The Return of Captain John Emmett (45 page)

He wiped his forehead, hesitated.

'Emmett just stood there. Frozen, he said. Harry tried to speak. Emmett had his gun in his hand; everybody waiting for him to do his duty. He said Harry was unintelligible. Then Sergeant Tucker, who hadn't marched the men away but left them gawping, quit the line, came forward, cool as you like, took the gun from Emmett, who put up no kind of resistance, and he shot Harry straight in the face.

The two men looked at each other. Both started to speak at once, then stopped. It was as if all the chaos of murder, adultery, suicide and illegitimacy had been reduced to mere social awkwardness.

Finally Laurence said, And now? What do you intend to do?'

'I imagine if you leave here you'll go straight to fetch the police?' Somers looked up. At last Laurence could hear Gwen Lovell move at the back of the house.

'I just didn't really think...' Laurence began. Did Somers intend to let him go and if not, what would he do?

'Oh, you think,' said Somers. 'You're a brave man. Brave and dogged. An excellent officer. Acting major. Twice mentioned in despatches and holder of the Military Cross. How does the citation go? "For conspicuous courage under fire. Leading an attack against considerable odds, in which the battalion sustained heavy losses, he returned to retrieve the injured at considerable risk to himself." You
think,
Captain Bartram. You think very carefully and you act decisively. If you didn't count on my finding you, you certainly knew it was a possibility you would find me.'

He was trying to heave the dead weight of Pollock, pitiable, fat Pollock, back across the churned-up terrain. Bent half double, he strained to drag him by the legs. Pollock's weight made a trough in the mud and as Laurence leaned forward he could smell the urine soaking through the soldier's trousers. He hoped the man was unconscious—the body kept lurching to the side and every time he managed to move him more than a few inches, Pollock made a wet, wheezing sound and red froth came out of his mouth. The front of his tunic was black and tarry. Laurence hadn't dared open it in case it was all that was keeping Pollock's guts inside his body. Suddenly the ground fell away and they were both tumbling into a crater of mud and water. The tremendous weight of the injured man landed on top of him. For a minute he lay winded and nauseated, then panicked and struggled furiously to get a purchase on Pollock's jacket. At last he tore himself free but his legs had lost all feeling. He sat in the slime holding the man's head in his lap. There was faint sunlight now, piercing the smoke, as the water around the soldier turned reddish brown and strings of pink saliva congealed between his bloody teeth. He sat and stroked Pollock's cold face until someone came and found them.

Somers was still talking.

'Did you really believe you were the only one capable of a bit of detective work? It's not hard to find a man's records, you know. To talk to a few people.'

He was getting up as he spoke. He returned to the bureau and opened a different drawer. Laurence wondered what he was about to show him. Somers rifled through some papers and turned round. He was holding a gun.

'Believe it or not, I regret the need for this,' Somers said. 'But, you see, Brabourne contacted me a day or so ago asking what had happened to the photograph he'd given me. Emmett stole it from my house, of course, after I showed it to him. I never even noticed its absence. I gather it came home with his effects? I had to improvise, say there'd been a burglary. But it wouldn't do. I knew you'd come back to Gwen sooner or later and now the journalist was suspicious too. He asked me if I had known Mullins. If I knew that Emmett was dead.'

He sat down, still holding the gun. It was hardly different from the Webley that Laurence had used in the war.

'Did John take anything else?' Laurence thought Somers hesitated but realised the man was simply tiring. Somers shook his head and carried on talking.

'Gough. He was the ultimate arbiter. He had my son's life in his hands. I simply want him now. After that, I don't care. What difference does it make to me? I'll hang, Gwen will be disgraced either way. If I shoot you now, I might get Gough and we might just get away. I have tickets for Gwen, Catherine and myself to sail to Canada in January. I chose the anniversary of Harry's death. By then it all needs to be finished.'

He looked at Laurence almost questioningly as if asking for his approval.

'I can't let you stop me before I've dealt with Gough.'

'I think there would be a difference to you in killing me,' Laurence said steadily.

The Webley looked well maintained. Was it loaded? Somers was not yet pointing it at him, but held it by his side. Laurence was surprised to find just how much he wanted to live. He wondered what Mary would feel if he died.

'As you say, it all depends on motive,' he continued, amazed that his voice was steady. 'In war there's little choice. We both know that. Killing 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 Lovell, 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.'

Actually, 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 all of a sudden? I thought I'd fought my wars long ago. I'll be glad when all this is finished...'

