18.
THE END
“I think I need another one of these,” said Peter, holding up his empty flute.
“Why not,” replied his father. “I’m beginning to relax for the first time in months. And it’s so nice to be together with you again. Let’s celebrate that.”
“Don’t relax just yet,” said Peter with a grin. “We’re actually flying over the middle of China at the moment, and you’ve only just got away from there!”
The girl with the champagne came over again.
“I’m surprised the cabin crew are all so friendly, after what happened to that poor fellow Alex Sumner.”
“They don’t know that anything happened yet. We made sure that not even Head Office was told, let alone this flight crew. Suzy did that. She has also arranged for a reception party to meet us at Heathrow. She will have been on to the Defence Attaché out there to get my future organised, and I gather you normally have a ‘hot debrief’ after you get back from one of your operations. I suspect I shall be involved in that as well.”
“That’s good news. I wouldn’t want to be separated from you immediately we get back, having only just met up again after so long.”
“We’ve used this ‘tunnel’ before, and normally our escapee is last off the aircraft so that we can be sure it’s safe for him to leave. That’ll probably happen to us – much easier too, as we only have cabin baggage. Immigration and customs just won’t be a problem, and we should be met air-side, and driven straight into London.”
“Probably to my HQ in Lambeth,” said Maurice. “After that, we have a lot of catching up to do, you and I.”
“We certainly do.”
“For a start,” said Maurice, “I must tell you about my visit to Sandhurst.”
“The Military Academy?”
“That’s the place. I was at your graduation parade.”
“What! Why didn’t you tell me for heaven’s sake? It would have made my day if I’d known, and we could have had lunch together in the Mess.”
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to be there, for one thing. I was supposed to be operating in Warsaw, but in fact I was in Indonesia. Nobody knew I’d dashed back to see the parade until I was discovered on the plane back. One of the crew spotted me going through the Sovereign’s Parade programme, and mentioned it to the Military Attaché to Singapore, who happened to be on the same plane and recognised me. Which reminds me – I must ring Alastair Carter some time – he could have got me the sack!”
“As you said, there’s obviously a lot to catch up on.”
“Will you be going back to Hong Kong sometime?”
“I doubt it, after this,” replied Peter. “Apart from anything else, I’m a Defence cut. I’ve been made redundant thanks to the Defence Review, and was due to leave the Army in a month or so anyway.”
“This was to be my last run, too,” said his father. “I very nearly didn’t make it into retirement, though. It’s only thanks to you and your controller, Suzy that I’m here at all.”
“We should be OK now, Dad.”
“What will you do when you’ve left the Army?”
“Not a clue. I shall get a pension of some sort and redundancy pay I suppose, but it won’t be enough. Probably some sort of desk job at the Ministry is all I can hope for.”
“I’ve got a desk job lined up to see me through to retirement,” said Maurice. “Promotion, too it will be. You could take my old job – this one. I could probably fix that, if you’re interested. You’re better at languages than I ever was, and the Foreign Office is always looking for linguists who are prepared to travel a bit.”
“Could be fun,” said Peter. “What about you?”
“If I’m spared, I shall spend some time as Head of Section 7, and then retire gracefully to the country. You’ve been to the cottage in Hampshire, near some pretty good fishing. We could set up home there together if you like.”
“It’s what we’ve always wanted,” mused Peter. “Perhaps I could get Suzy over as well. She’s an excellent cook, you know. I’m sure you’d like her.”
“And she’s already proved to be pretty good at looking after both of us,” said Maurice.
The girl came round with the champagne again, without being asked this time.
“I think I’ll sleep all the way home after this and dinner,” said Maurice.
“Me too,” replied Peter. “We could chat up here all night, but I guess we’ll have plenty of time for that in the days to come.”
***
Peter had managed to negotiate a long weekend away from his office in MI6 Headquarters, where he was learning the ropes in his new career, to do a bit of fishing and help with the odd job in his father’s cottage near the river. He got down there just after lunch on Friday, and wasn’t due back until sometime on Monday.
He needed the break, and he knew the fishing had been good in recent days. Although the Mayfly hatch was more or less over for another season, there were a few hatching most evenings, and the fish were still taking carefully presented artificial mayfly nymphs.
Maurice was looking forward to some time together with Peter again. They had both been working far too hard in recent months, and were in danger of drifting apart again.
A lot had happened recently.
Choi Yong had gone back to North Korea, and was already passing them useful information even though he had yet to graduate. Hang Soo, on the other hand, had left the Army to join MI6, and he too had returned ‘home’ to North Korea, to run the network he had so successfully rescued.
And Maurice Northcot had retired.
A desk didn’t suit him, he had concluded. Fishing did.
