French Leave (13 page)

Swallowing back her unconscious implication that his work was less demanding than hers, he said, ‘I'm seeing the Doc tomorrow to remove the stitches from the head wound, and for a general check on everything else. If she gives the go-ahead I could get a late afternoon flight and come this weekend.'

‘Sorry, darling, I'll have to be in the office for most of Saturday. Anyway, should you be considering taking a flight with that wound in your head?'

‘I'd consider taking a flight with a wound
anywhere
if it meant we could get together,' he said in his disappointment. ‘I really miss you when we're apart.'

‘And I miss you, Steve,' she said, using the name in her usual teasing fashion as her voice grew softer. ‘But the Channel and half a continent separate us, as things stand.'

‘We could do something about that,' he said urgently. ‘Why don't I come tomorrow and we can talk about it?'

‘Wrong moment, darling,' she said gently. ‘I really do have to work this weekend. Andrew needs my help, and I care too much about you to let you charge over here after that narrow escape with a tree. Give yourself time to fully recover, then we can make plans.'

He waited for her to elaborate.

‘Are you still there?' she asked.

‘Yes.'

‘I'm sure that MO will rule that a further period of rest is necessary. She sounded a real martinet. Had the nerve to ask if I was a relative before she'd give a report on your condition.'

‘Legally, you have no claim to be told confidential details about me,' Max pointed out stiffly.

Apparently missing the inference in that remark, Livya said, ‘Andrew's your father.
He
had every right to know, as I informed her.'

‘Once he knew, he didn't bother to discover how his son was progressing.'

‘He's been extremely busy.'

‘He always has been. That's why we hardly know each other.'

The tone of his comment finally got through to her then. ‘You're tired, darling. I shouldn't have called at this hour. It's gone midnight, and you should be resting that poor head of yours. I'll call tomorrow at a more reasonable hour and we'll make plans, depending on what the martinet dictates.'

‘She's a very nice woman, actually.'

A short silence. ‘Then get her to kiss you better so that we can get together as soon as poss. Goodnight, Steve.'

She disconnected before he could respond.

Friday morning, and the tree had finally been lifted from across the driveway. It had been low on the list of priorities, being situated outside the base, and, although they had taken the bulk of it away, the entire front garden was covered in small twigs and leaves. Tom's first concern as the crane drove away was to open the garage and bring out Nora's car, so he went indoors for the keys, feeling that something had been achieved this week – if only the solution to his domestic problem.

Nora put her head around the kitchen door. ‘Need another coffee after the heavy responsibility of telling them how to do it?'

‘Cheeky wench! If I'd not supervised them they'd have left half of it behind. As it is, there's a mess of small stuff still to be cleared.' He joined her in the kitchen, where two mugs of coffee were already on the table. ‘I'll get the girls down here in a minute. With their help we can clear it by lunchtime.'

‘By
we
you mean you and me, I take it. So, who's going to cook the lunch?'

‘We'll have something easy.'

‘Like?'

‘Egg and chips.'

Nora gave him a level look across the table. ‘So you don't want lamb chops, carrots and bubble and squeak, followed by apricot crumble?'

He grinned. ‘Get behind me, temptation.'

‘Is that a yes?'

‘OK, you're excused clearing duty. Just confirms my belief that a woman's place is in the kitchen.'

Her eyes widened. ‘And there was I thinking it was in the marital bed.'

‘After the cooking,' he replied provocatively. ‘Talking of which, isn't the brood at a disco this evening?'

‘Yes, but you'll be too tired after supervising their clearance of twigs, etcetera.'

‘Test that theory and you'll get a nice surprise.'

‘You're admitting I'm right about the marital bed?'

He leaned across to grasp her hand. ‘You're too clever for your boots, but I still manage to love you.'

‘For making apricot crumble?' she teased.

‘Oh, mostly for that, of course.'

The moment was broken by the familiar sound of a wildebeest stampede, heralding three flushed girls demanding drinks.