Then he seemed to recollect himself and looked straight at Laurence.

'Because you were so close, I finally had to tell her,' he said bitterly. 'Telling Gwen the truth, was the worst thing I've ever had to do. Not Brabourne's truth, and certainly not Emmett's truth in all its searing detail, but a truth of betrayal. A truth she would have found out anyway. The scene that followed 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 all the photographs from when Harry was a little boy. There were not a great many but she had kept them carefully, and there were his letters home.'

He gestured to the bureau in the corner.

'Catherine was away. We sat until it became dark. Eventually she lit the lamps, set the fire. I talked about Hugh and Miles for the first time really since their death. Her tears were for them as well 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 still 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 potentially 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 still 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.

All of a sudden, Somers' gun arm fell to his side. Slowly Gwen Lovell 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 bullets 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. Finally, Somers lifted his head. Charles glanced at Laurence, still firmly holding his own gun.

'Would you accept my word that I will 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 killed. She has no one else but Catherine. Tomorrow, on my honour, on that of my three sons, I'll let justice take its course.'

Laurence thought quickly. If Somers didn't turn himself in within twenty-four hours, they could tell 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?

Charles raised an eyebrow; he too wanted it to be Laurence's choice.

Eventually Laurence spoke. 'All right.' He was so weary. He doubted that Somers had the energy to continue his campaign; he doubted that Gwen would let him out of her sight. Despite having other reservations, he didn't want to be the one to turn a decent, honourable man over to the hangman. Gwen Lovell had already lost so much. It all sickened him.

Somers seemed to sag and Gwen helped him into a chair.

'But just as you wanted your truth, I want to be able to tell John Emmett's sister what happened to him,' Laurence said firmly.

Somers stiffened slightly and looked uneasy. His glance flickered to Gwen, then back to Laurence.

'How did you get him to your house?'

'By car. I visited Holmwood a week or so before Christmas. Drove around the lanes not far from the village. Parked the car half a mile away behind some abandoned farm buildings, with a blanket over the engine. Couldn't risk it not starting when it was needed, though in the event the weather was mild. Walked to Holmwood. Went through the motions of having a meeting with Chilvers. Met my poor old friend Emmett: all sanctioned by Chilvers, with tea and cucumber sandwiches. The good doctor was keen to accommodate the valiant but shell-shocked son of a titled friend that I'd mentioned to him. Emmett thought I was there to represent Mrs Lovell. He was longing to see her; never was a man so obliging in the arrangements for his own removal.'

Gwen shuddered. Laurence thought she might faint, but she clung to Somers' arm.

'I wanted more information. I wanted
him.
Told them all at Holmwood that I'd arrived by train. Gave Emmett the directions to the car. Young Chilvers, an egregious braggart, even took me to catch a train home.

'Nobody to notice at home whether I had or hadn't got the car: one of the few advantages of having lost your entire family. Told my gardener it was being repaired. Agreement was that Emmett would get away when he could, pick up the motor car and drive over to my place at Fawler. He was still confined to his room, more or less, or under constant supervision, but this suited me, as he was hardly likely to tell anyone of our plan. He thought Christmas Day would be his only chance to get away as he knew they'd all be taken to church. As far as I was concerned, Christmas was ideal as anybody who had a family would be with them. He thought I'd drive him back eventually, of course. I left a map in the car but he said he'd been at school not so far away and knew the area.'

'Yes,' said Laurence. 'We were at Marlborough together.' Then he suddenly remembered. 'May I get something?' Gwen nodded. Laurence went over to his coat, felt in the deep pocket and pulled out a grubby striped scarf. 'This was yours, wasn't it?'

Somers looked down and touched it. 'Miles's scarf, from Wellington. His team colours.' He turned back the corner, looked at the school number, then took the scarf in both hands. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I'm glad to have it.' Laurence could see him making connections. 'Was it with John Emmett when he died?'

Laurence nodded. 'I came here on my way to see Tresham Brabourne—taking it to see whether he could confirm the school and identify the initials.'

Somers didn't respond for a while. Finally he said, 'I gave it to Emmett as we left the house because he looked so cold. Miles didn't need it. I wasn't going to need it again.'

Gwen made no move to touch Somers. Laurence felt indecent, watching her world collapse.

'I don't believe John had to die. I don't understand why,' Laurence said.

'It isn't hard,' Somers replied. 'He died because he killed my son.'

Laurence was struggling to see this rational, decent man as an unstable, flawed avenger. He thought to himself that, if anything, John had died because he had
not
killed Hart.