No Enemy but Time (11 page)

‘Good Lord, no,' Claire said. ‘Mother's been in Ireland since her first marriage. She's more Irish than the Irish. She's seventy and she only stopped hunting last season because she's got arthritis in her wrist. Do you know Kildare at all?'

‘Not well,' he said, which wasn't true. She seemed anxious to talk that night. Previously, she had said very little and her husband kept the conversation going. But then they hadn't been alone for any time before.

‘My mother was married to James Hamilton,' she said. ‘They lived at a place called the Half House. He was killed in the war and then she married my father. It was sold ten years ago.' She offered him a cigarette and then withdrew it, ‘Oh, I'd forgotten. You don't smoke.'

‘I never did,' he said. ‘Tried it once and couldn't stand it.'

She wanted to say something, he felt, and the cigarette was just a moment's loss of nerve. He waited.

‘It was so Irish to call it the Half House.' She sounded casual. ‘One of the Hamiltons burnt it to get the insurance and made a mess of it. So they lived in one wing and everybody called it that. It was even on the writing paper, if you can believe it.' She laughed and he joined in. ‘Kevin Ryan bought it,' she said. He looked non-committal. ‘People couldn't stop talking about it.'

‘Isn't he the Senator?' he asked, knowing she wanted the lead.

‘Yes, and a big business man. His family were local farmers. He went to America and made a fortune. He's a very powerful man.'

‘Have you met him?' There was something uneasy about her. She was asking something from him, this stranger whose job was to shoot the IRA assassins if they came. He didn't know what it was, but now it wasn't small talk and he wasn't just ticking over any more.

‘Once,' Claire Fraser answered. ‘With my brother. My half-brother. Ryan is his uncle.'

‘Oh,' he said.

She got up, fiddled with the drinks, pouring herself another whiskey for something to do. With her back to him, she said, ‘Ryan's one of the bosses of Noraid. He turned my brother Frank. He completely turned him. Major Harvey, can you imagine how I feel, with Neil's life being threatened?'

She turned round to face him. His defences went up. There were tears in her eyes.

‘You shouldn't feel anything,' he said. ‘It's nothing to do with you. And don't worry. Nothing's going to happen to him. I think that's your husband coming in now. Excuse me.' He put his glass down. ‘Thanks for the drink.'

Dinner had been strained that evening. Neil Fraser looked tired and on edge, his wife was subdued and made an excuse to leave them early. When they were alone, the Minister offered him a brandy.

‘No thanks, I've got to keep my wits about me. Wouldn't do to drink too much.'

‘I'm very grateful to you, Major,' Neil said. ‘You make my wife feel much happier, knowing you're in the house. She shouldn't worry, but she does.'

‘That's only natural,' Harvey said, wondering why he was bringing her into it. ‘She's marvellous, considering most women would be throwing a wobbly.'

‘How long will it be before they give me the all-clear, do you think?'

Harvey shrugged. ‘I wouldn't know. My own feeling is, the greatest danger is in the early days. If they haven't made an attempt by now, I suspect they know the scheme's been blown and they've called it off. But don't quote me. As soon as the situation's normal, you can be rid of me.'

‘I've enjoyed having you with us,' Neil Fraser said. ‘So has Claire.' He sipped rather too deeply at his brandy. ‘The trouble is she feels as if it were her fault. She feels guilty because my life's been threatened. She was quite upset tonight, I don't know if you noticed.'

‘No, I didn't. We were talking about Ireland before you arrived. Just chatting.' He was conditioned not to give anything away. Fraser wasn't going to get any lead from him. He wished he'd finish his drink and go to bed. The last thing Michael Harvey wanted was to be drawn into a personal discussion.

‘It's her half-brother that's the problem.' Fraser had settled into his chair. He was going to get this off his chest, and nothing was going to stop him. Harvey kept quiet. ‘Claire's father married a farmer's daughter. Right out of the blue; ran away and married her in England. There was the most God-awful row with the family. They wouldn't accept her at any price. Then she died having the boy. There was some story about her and Claire's grandmother having a set-to and she had the baby too early – anyway, my father-in-law never spoke to his mother again. Typically Irish, I'm afraid. Seems to me, they live on feuds.'

