Charles, who, Laurence now noticed, was holding his own gun—the Luger— his usual affable expression replaced by one of alert hardness. Laurence's eyes went from Charles to Somers, then to Gwen, who had moved swiftly towards the general. The situation was both farcical and potentialy deadly. For a moment her body blocked Somers'
weapon, but he drew her to his side.
'Put down your gun,' Charles said firmly.
Somers stared at him, his gun as steady as ever, the barrel stil pointing at Laurence.
'I'm afraid it's not possible,' Somers said.
'Please, Gerald,' Gwen said. She reached out and placed her hand on top of Somers'. 'It's over. Enough people have died.'
Somers resisted for only a second. Then his right hand swung up and, holding her to him with his other arm, he pressed the barrel to Gwen's head.
'I'm sorry, my darling,' he said. 'How I wish you had never met me.'
Laurence sensed Charles's finger tighten on the trigger, bracing himself for a shot. Gwen's face drained of colour, her eyes wide.
Al of a sudden, Somers' gun arm fel to his side. Slowly Gwen Lovel reached over and took the weapon from him. She gazed down at it in her hand, weeping, and then, gingerly, laid it on the table. Laurence picked it up. It was loaded. He emptied out the bulets and put the gun in his pocket.
When he looked back, Gwen had her arms around her lover and his head was bowed on her shoulder. She was trembling but stroking his head as if he were a child. Her eyes met those of Laurence. He could not read her face. Finaly, Somers lifted his head. Charles glanced at Laurence, stil firmly holding his own gun.
'Would you accept my word that I wil turn myself in? It has a little more dignity about it.' Somers appealed directly to Laurence, sensing that the decision ultimately lay with him. 'Let me have twenty-four hours here, so that I can see Gwen straight. Her family in Germany can't forget she took the other side in the war—her nephews were kiled. She has no one else but Catherine. Tomorrow, on my honour, on that of my three sons, I'l let justice take its course.'
Laurence thought quickly. If Somers didn't turn himself in within twenty-four hours, they could tel the police, who could protect General Gough until Somers was found. However, he couldn't think how they would explain the delay and what if Somers went through with the murder of Gough before then?
