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under control.
The moment he was off the air he fitted a cigarette into the long holder,
applied the flame with a shaking hand, and drew the smoke deep into his lungs.
If there was one thing he detested it was having to lie deliberately. The
truth was that in many areas the troops and police were being forced back. The
tide had turned, and a backwash of bloody terror was swamping Britain.
Already a military escort waited outside for the evacuation of Downing Street.
Canverdale was well aware that his next broadcast would be made from a secret
underground headquarters in Hertfordshire.
Chapter 14
On Monday night Coyle returned home, and Anne reluctantly went back to her
parents. Just for a few hours out of the precious few left.
Jane and Sarah were seated before the small electric fire in the living-room,
and both looked up as he entered. Their forced smiles meant nothing more than
an acknowledgement. They had guessed he would come.
Sarah prepared a snack which none of them really wanted, but they must pretend
to eat something in the midst of this forced family reunion. Nobody spoke, but
the silence was worse than any backlash of words, and Coyle wondered how they
would get through the long evening ahead. The television was out of action, of
course, and his transistor radio was still at the office. He knew Sarah had
one in her room, but that was not really a solution to their problem.
He took upon himself the chore of washing the dishes, simply as something to
do. The thought of the long night frightened him.
At half-past eight the front-door bell rang, and Sarah went to answer it. From
the kitchen he recognised the voice of the caller - the Reverend James
Mortimer.
The vicar had come on a mission of solace. It was a valuable diversion, Coyle
decided, as he made some coffee. He hoped that Mortimer would not refer to his
presence at the communion service. The memory was distasteful to Coyle,
because in his own mind he felt he had capitulated to everything he had
opposed in the past. No longer could he claim openly to be an atheist. He had
knelt and asked God for deliverance along with everybody else. Jane and Sarah
probably despised him for it; and perhaps Mortimer thought he had won a long
battle, and converted yet another to his fold. Coyle winced at the thought.
'Superintendent Rollason telephoned me.' Mortimer drank coffee even slower
than he consumed tea, with constant stirrings, purely a habit because he did
not take sugar. 'The authorities will keep the crowds out of the church
tomorrow. Just for the service, of course. I want to leave it a family affair
just for you. The population of this town are not interested in your grief.'
Jane and Sarah looked at Coyle. He dropped his gaze. There would be no
reconciliation - that was obvious. Their last outward show of unity would be a
bereavement. After that it was all over.
The vicar left an hour later. Sarah came back from seeing him out, kissed her
mother briefly, ignored her father, and went upstairs to her room.
At ten o'clock Coyle suggested that they too go to bed. They would need every
bit of rest they could get to prepare for the morrow. He was somewhat
surprised when Jane followed him upstairs. They undressed. It was a sort of
brother and sister affair as though both were being forced to use the same
room. She turned away from him as she took her clothes off - unwilling even to
allow him a brief glimpse of her naked breasts.
She was in bed before him, on the far side, facing the wall, her back towards
him. He switched off the bedside light, and climbed in beside her. He could
tell by her breathing that she was still awake, and he contemplated slipping
an arm around her, one small gesture of comfort, perhaps understanding. He
thought about it for a minute, decided against it, and turned over. Back to
back. Their marriage was finished, all right, and he realised there was
nothing he could do to save it. He told himself that he had no regrets.
Margaret Houston was surprised when, for the second evening in succession, her
husband did not go out. A small flame of hope kindled inside her and she made
a half-promise to herself to visit the hair-dressers's the following day.
Perhaps she could start a diet, too. Since her husband's affair began, she had
let herself go, seeking solace in the company of the children, eating the
foods she enjoyed most, heedless of calories. She had no intention of finding
another man, even if David left her for good. Nobody could replace him.
She had seen Sarah Coyle about town. Attractive, a young body, but it could
not be any more willing than her own. But now David had stayed at home for two
evenings. Sullen, certainly, but that gave Margaret encouragement. The affair
bore all the signs of having come to an end. Perhaps Sarah had found a younger
lover - a real boyfriend. Margaret was determined to seize the opportunity.
She would win David back again.
At least it was nice to go upstairs to bed together. He did not make love to
her on the Sunday night, but she did not expect it. It would take time to get
back together again.
Deep within him, David Houston smouldered with hatred. That stupid little
bitch - all he had given her, too. That was all she had wanted from him. Her
wardrobe was full, so was her jewellery box. That made her no better than a
prostitute, as surely as if she solicited on the streets. Damn her, he was
well rid of her, but his eager sexual appetite was already crying out for
another woman. He could have taken Margaret, of course, but he dismissed the
thought. Too easy. Too familiar. He craved for a woman who would excite him
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