‘Aha!' exclaimed Tom. ‘The three people I most wanted to see.'

They turned, with suspicion clear in their expressions. ‘We're busy, Dad,' they claimed almost in unison.

‘Sitting in bedrooms listening to tribal sounds mistakenly called music isn't being busy. I have something far more exciting for you to do. It's called clearing up the garden.'

They groaned and protested. ‘Can't you get some squaddies to do it?' asked Gina. ‘It's men's work.'

‘I've just done my nails,' wailed Maggie.

‘The garden's full of creepy-crawlies after all that rain. I
hate
them,' declared Beth.

Tom leaned back in his chair and surveyed them. ‘To answer you in turn: No, Gina, squaddies are trained to be soldiers, not gardeners. Maggie, you can wear gloves and, if you manage to look helpless enough, maybe Hans will see you and come across to take your place. As for you, Beth, correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't I heard you boasting to your sisters that slugs and snails and puppydogs' tails don't frighten you one bit?'

‘Oh,
Dad
,' came the familiar triple cry.

‘Dad will be doing it with you. It'll be fun.'

‘Can't we do it tomorrow?' demanded Maggie.

‘No.'

‘But we've got these new CDs and we're dying to hear them before the disco tonight.'

‘Listen to them while you get ready for it. You usually take long enough to hear an entire symphony concert,' Tom said.

Nora turned from the sink. ‘New CDs? I thought you all spent most of your pocket money on Tuesday.'

Maggie explained. ‘Some of the sixth-formers have started a club. It's only two euros to join, then you can buy CDs at reduced price. They're all the latest ones. It's great! Members take in ones they don't want any more and you can get them at half price.'

‘And you can pay so much a week if you don't get
lots
of pocket money,' added Beth. ‘We've had to do that.'

‘There are three of you,' Nora reminded her.

‘We know, Mum,' she replied with a sigh. ‘You keep telling us.'

‘Because each of you is inclined to forget.'

Tom was frowning. ‘When you say half price you mean the price when new? But these are second-hand, aren't they?'

‘Lots of them are, but you can get CDs people have been given for presents and don't like,' Gina said. ‘Those are still sealed, so you know they're real bargains. The used ones can be swapped. It's a great club. Except for the tinies, almost everyone at school has joined.'

Still enthusiastic, Maggie said, ‘The committee are talking about extending it to DVDs, which would be fab.'

‘So you'll be taking the
Pirates of the Caribbean
DVD?' Tom teased. ‘Trouble is, you've played it six times every week for three months, so you can't expect to get more than peanuts for it.'

‘Oh,
Dad
,' groaned the three soprano voices again, and they began pelting him with various kitchen cloths and oven gloves.

Through the din he heard the phone ring, then Nora calling him. Fending off the soft missiles, Tom took the receiver into the dining room and shut the door.

‘George Maddox, sir. They told me you're at home sorting the storm damage.'

‘Something they couldn't deal with?' he asked in surprise.

‘There's nothing to deal with. I thought you'd like to know we've had a message from Hampshire police. John Smith's details have just got through the system to reach them. They're very interested in the guy. His description closely matches several given by witnesses of a man wanted for questioning by them about a series of robberies in and around Southampton. They grew even more interested when I told them how long he'd been with us, because those robberies ceased at the time Smith enlisted.'

‘That fits,' mused Tom. ‘Smith's home is in Bournemouth. Very handy for Southampton. So the lad joined a regiment stationed out here when the heat was on at home.'

‘And walked away when the same happened here.'

‘Possibly, but my guess is that something more threatening was behind his desertion, that held a large element of risk. Something that made it too dangerous for him to stay a moment longer.'

SIX

I
t hurt more having the stitches removed than when they had been put in. After Max said ‘Ouch!' the third time, Clare apologized and explained that he had been strongly sedated when she had sewn him up, but now he was fully aware of what she was doing.

