Skydancer by Geoffrey Archer Page A

Mary?’ he asked with amused resignation.
    â€˜I’ve always been interested in political philosophy,’ she answered flatly. ‘I read PPE at university. And I am a supporter of the Labour Party. I have been for many years. But that will be in your file on me already, I’m sure.’
    She heard him breathing heavily. His lungs must be coated with tar, she thought to herself. She found herself praying that he would die from cancer.
    He was standing at the end of the sofa now, looking straight down at her.
    â€˜It’s still the policy of the Labour Party to scrap British nuclear weapons, isn’t it?’ he asked innocently.
    â€˜Yes. But not all members of the party support that policy,’ she answered coldly, looking straight ahead. She reached for her glass, and swallowed the remains of her wine.
    â€˜Good God!’ he exclaimed in disgust. ‘It amazes me that we have any secrets left in this country. There you’ve been for the past God-knows-how-many years, sitting in the nuclear weapons department of the Ministry of Defence, with top-security clearance, and all the time you’ve been an alcoholic, lesbian, left-wing anti-nuclear activist!’
    â€˜Look, you evil pig of a man!’ Mary exploded in rage, rising to her feet so that he could not dominate her. ‘I’ve had quite enough of your vile insinuations and lies. I am not a left-wing anti-nuclear activist! I happen to believe in nuclear deterrence, and in Britain keeping the bomb. I couldn’t possibly have done the work I do if I didn’t believe that. Also, I am not an alcoholic, and above all I am not a lesbian!’
    Her voice had risen to a penetrating crescendo, and she was trembling again. This time with anger at the faint expression of amusement discernible on John Black’s face.
    â€˜Oh,’ he nodded amiably. ‘Oh well, you should have said that before. Would have saved a lot of trouble.’
    With that he turned away from her and studied a watercolour on the wall. Sighing gently he moved on to examine some prints, and stopped by an antique walnut-veneered bureau, on top of which were two photo-frames. One contained a picture of an elderly couple in a country garden. They looked to him as if they could be her parents. Next to it was a more recent colour print of Mary with her arms round two young children.
    â€˜Nice-looking kids,’ he commented sincerely.
    â€˜They’re my brother’s.’
    â€˜Sort of substitute for not having any of your own, are they?’
    Mary ignored the remark and bit her lip.
    â€˜You’ve never been married, have you?’ he persisted.
    â€˜No,’ she answered softly.
    Suddenly there was a squeak from the hinges of the old bureau.
    â€˜You can bloody well keep out of there!’ she shouted furiously. ‘That’s private!’
    â€˜I know,’ Black murmured without turning round.
    â€˜You’ve got no right to look in there!’ she screamed, striding across the room and grabbing him by the arm, to pull him away.
    â€˜Rights?’ he mocked, swinging round and brushing her hand from his arm. ‘Rights? This country’s most precious nuclear secrets are being stolen by some self-interested sneak-thief, and you talk about rights!’
    His outrage blazed from his eyes.
    â€˜What is it you want? A warrant? I can whistle up a search warrant in half an hour, if that’s what you want. But along with the warrant will come three of my heaviest-handed men who will not only search this place from top to bottom, they’ll slit the very elastic out of your knickers to check that it hasn’t got code-words written on it. Those are you rights, Miss Maclean!’
    Mary knew that she could not stop her tears anymore. Her privacy was going to be violated, and there was nothing more she could do to prevent it happening. Turning back to the French windows, she pressed her head against the glass and