'Seymour does a bit for them as well. Some of the heavy stuff.'
'And thinks he owns the place, I suppose? Why isn't he in the Army?'
'That's another sore point They turned him down because of a perforated eardrum.'
'Which he took as an insult to his great manhood, I suppose?' Devlin said.
Wilde said awkwardly, as if he felt some explanation was necessary, 'I picked up a packet myself with the Royal Artillery at Narvik in April, nineteen-forty. Lost my right knee-cap so it was a short war for me. You got yours in France I understand?'
'That's right,' Devlin said calmly. 'Near Arras Came out through Dunkirk on a stretcher and never knew a thing about it.'
'And over a year in hospitals Mrs. Grey tells me?'
Devlin nodded. 'A grand woman. I'm very gratetul to her. Her husband knew my people back home years ago. If it wasn't for her. I wouldn't have this job.'
'A lady.' Wilde said. 'A real lady. There's nobody better liked round here.'
Laker Armsbv said. 'Now me I copped my first packet on the Somme in nineteen-sixteen. With the Welsh Guards I was.'
'Oh. No' Devlin took a shilling from his pocket slapped it down on the table and winked at Wilde. 'Give him a pint but I'm off Got work to do.'
He slung the shotgun over his back again kicked the motor-cycle into life and drove down to Park Cottage. Joanna Grey was in WVS uniform standing in the garden drinking a cup of tea. She crossed to the gate with a bright smile. 'Everything all right?'
'Yes, I've seen the old boy and picked up the bike and the gun, so that's covered. Only snag so far was just now down at the pub. A big ox called Seymour who doesn't like strangers.'
'Keep out of his way she said. He's quite unbalanced. When are you going to Birmingham?'
'Overnight Saturday I'll be back Sunday afternoon or evening.'
'Good she said calmly. Then if you drive round to the back I'll give you that form I promised and you'll find a couple of two gallon cans of petrol in the garage. That should cover you for the Birmingham trip and to spare.'
'What in the hell would I do without you?' he asked her.
'Exactly Mr Devlin.'
She turned and walked back into the house and Devlin pushed the BSA round to the rear.
.
As a member of the IRA, Liam Devlin had been officially denied the Sacraments for a considerable number of years and his espousal of the Republican cause in Spain had hardly helped his situation. It was always possible to find the odd priest here and there who sympathetic to the cause itself was willing to overlook such evidence of human frailty but Devlin had never bothered.
The urge was simply not there. Had not been for some considerable time.
Having said that, churches in their own right had always given him a certain aesthetic pleasure. He liked the cold spirituality of them, what he called the smell of the ages. The sense of history through people's lives to be found there and when he pushed open the door and went into St Mary and All the Saints, he was not disappointed.
'Would you look at that now?' he said softly, gazing about him with a conscious pleasure dipping his hand in the Holy Water and crossing himself mechanically.
It really was very beautiful. Time holding its breath, waiting for the next thing to happen. The flickering candles, the ruby light of the sanctuary lamp and he sat down into the nearest pew, arms folded, filled with a pleasant nostalgia.
There was the click of a door behind him, approaching footsteps. He turned and found Father Vereker approaching. Devlin got to his feet 'Good afternoon to you, Father.'
'Can I help you?'
'Not really I was just watching a little lad going down the aisle there in a scarlet cassock and white cotta, a bucket of holy water in his hand and wondering if it was ever me.'
'I know that kind of feeling only too well.' Vereker smiled and held out his hand 'You will be Mr. Devlin Mrs. Grey told me you'd be coming.'
Devlin shook hands. 'That was nice of her.'
Vereker was nothing if not direct. He said, 'I presume you're a Catholic?'
'Because I'm Irish, Father?' Devlin smiled 'I mind me one or two who weren't. There was a fella named Wolfe Tone. I heard of a time or two'
'I take the point,' Vereker managed a smile with some difficulty, for on some days the aluminium foot they'd given him played the very devil - and this was one of them. We have a small congregation here. Never more than fifteen or twenty for Mass. People find it difficult to get in from the outlying farms in the evening with the lack of transport so you will be very welcome. 'Times of Confession are on the board outside.'
'Sorry, Father, but that's a service I haven't used for some considerable time.'
Vereker frowned, immediately serious 'May I ask why?'
'Sure and if I told you, you would never believe me. Let's just say Liam Devlin and Holy Mother Church haven't seen eye to eye on a few things for quite a while now and leave it at that.'
'But that is something I cannot and will not do, Mr Devlin.'
'Well, here's one soul you'll have the devil's own luck in saving from the fire, Father, believe me.' Devlin grinned 'I'll be away now Nice meeting you.'
He had got as far as the door when Father Vereker called, 'Mr Devlin.'
Devlin turned, the door half-open 'Yes, Father.'
'Another time. Something I have plenty of.'
Devlin sighed. 'I know Father. That's the trouble with you fellas. You always do.'
.
When he reached the coast road, Devlin took the first dyke path that he came to at the northerly end of Hobs End marsh and drove out towards the fringe of pine trees. It was a crisp, autumnal sort of day, cold but bracing, white clouds chasing each other across a blue sky. He opened the throttle and roared along the narrow dyke path. A hell of a risk, for one wrong move and he'd be into the marsh. Stupid really, but that was the kind of mood he was in, and the sense of freedom was exhilarating.
He throttled back, braking to turn into another path, working his way along the network of dykes towards the coast, when a horse and rider suddenly appeared from the reeds thirty or forty yards to his right and scrambled up on top of the dyke. It was the girl he'd last seen in the village in the pony and trap, Molly Prior. As he slowed, she leaned low over the horse's neck and urged it into a gallop racing him on a parallel course.
