said Henry. ‘Don’t you look rural.’
Victoria grinned and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m only popping in because I know how busy you are – but I just had to bring you this .’ She delved deep into her shoulder bag and brought out a jar which she waved triumphantly in the air. ‘Honey!’
‘Good Lord! Where did this come from?’ Henry asked, already knowing the answer.
‘From the farm! Isn’t it wonderful?’ She threw her head back and laughed and Henry was struck by the intensity of her happiness. He found himself smiling too.
‘Don’t tell me you got hold of some bees and persuaded them to produce in four weeks flat.’
‘No, silly .’ She creased up her nose, taking the teasing in good heart. ‘We found them in an old hive at the far end of the upper meadow and the honey was already there … But we got it out! Isn’t that amazing!’
Knowing the experience that Victoria and her friends had of farming and bee-keeping, Henry thought it probably was.
‘And we’ve got two cows producing milk,’ continued Victoria. ‘And a goat. Oh and we’ve bought a pig. We’ve named her Bella. She’s absolutely gorgeous!’
Henry guessed that the animals on the farm were going to live long and happy lives without fear of the slaughterhouse. ‘How’s all the work going?’ he asked cautiously. ‘The renovations and so on?’
‘Oh, we’re all working like mad,’ breathed Victoria. ‘From dawn till dusk. We’ve done two roofs and cleared out the yard and got the kitchen scrubbed and planted things and …’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, it’s terrific.’
Henry couldn’t resist asking, ‘And how’s the communal decision-making going? Do you have solemn pow-wows at the end of each day?’
Caroline shot him a warning glance but he avoided her eye.
Victoria giggled. ‘No-o-o. We just discuss things round the kitchen table. There are only six of us, after all.’
‘I thought it was going to be ten.’
‘Well, the others weren’t really committed, so …’ Suddenly she was kissing Caroline. ‘Must fly. I only came up to see my stockbroker.’
To sell more shares, no doubt. Henry wondered how much the whole exercise was costing and if anyone else in the commune was chipping in. But he was afraid he knew the answer to that.
‘By the way,’ Victoria said on the doorstep, ‘perhaps you’d better know … Mother’s not best pleased, so I’m keeping clear of her for the moment.’
A wise move at the best of times, Henry wanted to say.
When the Mini had disappeared up the road, Caroline turned and said, ‘Oh dear, I do hope it’s going to work out. She’s so desperately keen to be happy.’
‘If only that were enough.’
He closed the door and, leading Caroline through the house into the dappled sunlight of the garden, gratefully pushed all unwelcome thoughts from his mind.
The briefing meeting was already under way when Ryder arrived. An officer of the Security Service was speaking. The Security Service – known in the Met as Box 500 after its internal mailing address, and never by its more famous name of MI5 – regularly briefed Special Branch. The officer today was Reece-Jones from the ‘F’ Branch of Box 500, which covered extreme political parties on both right and left. Nick knew him well: Reece-Jones specialized in the Left. That didn’t mean to say that the two men got on. On the contrary, Nick sometimes wondered if Reece-Jones didn’t come from another planet. Or perhaps all Box 500 men were secretive and obscure.
‘According to the latest reports,’ Reece-Jones was saying, ‘bar a few minor strikes, the workers have all returned to work. De Gaulle’s government is firmly back in the driver’s seat and the revolt has well and truly collapsed.’
The eight Special Branch men fidgeted in their seats. It was very hot and there was a fault in the air conditioning. Detective Chief Superintendent Straughan, Ryder’s boss, sat sprawled in his chair, his shirt
Victoria grinned and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’m only popping in because I know how busy you are – but I just had to bring you this .’ She delved deep into her shoulder bag and brought out a jar which she waved triumphantly in the air. ‘Honey!’
‘Good Lord! Where did this come from?’ Henry asked, already knowing the answer.
‘From the farm! Isn’t it wonderful?’ She threw her head back and laughed and Henry was struck by the intensity of her happiness. He found himself smiling too.
‘Don’t tell me you got hold of some bees and persuaded them to produce in four weeks flat.’
‘No, silly .’ She creased up her nose, taking the teasing in good heart. ‘We found them in an old hive at the far end of the upper meadow and the honey was already there … But we got it out! Isn’t that amazing!’
Knowing the experience that Victoria and her friends had of farming and bee-keeping, Henry thought it probably was.
‘And we’ve got two cows producing milk,’ continued Victoria. ‘And a goat. Oh and we’ve bought a pig. We’ve named her Bella. She’s absolutely gorgeous!’
Henry guessed that the animals on the farm were going to live long and happy lives without fear of the slaughterhouse. ‘How’s all the work going?’ he asked cautiously. ‘The renovations and so on?’
‘Oh, we’re all working like mad,’ breathed Victoria. ‘From dawn till dusk. We’ve done two roofs and cleared out the yard and got the kitchen scrubbed and planted things and …’ She shook her head. ‘Honestly, it’s terrific.’
Henry couldn’t resist asking, ‘And how’s the communal decision-making going? Do you have solemn pow-wows at the end of each day?’
Caroline shot him a warning glance but he avoided her eye.
Victoria giggled. ‘No-o-o. We just discuss things round the kitchen table. There are only six of us, after all.’
‘I thought it was going to be ten.’
‘Well, the others weren’t really committed, so …’ Suddenly she was kissing Caroline. ‘Must fly. I only came up to see my stockbroker.’
To sell more shares, no doubt. Henry wondered how much the whole exercise was costing and if anyone else in the commune was chipping in. But he was afraid he knew the answer to that.
‘By the way,’ Victoria said on the doorstep, ‘perhaps you’d better know … Mother’s not best pleased, so I’m keeping clear of her for the moment.’
A wise move at the best of times, Henry wanted to say.
When the Mini had disappeared up the road, Caroline turned and said, ‘Oh dear, I do hope it’s going to work out. She’s so desperately keen to be happy.’
‘If only that were enough.’
He closed the door and, leading Caroline through the house into the dappled sunlight of the garden, gratefully pushed all unwelcome thoughts from his mind.
The briefing meeting was already under way when Ryder arrived. An officer of the Security Service was speaking. The Security Service – known in the Met as Box 500 after its internal mailing address, and never by its more famous name of MI5 – regularly briefed Special Branch. The officer today was Reece-Jones from the ‘F’ Branch of Box 500, which covered extreme political parties on both right and left. Nick knew him well: Reece-Jones specialized in the Left. That didn’t mean to say that the two men got on. On the contrary, Nick sometimes wondered if Reece-Jones didn’t come from another planet. Or perhaps all Box 500 men were secretive and obscure.
‘According to the latest reports,’ Reece-Jones was saying, ‘bar a few minor strikes, the workers have all returned to work. De Gaulle’s government is firmly back in the driver’s seat and the revolt has well and truly collapsed.’
The eight Special Branch men fidgeted in their seats. It was very hot and there was a fault in the air conditioning. Detective Chief Superintendent Straughan, Ryder’s boss, sat sprawled in his chair, his shirt
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