Exposure (2 page)

Richard Watson grinned. ‘Not particularly, he's rather bumptious and pleased with himself, but at least he's kin, so I keep in touch. He took me out to dinner at his smart club – excellent food, much better than restaurants – I found myself talking about the time I spent as a prisoner of war. I don't think I'd thought about it, let alone talked about, for years! And there I was in full flood, banging on about being captured and spending three years in a camp in Germany. I suddenly realized he was bored stiff, poor chap. So I cut it short and changed the subject. I felt what a boring old fool I'd become.'

‘That's the trouble,' Bob Thomas snorted. ‘The young think they know it all.'

Richard Watson said gently, ‘Didn't we? I know I never listened to a word my father said after the age of eighteen. Sad thing was, you know, when I did come back from the POW camp, we couldn't communicate at all. Of course, they were delighted to see me – my mother cried and rushed off to make tea; my old father managed to put his arm round me and then hurried upstairs with my bag. He just didn't know what to say.'

Julia judged the moment had come. ‘Did it affect you badly? It must have been awful trying to adjust.'

‘It wasn't easy,' he admitted. ‘I'd come back home a stranger. To myself as much as to them. I didn't realize what the loss of freedom had done to me. I couldn't make my mind up about anything. I'd lost the habit of taking decisions. If someone had told me what socks to put on in the morning, I'd have done it.'

‘How long did that last?' Julia leaned close, engaging his full attention.

‘Couple of years. I tried several jobs, couldn't settle to anything; it was quite a common manifestation of POW fatigue. Then I was taken on by ICI as a trainee, and I got interested. Absorbed, actually. And it all started to come right after that.'

Julia took a breath.
Now
.

‘I read your book,' she said. ‘I have a friend who's mad on the last war and he gave it to me to read. I really enjoyed it. Did you map it out while you were in the prison camp?'

‘Yes,' Richard Watson said. ‘I did. It was so desperately boring and miserable, and so damned cold in the winter … We were always hungry, too. Most of the chaps spent their time talking about escape or playing chess, or bridge. I worked on my insignificant wartime memoirs. I can't believe you found them interesting, but I must admit I'm flattered.'

He smiled at her.

Bob Thomas boomed out, ‘Book? What's all this, Dick – been keeping secrets from us?'

‘It was years ago – long before I came over here,' Richard Watson protested. ‘I had some copies privately printed. I didn't know there were any circulating anywhere. I just wanted to get it off my chest, I suppose.'

‘Hidden talents,' Bob Thomas had their attention. ‘Better watch out, Julia, or you'll have a rival in Dick here … I'd like to read it some time. I bet you've got a copy of the great work stashed away. The Army was the best time of my life. I often regretted not making a career of it. Too young to get into the actual war, but I enjoyed my National Service.'

He looked around for approbation.

Julia said quietly, ‘Did you feel like that, Richard? Your book didn't read like that.'

He turned to look at her, and then, suddenly, he turned away.

‘I hated the Army,' he said. ‘I hated everything about it. And I wasn't a good soldier. The idea of killing someone absolutely appalled me. I had no blood lust.'

‘Did you ever kill anyone?'

He hesitated for a moment. Then he said, ‘No. But I did save a man's life.'

Julia had borrowed Janey's little Ford run-about to get to the dinner party. She was determined to meet Richard Watson before anyone else arrived.

As they got into the two cars, Janey complained.

‘What a pity you made such a fuss about being on time. We could have driven back together and had a lovely
post mortem
on the evening.'

‘Knowing you, darling,' her husband retorted, ‘we'll have one as soon as we get inside the front door. Do you know, Julia, she really enjoys talking about the party afterwards more than the party itself. I warn you, you'll be in for a long session unless you're firm. Janey, you'd better drive.'

‘I should think so,' his wife giggled, ‘after the size of that last brandy. Julia, you can follow us, all right?'

Julia started the car, and set out after them, keeping the rear light in view. In spite of the cold wind blowing in off the sea, she opened the window and breathed in the salty air. She couldn't believe it. She went over Richard Watson's story in her mind; he had made it so real, so vivid. No-one had spoken a word till he'd finished.