‘It does sound like it,' Harvey admitted. He eased his sleeve up and looked at his watch. Fraser didn't notice or didn't care.

‘The old boy married a second time and she's a splendid woman. English-born, actually, and we got on like a house on fire. Claire's much more like her.' He looked gloomily at his empty glass. ‘Trouble is, Claire and that brother were inseparable. He was always jealous because she married me. And he's up to his neck in it.'

‘Gone over to the other side?' Harvey queried.

‘Backwards and forwards to the States, speaks at Noraid rallies. Nothing can be pinned on him, not that the bloody Irish Government gives a damn what people like that do. But it weighs on Claire. Wasn't too easy for me, when I was standing for election. Never mind. They're a hopeless people.'

Harvey moved out of his chair. ‘Not all of them,' he said. ‘I've known a few who weren't too bad. I think we should shut up shop, if you don't mind. The new night shift is coming on outside and they'll expect the household to be in bed. I hope you don't mind, sir.' The ‘sir' was to soften it. He was not surprised to find Neil Fraser was ignorant and prejudiced. He didn't have much time for politicians as a breed.

‘Yes, it is late. Goodnight, Major. See you at breakfast.'

He slept in a room opposite the Frasers', with his door ajar. He couldn't help hearing the row. It began with muffled voices that meant nothing. Then they rose in anger.

‘He wouldn't help them! Frank wouldn't do anything to hurt you.'

‘Like hell he wouldn't – all he's ever wanted is to get you back!'

‘You say things like that and you expect me to bloody well sleep with you.'

Harvey got up and closed the door. Then he opened it again. It was his job to watch over Fraser during the night. He dozed with an eye and an ear open. If they chose to quarrel at the tops of their voices, that was their business.

‘You don't want to any more – go on, admit it! It's just another excuse tonight.'

Christ, he muttered to himself. Married bliss. The door to their room opened. She was crying. He felt sorry for the husband. They always cried to put you in the wrong. His ex-wife had cried at him for three years.

‘Oh, for God's sake, darling, don't let's go on,' he heard Fraser say. ‘Come to bed. I'm sorry. I just wanted you tonight.'

‘I'm sorry too,' she said. That was a change, Harvey admitted. ‘I'm so sorry, Neil. I'm so uptight about all this I just couldn't.'

The door closed and the voices were a murmur. Harvey settled back on the bed, checked his gun was handy and closed his eyes. He was used to sleeping on the lightest level. It didn't bother him. An odd kind of row, he mused, letting himself drift. Rows about sex were ordinary enough. He and his wife had fallen out over it more than anything else. But what kind of a brother was this Frank Arbuthnot? Clearly, he was very much under both their skins. He dozed.

He was relieved from duty by the end of the week. One more weekend and the security screen could be lifted. Two men had been arrested in Liverpool and their informer in Belfast named them as the assassins. Once this was established, Neil Fraser and the other two targets would be low risks as usual.

‘What are you going to do now?' Fraser asked him. ‘Or is that a tactless question?'

‘I'm due for leave,' Michael Harvey said.

‘Oh? Then why not come down and have a day's shooting next Saturday,' Fraser suggested. ‘We've got some guns staying with us and it should be a good party. We'd really like to give you a good day. Wouldn't we, darling?' He slipped his arm round his wife's shoulders. They'd seemed on close terms since the night he overheard them quarrelling.

‘Yes, we certainly would.' She was enthusiastic. ‘Do come down, Major Harvey. It's been so dreary for you in the last couple of weeks. We'll have a lot of fun, now that everything's back to normal. And the shooting is marvellous!'

In spite of himself he was tempted. ‘I may be a bit rusty,' he said, and they both laughed. ‘I mean with a high bird,' he amended.

‘Say yes,' Claire encouraged him.

‘Do,' Fraser echoed.

‘Well, if you're sure you can stand the sight of me … I'd love to.'

That was the start of their friendship. It was irregular because his duties took him out of touch for weeks at a time. Whenever he rang up he was welcome to come for a night, or meet them in London and have dinner. He was amused by Claire's attempts to introduce him to attractive women.