Devlin responded instantly, opening the throttle and surging forward in a burst of speed, kicking dirt out in a great spray into the marsh behind him. The girl had an advantage, in that the dyke she was on ran straight to the pine trees whereas Devlin had to work his way through a maze, turning from one path into another and he lost ground.
She was close to the trees now and as he skidded out of one path broadside on and finally found a clear run, she plunged her mount into the water and mud of the marsh, urging it through the reeds in a final short cut. The horse responded well and a few moments later, bounded free and disappeared into the pines.
Devlin left the dyke path at speed, shot up the inside of the first sand dune, travelled some little distance through, the air and alighted in soft white sand, going down on one knee in a long slide.
Molly Prior was sitting at the foot of a pine tree gazing out to sea, her chin on her knees. She was dressed exactly as she had been when Devlin had last seen her except that she had taken off the beret, exposing short-cropped, tawny hair. The horse grazed on a tuft of grass that pushed up through the sand.
Devlin got the bike up on its stand and threw himself down beside her. 'A fine day, thanks be to God.'
She turned and said calmly, 'What kept you?'
Devlin had taken off his cap to wipe sweat from his forehead and he looked up at her in astonishment, 'What kept me, is it? Why, you little...'
And then she smiled. More than that, threw back her head and laughed and Devlin laughed too. 'By God, and I'll know you till the crack of Doomsday, that's for sure.'
'And what's that supposed to mean?' She spoke with the strong and distinctive Norfolk accent that was still so new to him.
'Oh, a saying they have where I come from.' He found a packet of cigarettes and put one in his mouth. 'Do you use these things?'
'No.'
'Good for you, they'd stunt your growth and you with your green years still ahead of you.'
'I'm seventeen, I'll have you know,' she told him. 'Eighteen in February.'
Devlin put a match to his cigarette and lay back pillowing his head on his hands, the peak of his cap over his eyes. 'February what?'
'The twenty-second.'
'Ah, a little fish, is it? Pisces. We should do well together, me being a Scorpio. You should never marry a Virgo, by the way. No chance of them and Pisces hitting it off at all. Take Arthur, now. I've a terrible hunch he's a Virgo. I'd watch it there if I were you.'
'Arthur?' she said. 'You mean Arthur Seymour? Are you crazy?'
'No, but I think he is,' Devlin replied and carried on. 'Pure, clean, virtuous and not very hot, which is a terrible pity from where I'm lying.'
She had turned round to look down at him and the old coat gaped open. Her breasts were full and firm, barely contained by the cotton blouse she was wearing.
'Oh, girl dear, you'll have a terrible problem with your weight in a year or two if you don't watch your food.'
Her eyes flashed, she glanced down and instinctively pulled her coat together. 'You bastard,' she said, somehow drawing the word out. And then she saw his lips quiver and leaned down to peer under the peak of the cap. 'Why, you're laughing at me!' She pulled off his cap and threw it away.
'And what else would I do with you, Molly Prior?' He put out a hand defensively. 'No, don't answer that.'
She sat back against the tree, her hands in her pockets. 'How did you know my name?'
'George Wilde told me at the pub.'
'Oh, I see now. And Arthur - was he there?'
'You could say that. I get the impression he looks upon you as his personal property.'
'Then he can go to hell,' she said, suddenly fierce. 'I belong to no man.'
He looked up at her from where he lay, the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and smiled. 'Your nose turns up, has anyone ever told you that? And when you're angry, your mouth goes down at the corners.'
He had gone too far, touched some source of secret inner hurt. She flushed and said bitterly, 'Oh, I'm ugly enough, Mr Devlin. I've sat all night long at dances in Holt without being asked, too often not to know my place. You wouldn't throw me out on a wet saturday night, I know. But that's men for you. Anything's better than nothing.'
She started to get up, Devlin had her by the ankle and dragged her down, pinning her with one strong arm as she struggled. 'You know my name? How's that?'
'Don't let it go to your head. Everybody knows about you. Everything there is to know.'
'I've news for you,' he said pushing himself up on one elbow and leaning over her. 'You don't know the first thing about me because if you did, you'd know I prefer fine autumn afternoons under the pine trees to wet Saturday nights. On the other hand, the sand has a terrible way of getting where it shouldn't.' She went very still. He kissed her briefly on the mouth and rolled away. 'Now get the hell out of it before I let my mad passion run away with me.'
She grabbed her beret, jumped to her feet and reached for the horse's bridle. When she turned to glance at him her face was serious, but after she'd scrambled into the saddle and pulled her mount round to look at him again, she was smiling. 'They told me all Irishmen were mad. Now I believe them. I'll be at Mass Sunday evening. Will you?'
'Do I look as though I will?'
The horse was stamping, turning in half-circles, but she held it well. 'Yes,' she said seriously, 'I think you do,' and she gave the horse its head and galloped away.
'Oh, you idiot, Liam,' Devlin said softly as he pushed his motor-cycle off its stand and shoved it alongside the sand dune, through the trees and on to the path. 'Won't you ever learn?'
He drove back along the main dyke top, sedately this time, and ran the motor-cycle into the barn. He found the key where he'd left it under the stone by the door and let himself in. He put the shotgun in the hallstand, went into the kitchen, unbuttoning his raincoat, and paused. There was a pitcher of milk on the table, a dozen brown eggs in a white bowl.
'Mother Mary,' he said softly. 'Would you look at that now?'
He touched the bowl gently with one finger, but when he finally turned to take off his coat, his face was bleak.