And then, as if some high tension had been released, everyone changed the subject and took refuge in banter and small talk. The last hour after dinner was the longest Julia could remember. Coffee was followed by an exodus of the women from the dining room, leaving Richard Watson and his male guests to port and cigars. The only other man Julia knew who continued the archaic practice of separating the sexes was William Western. But then he was a law unto himself, and he said so. He was also Julia's boss … She remembered a Saturday night spent at the mansion in Hampshire, when her dinner companion had announced that this was the part of the evening he enjoyed most, as she got up to leave.

She had ignored him when he tried to talk to her afterwards.

When finally the men rejoined them in the big drawing room with its spectacular sea views, everyone moved round and she found herself sitting beside her cousin, David. Liqueurs were brought for what the booming Mr Thomas called ‘the girls'. Julia refused anything.

‘This is nice,' David said, sinking deeper into his chair, cradling a half-f balloon of brandy. ‘At last I've got a chance to talk to you. My darling wife's monopolized you from the moment you arrived. Tell me, how are Hugh and May? We must look them up when we come over next time.'

Julia assured him that her parents were well and would love to see them both.

‘And tell me about the job,' he went on, lighting a cigar and bent on enjoying himself. ‘What's it like working for Western?'

Julia checked her screaming impatience to get out of there and get to a telephone. She said, ‘Impossible, most of the time. He's impossible as a person. Totally demanding and absolutely ruthless. He's also a genius, if that excuses it. I'm not sure it does. Just don't ask me if I like him, will you!'

‘I don't have to, after that. But then you love the rat race, don't you, Julia, and look what a success you've made. Top job, big salary. You're a public figure. And the really nice thing about you is it hasn't made you the least big-headed. You're just as sweet as you ever were.' He stretched over and patted her knee. Julia judged he'd had a little too much of Richard Watson's brandy.

‘I've no reason to be big-headed,' she said. ‘I've had all the lucky breaks, David. Starting with Western picking me out. Otherwise I'd be still plugging away on a provincial newspaper with nothing more in my sights than editing the women's page. David—'

He grinned at her. ‘Yes? You're fidgeting, aren't you? Sorry. Here, I'll move and let Bob Thomas come and talk to you. Watch out for your ear drums, though. He's a nice fellow, but my God he's got a voice like a bloody foghorn—'

‘No,' she said quickly. ‘No, don't. I was really thinking of the time.'

‘You in a hurry to get home? Tired?' He peered at her.

‘No, I'm not tired. But I did want to call someone …'

‘Oh,' he said. ‘Oh, I see. Janey said you had a special boyfriend. Is that it?'

‘Yes,' she said eagerly. ‘It's nearly a quarter to one. I promised I'd ring him, but I don't want to make it too late. He gets up at the crack every morning.'

‘Right,' he put out the cigar, and heaved himself to his feet.

‘Dick,' he announced, ‘you've wined and dined us all too well. And I've got an early appointment in the morning. So we should be on our way.'

Julia whispered, ‘Thanks, David,' as she moved to shake hands with Richard Watson and say goodbye.

She didn't want to go into the kitchen and drink coffee with them when they arrived back at the Petersons' house. But Janey insisted. She ushered them inside, and started putting coffee into mugs and filling the kettle.

‘How did you enjoy it?' she asked Julia. ‘Interesting, isn't he? And what an extraordinary story – I suppose it's true. What do you think, darling?' Julia gave her cousin a pleading look.

‘I think', he said, ‘that it was absolutely true. And what's also true is that Julia wants to ring the love of her life and you and I are going to bed. Switch the kettle off, and come on. Night, Julia. Don't forget to put the lights out when you come up. And I do have an early stint tomorrow. Bless you.'

Julia waited till they had gone upstairs. She went into the passage and listened till she heard their bedroom door shut. Then she went into the sitting room and closed the door after her. She picked up the phone and dialled London. He wouldn't be asleep, she knew he sat up till all hours, reading, watching late-night TV. And there was nobody there to nag him about going to bed. He would be awake and waiting.

Waiting for her call.