He had decided to get to the river early on that Saturday morning, while Peter had a bit of a lay in and got a barbeque lunch going, so that he could fish in the evening. They had planned a pub lunch on Sunday – some locally bred roast lamb and a glass or two of locally brewed beer to wash it down.
This was sort of life Maurice had dreamed of. It’s why he had retired. He wasn’t sure that the contrast of a quiet life would suit him, but it did.
He was a good way down the river when he smelt the smoke, wafting in the breeze.
Lunchtime already?
He turned back, and saw it immediately. It looked more than a barbeque. He quickened his step, and soon heard the sirens of the fire engine.
Now, he ran, as the smoke thickened.
It was his cottage.
As he approached, he could see an ambulance as well as the fire engine.
Peter?
The barbeque had done it. A spark had caught the thatch. Peter had been in one of the upstairs rooms with the garden hose when the old beam fell on him.
He was dead by the time they got him to the hospital.
***
There were rather more people at the crematorium than Maurice had expected, although still not that many.
He knew the vicar; a retired military padré, so he understood.
As the curtain closed, they played the Benedictus from Jenkins’ ‘The Armed Man’. Maurice liked that, and he thought Peter would, too. In any case, it was appropriate.
The Padré stood by him, waiting to lead him out of the Chapel, but Maurice sat and listened for a moment. The Padré understood.
After a while, Maurice left his seat at the end of the front pew, and followed the man into the early summer sunshine.
“A great loss for you,” said the Padré, quietly.
Maurice looked at him.
“My sadness is that I was never much of a father to him. My work kept us apart. We rarely met, and such meetings were very precious.”
“I can understand that. In my work, I come across many similar situations, especially in the military.”
“We kept in touch by letter,” said Maurice. “I still have all of his, and he still has – or had – all of mine. They were a bridge between us, our letters.”
Maurice looked back towards the Chapel.
“And now that bridge has gone for ever.”
Maurice felt a light tug at his sleeve. He turned.
“Dr. Penny?” asked a girl. She was petite. Chinese probably.
He looked at her closely.
“Dr. Penny?” she asked again.
“Suzy?”
“Yes.”
“From Hong Kong?”
“Yes.”
She reached up and kissed him gently on his cheek. He felt her tears on his face.
“You saved my life,” he said.
She nodded.
“And Peter’s,” he added.
She nodded again.
“Have you come from Hong Kong specially?”
“Specially. We never did say goodbye. It was an emergency, and you both left so quickly.”
“Are you staying?”
“No. I just had to say goodbye properly, that’s all.”
“Thank you,” said Maurice, himself now close to tears. “But why don’t you stay?”
“Peter wanted me to come here, to join you at your cottage. But we decided it would not be for the best.”
“I know,” said Maurice.
“I wish now that I had come to live here.” She paused. “I loved Peter.”
“So did I.”
They turned to watch a butterfly settle briefly on the garland of flowers that had been on the coffin.
“A Red Admiral,” said the Padré, who had been standing next to them.
It fluttered off again.
“A passing visit. Like life itself, really”
Maurice nodded.
He turned towards the others who were there to witness the passing of son Peter. James Piper was there. So was Betty Ogden, and a couple of others, probably from his office in Lambeth. Maurice did not recognise them. There were two in uniform – from Peter’s old Regiment, he guessed.
“Where will you go?” asked Betty Ogden.
“Back to the cottage, when it’s restored. Not too much damage. It shouldn’t take long, and it’s what I always wanted. So I shall go back there when it’s ready to finish my retirement.”
“I’ve a spare room if that would ever help,” she offered. “It would be nice to have you stay.”
They had known one another for a long time.
“That’s very kind of you. Thanks. I would like that. And you can come to the cottage when it’s ready.”
“Only if you teach me to fish for trout, rather than for men.”
“Agreed.”
The Padre took his sleeve.
“There’s a spare room at vicarage, too, if you like. It’s in the village, and you could supervise the work on your cottage.”
“That might be a good idea, but I’d be in the way,” said Maurice. “You’re a busy chap, I know.”
“Not in the least,” he replied. “It occurs to me that I may be able to help you build a new bridge, between you and Peter.”
“A new bridge?”
“Why not?”
“You know I’m not a religious man,” protested Maurice after a moments’ thought. “I never go to church.”
“I know, but we could try.”
“We could go fishing, too.”
Maurice looked around him. People with friends, people with relations, people with somewhere to go afterwards.
He would go back with Betty Ogden, who took his arm to guide him away.
He turned to watch as a small red car left the crematorium. The girl driving it did not look back or wave.
She had said goodbye.
They had both said goodbye.
It was time to build a future.
Perhaps even time to build a new bridge, if that was possible.
Peter would like that.
***