‘She's awfully nice,' she'd say, preparing the way for yet another girl. ‘Very pretty; I'm sure you'll like her.'

And he would cock his head and say, ‘I'm sure I shall. But I'm just as happy spending the evening with you and Neil. I'm not in the market.'

He'd told them once that he'd been married. ‘Three years and we got divorced. This job doesn't go with a wife, let alone children. So …' A shrug – that dismissed so much unhappiness and disappointment. He was glad neither expected any details.

It was an odd friendship; Fraser was a gregarious man, ambitious, keen-witted for the main chance, much sought after. Harvey couldn't see what he had to offer someone like that. Except, of course, a sense of security. He could talk to Michael Harvey and trust him not to make use of what he said. He could sit with his very big brandies when Claire had gone to bed and talk about the Gordian Knot of the Arbuthnot relationships. He couldn't cut it and he was enmeshed in it himself. For such a successful man in his middle years, his reliance on the young army officer was touching. He seemed to Michael Harvey to be very lonely. This was perhaps what they really had in common. It was a marriage in a vacuum, with two sweet children and all the material trappings of affluence and success. But Neil Fraser couldn't reach out and touch his wife. Harvey wondered whether he had ever been able to, even in the beginning. Like a ship on a slow tide, she had moved away from him, without either of them knowing until it was too late and the drift couldn't be stopped.

If Claire had flicked an eyelash at him, Harvey would never have come near them again. But she didn't. She liked him and trusted him as a friend who was valuable to her husband. And sometimes they talked about Ireland and the old days when they were children. They could laugh at the absurdities of life and people that made no sense to those who hadn't lived in Ireland. It was a bond between them, although his links were long broken. His family had sold up and settled in Cheshire. He didn't go over to the Republic or see friends. His background and knowledge had directed him to the branch of military intelligence centred on Northern Ireland. They never mentioned Ulster, except in general terms.

The plane was making its descent on Dublin. The sign to fasten seat-belts lit up in front of him. Dark clouds enveloped the aircraft and it began to bump through them. Somewhere to the rear a child began to wail. He could see the grey ruffled silk of the sea on the left as they banked and came in towards the airport. Inevitably it was raining.

Frank Arbuthnot was missing. Harvey agreed with Brownlow on balance that he was most likely dead and buried. It wasn't his brief to find him. But Claire Fraser was out there and he had undertaken to find her and persuade her to come home. He was quite prepared to use force if that was necessary. He had hesitated when he was asked to go. One mistake could blow his cover and ruin years of careful work in the North. Then he remembered something and knew he was in duty bound to take that risk. A lunch on Sunday in the Gloucestershire garden by the pool. The sun beating down on them and the children splashing and laughing in the shallow end. The most unlikely moment for Claire to talk about a day when she and her brother went walking across the land of a man who believed he'd come back from the dead as a fox.

He went through the green door in the Customs Hall and out into the main lounge. A man with a cardboard saying ‘Mr Keogh' in rough pencilled letters came up to him. Michael Harvey followed him out to the hired car. He took the keys from him and drove off. Some distance from the airport he pulled up. The rear seat lifted. The weapons and ammunition were underneath it. A bag with a change of clothes was in the boot. Jeans, a thick jersey, an anorak sold throughout Ireland by Dunne's stores, scuffed jodphur boots. Kildare was racing country. Dressed like that no one would look at him twice.

The first thing, he decided, was to check out Riverstown in case she had been there first.

It was a long walk. The woods were damp and overgrown; she stumbled through brambles and fallen branches. At the head of the valley she was forced to get her breath. It was a marvellous site and, seen from so far away, the house didn't look a ruin. What parties they'd been to when they were young, and Tom Reynard was holding court for his friends and their children.

The Arbuthnots hunted on odd days with the Meath and Tom lived for the sport. He was reputed to be rich, and was famous for his hospitality. He never married, but there were nieces and nephews and always a stream of people staying. Life was joyful at Cloncarrig and Tom, red-haired and ruddy-faced, presided over the dissipation of his fortune without giving it a thought.