It only rang three times before he answered.

‘Ben,' she said. ‘Ben, it's me. I'm fine … fine …' He was already interrupting. She cut in on him. ‘Just listen, will you? It came right out of the blue tonight. At the dinner … yes. Yes … Ben.' She took a deep breath. ‘You're not going to believe this, but I think we've found our man.'

At ten-thirty next morning, Ben made the call as they'd arranged; there were two days of her visit left, and she had to get back to London. She came in and said to Janey, ‘That was the office – I've got to go back early. I'm so sorry to cut it short like this – I've had such a lovely time.'

Janey drove her to Jersey airport. ‘I'll miss you,' she said. ‘You made such a hit with everyone, you'll have to come back.'

‘I will, I promise,' Julia said. ‘And thank you for giving me such a lovely holiday. Bless you.' She kissed her and went off to the departure lounge.

What an incredible coincidence. She let her mind roam during the short flight. Just when she was losing hope, luck smiled on her.

A dinner party in Jersey with a retired business executive had provided the missing clue. A clue so carefully concealed that every lead after Germany and the interview in a Sussex village had ended in nothing. For want of a nail the battle was lost in the end, as the old doggerel ran. She had found the nail.

So many things depended on trifles, a snap judgement, a decision taken without any inkling of the ultimate consequences. And it had all started with an invitation and a distant dream.

The letter had been signed by a secretary to Lord Western of Western International Newspapers. He would like her to come down to his house in Hampshire for a personal vetting, with a view to offering her a job.

Julia had thought it was a practical joke till she telephoned the number. But it was no leg-pull by a colleague. It was real. The invitation was to come down for dinner, stay the night and leave after breakfast. Black tie, the brisk voice told her.

She, the voice, would send her a map of how to get there. She, Julia, should reply to Lady Western direct. She nearly lost her nerve and backed away from it. Her father was a country solicitor, her background middle class. Life peers with country mansions issuing one-night invitations were not part of her experience. She'd worked for five years on provincial papers starting at sub-NUJ rates on a small weekly till she got her job as junior reporter with the
Yorkshire Post
. When her news editor wanted to entertain his staff, he took a room in the local pub.

It had been a daunting experience; her old Renault looked like a battered beetle as it turned into the sweep of drive and drew up before the façade of Hollowood Park. A butler took her suitcase, and she followed him up the steps and into the hall.

A woman came forward to meet her. Julia never forgot her first sight of Evelyn Western. She was astonishingly beautiful, with white hair and a delicate face that was still lovely in old age.

She came up and shook hands with Julia and smiled down at her; she was nearly six feet tall and straight as a rod.

‘Miss Hamilton – how nice of you to come. I'm Evelyn Western. Now, would you like a drink before you go up to change?' She didn't wait for an answer. ‘Of course you would, after that long drive. Come along, you're the first to arrive. I do admire people who are punctual. I'm hopeless myself.'

Julia got an impression of nice pictures and comfortable furniture in a big panelled room, but she was too nervous to observe her surroundings in detail.

She asked for a glass of sherry, which was not what she wanted. Evelyn Western sat down next to her.

‘You're very young,' she said. ‘Twenty-six?'

‘Twenty-seven,' Julia answered.

‘My husband believes in young talent. He's had his eye on you for some time – did you know that?'

‘No, I didn't. I just got the letter mentioning a job with the
Herald
and I couldn't believe it. It's like a dream come true.'

‘What a nice thing to say,' the older woman remarked. ‘I shall tell William. He reads the good provincials; he's always on the look out for new people with fresh ideas. He spotted you quite early on. I remember him saying to me one morning, “There's a girl here, Evie, Julia Hamilton.
Yorkshire Post
. I like what she writes. She might do for us one day.”' Julia hadn't known what to say. She sipped the sherry. There was a pause and Evelyn Western said, ‘I'm telling you this so you won't be frightened of my husband when you meet him. He'll grill you to see what you're made of, but stand up to him and you'll be all right. He knows I'm going to say this because I always do when someone comes here for the first time. Some of the young men don't like it, but I feel you won't mind.'