Frankie's Letter - By Dolores Gordon-Smith Page 0,31

He pulled his napkin straight, fiddling with the corners. ‘The Cavanaugh I knew was American,’ he said. ‘I imagine he called himself a journalist.’ There was a hard edge in his voice. Anthony saw Sir Charles flick a quick glance of surprise towards Sherston. ‘He was distantly related to my brother-in-law, Bernard, and made the acquaintance of my sister, Veronica. My brother-in-law has been dead for many years and my sister’s devoted to his memory. Veronica welcomed Cavanaugh into the house. Cavanaugh presumed on the relationship.’

Presumed, thought Anthony, was a fairly loaded word. The soup arrived and there was silence for a few moments. ‘So he’s dead?’ repeated Sherston. He picked up a piece of bread and crumbled it in his fingers. There was a restrained violence in the gesture. ‘Dead, eh?’ He sounded satisfied.

Anthony, intrigued by Sherston’s reaction, answered without emotion. ‘He died in Germany.’

‘How very sad.’

He didn’t sound very sad, thought Anthony. Gratified if anything.

Sir Charles finished his soup and pushed the bowl to one side. ‘Tell us how you got into Berlin, Brooke,’ he said with cheerful eagerness. ‘I bet that’s a story worth hearing.’

The look Sherston gave Anthony made him feel like a pig being prodded by a cautious farmer at a livestock market. With Sir Charles’s careful guidance he embarked upon the more lurid of his adventures. He appreciated just how good a newspaperman Sherston was. His questions were designed to draw Anthony out, and, as he spoke, Anthony could feel Sherston warming to him. He was a knowledgeable interviewer, too. Anthony guessed some of his early questions were tests, designed to show if he really knew what he was talking about.

After about quarter of an hour of thorough grilling on Sherston’s part and some solid hard work on Anthony’s, Sherston laid down his knife and fork. Anthony was sure he hadn’t noticed what he’d been eating. ‘This is truly remarkable, Colonel. I wish I could bring your story to the public. Why, what a series of articles you could write!’

‘I’ve got no hand for writing,’ said Anthony modestly. He wasn’t going to leap at the first opportunity. ‘I haven’t got the popular touch.’

‘That’s no problem,’ said Sherston encouragingly. ‘If you’d give an interview to one of my men, he can write it up.’

Anthony tried for an expression of sincere regret. ‘It’s one thing talking to you, Mr Sherston. I know you’ll treat it all in confidence. It’s quite another publishing it in the press.’

‘I think you should,’ said Sir Charles, a shade more definitely than a completely sober man would have done. ‘We all need a boost. There’s too much bad news knocking about. Why don’t you get permission, Brooke?’ he said, with an almost imperceptible wink.

Anthony pretended to chew the matter over.

‘I urge you to consider it, Colonel,’ said Sherston persuasively. ‘The public will be inspired by your exploits. No names, of course, but simple facts.’

Now this was all very well, thought Anthony, but he hadn’t been invited to Starhanger. Maybe that would follow, but he wanted to be a bit more secure, so . . .

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, after what he hoped seemed like a reasonable amount of cogitation. ‘I can’t see why, given the proper safeguards, there should be any real objection, but I was hoping to have a few days in the country. I want to have some fresh air, get some fishing in, that sort of thing and I don’t want a pack of reporters clamouring at my door.’ He nodded at Sir Charles. ‘Talbot here has offered to show me one of his favourite haunts.’

‘Absolutely, my dear chap,’ agreed Sir Charles heartily. ‘I’m looking forward to our little holiday.’ He looked at Sherston. ‘I was thinking of Melton on the Bewl, Sherston, down in Kent. Do you know it? It’s a delightful spot.’

‘Indeed it is,’ agreed Sherston mechanically, his eyes abstracted. ‘It’s not far from my place. In fact . . .’ He leaned forward. ‘Perhaps, Colonel, you would agree to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak,’ he said persuasively. ‘I would be delighted if you could manage to put in a few days at my house, Starhanger. You too, Talbot. You’d both be very welcome. As far as fishing is concerned, we have a first-rate trout river on the estate and my wife is an excellent hostess. As far as the articles are concerned, all it would entail is having roughly the same conversation we’ve just enjoyed and I can guarantee you