‘Almost finished,' she added consolingly, still busily picking at his scalp. ‘If you were a child I'd give you a toffee for being brave.'

Max countered that on a sudden impulse. ‘My honey suggested you should kiss me better.'

‘There you are; all done,' she said, as if he had not spoken. ‘The wounds have knitted together well.' Putting aside the surgical tweezers and sterile pad she turned back, still very much the impersonal medic. ‘I think that strapping could be replaced while you're here. Then it should last for another three weeks, so long as temperatures keep well below the high-sweat levels they were before.'

Max removed his shirt in defiant mood, determined not to let her treat him like a small boy who deserved a toffee. As she stood close to remove the strapping, he was once again aware of the faint scent of apples in her hair.

‘My wife also used a shampoo that smelled of apples. It's nice.'

Continuing what she was doing, she said, ‘Max, you're a patient in my surgery. Stop behaving like a frustrated guy trying to chat up a handy blonde.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘Has
he
made you frosty?'

‘He?'

‘Your husband.'

She removed the last of the strapping and turned away to fetch a fresh roll of binding.

‘Where is he, Clare? Will he be joining you here?'

Over her shoulder she asked, ‘Will
honey
be joining
you
?'

‘We're not married.'

A slight pause as she gathered together the thick roll and some scissors. ‘I soon won't be.' Returning to where he sat on the edge of the couch, she avoided his eyes. ‘You're not entitled to know everything about me after just one evening in a beer garden.'

‘So let's have another one on the strength of that snippet you've just told me.'

Her formal manner suddenly relaxed. There was a smile hovering in her eyes as she faced him. ‘You really are a frustrated guy chatting up a handy blonde.'

‘Am I succeeding?'

She hesitated. ‘I've arranged to view some apartments tomorrow. Can't stand living in-Mess. If you're interested in a spare seat in my car, you can come along.'

He smiled with satisfaction. ‘I'd welcome a lift to town. While you're looking for somewhere to live, I'll have a shot at fixing myself up with a car. Nothing as sporty as yours, of course. I'll get one that'll make me as disappointing as the Floridan sheriff who ordered quiche and salad.'

She gave a small laugh. ‘But you're not hung around with handcuffs, revolver and truncheon. There!' she exclaimed, stepping back as she finished binding his chest. ‘That looks better.'

He slipped on his shirt, pulled his looped tie over his head and tightened the knot beneath his collar, then prepared to leave. ‘Give me a call when you're set to leave tomorrow. After we've completed the business side, I'll buy you dinner at a different riverside restaurant I know well.'

‘I'll bring a swimsuit, just in case.'

At the door he said, ‘And the apple shampoo. I like it.'

In the waiting room was a soldier he recognized. Private Joe Ryan, one of the men admitted a week ago after the exercise.

‘Hallo, still suffering?' asked Max in surprise.

Ryan got to his feet. ‘Something different, sir. Septic toe.'

Max nodded. ‘Best to get that sorted. Can be bloody painful.'

As he made to pass the young squaddie, he was halted by the man's request to have a private word. Intrigued, because when he had interviewed him here in his bed, Ryan had been totally uncommunicative, Max nodded.

‘Come along to Section Headquarters after Captain Goodey's seen to that toe.'

‘No need for that, sir. Just wanted to say . . .' He glanced around to make sure he was not being overheard. ‘Just wanted to say, you should talk to White and Corkhill. Those two had something going on with Smith. Always having a go at him, giving him leery looks, winding him up. He was scared of them. Don't ask me why, but they knew something and held it over Smith. They're like that, those two. Work it together.'

The orderly appeared to tell Ryan the MO was ready for him, and he darted away in something approaching relief. ‘
I
didn't tell you that, sir.'

‘Of course you didn't,' Max said reassuringly, then walked out to the pool car he was presently using, telling himself the case of Private John Smith might be dead but it would not lie down.