bare floorboards. He groped around for it and laid it on the cabinet next to the bed.
Moments later there was a light tap on the door, then a creak as it opened.
“Dart, are you all right?”
“Yes, I . . . I’m fine. Really.”
Tamar was merely a shadow deeper than the others. “I thought I heard something fall,” he said.
“The bloody pistol fell out of my pocket. Stupid of me. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“That’s okay. I’m a light sleeper.”
“I guess that’s a good thing to be. In our line of work, anyway.”
“Yes, I suppose so. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
Dart heard a floorboard creak. He did not hear Tamar’s door close. He must sleep with it open, Dart thought. And with his ears cocked, like a gun.
Comforted by the thought, he was asleep again in less than a minute.
From the West London Post, 12th May 1995
TRAGIC DEATH OF WAR HERO
An inquest yesterday recorded an open verdict on a man who died after falling from the balcony of his sixth-floor flat. William Hyde, 74, was found dead in the car park of Maris Towers, Hammersmith, on 19th March. The coroner, Dr. Rose Lambert, said that although there was some evidence that Mr. Hyde may have deliberately taken his own life, that evidence was not conclusive. Mr. Hyde may have been suffering from depression; however, there was no suicide note and a postmortem had revealed that he had been drinking.
Mr. Hyde was Dutch by birth, but at the time of the Nazi invasion of his country in 1940 was a graduate student at Imperial College, London. He was recruited by the Special Operations Executive, a branch of the British secret services, and trained in sabotage and secret warfare techniques. He was parachuted into occupied Holland in October 1944 and became a key figure in the reorganization of the Dutch resistance, surviving the “Hunger Winter” of 1944–45, when thousands of his countrymen died of starvation. In the spring of 1945, his group was betrayed to the Gestapo, and he was forced to flee for his life with a female member of the resistance, who later became his wife. The couple escaped across the Rhine, under German fire, shortly before Holland was liberated.
Mr. Hyde was awarded the DSO in 1946 and became a British citizen in 1947. He worked for the security services for five years and then joined the Post Office, where he enjoyed a distinguished managerial career. He was a leading member of the team that developed the computerized postcode system that has revolutionized mail delivery.
His daughter-in-law, Mrs. Sonia Hyde, told the inquest that Mr. Hyde was a very intelligent and thoughtful man, though emotionally scarred by his wartime experiences. He had enjoyed a “deep and caring” relationship with his fifteen-year-old granddaughter, Tamar. However, in the weeks before his death he had become “noticeably withdrawn and depressed.” Mrs. Hyde told the inquest that her mother-in-law, Mrs. Marijke Hyde, currently in a nursing home, had been diagnosed as suffering from a degenerative mental illness and that Mr. Hyde had “coped very badly” with the situation.
That was it, start to finish. I’ve got the clipping here in front of me now, but I could’ve written it out without looking. I know it by heart, word for word. At the time, when I read it, I felt all sorts of things. Proud of him, I suppose. Embarrassed. (At school: “Was that your grandad jumped off the balcony, then?”) A bit ashamed of myself — I didn’t know what DSO stood for. Postcodes: boring. Now when I look at it, all I see is the spaces between the words where the truth might have been. But I’ve kept it anyway, along with some of the things that were in the box he left me. The box I refused to open until long after he died, because I was too angry with him. All those other feelings were wrapped up inside a thick layer of anger that stayed with me long after the grief had gone.
Because he had
Moments later there was a light tap on the door, then a creak as it opened.
“Dart, are you all right?”
“Yes, I . . . I’m fine. Really.”
Tamar was merely a shadow deeper than the others. “I thought I heard something fall,” he said.
“The bloody pistol fell out of my pocket. Stupid of me. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“That’s okay. I’m a light sleeper.”
“I guess that’s a good thing to be. In our line of work, anyway.”
“Yes, I suppose so. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
Dart heard a floorboard creak. He did not hear Tamar’s door close. He must sleep with it open, Dart thought. And with his ears cocked, like a gun.
Comforted by the thought, he was asleep again in less than a minute.
From the West London Post, 12th May 1995
TRAGIC DEATH OF WAR HERO
An inquest yesterday recorded an open verdict on a man who died after falling from the balcony of his sixth-floor flat. William Hyde, 74, was found dead in the car park of Maris Towers, Hammersmith, on 19th March. The coroner, Dr. Rose Lambert, said that although there was some evidence that Mr. Hyde may have deliberately taken his own life, that evidence was not conclusive. Mr. Hyde may have been suffering from depression; however, there was no suicide note and a postmortem had revealed that he had been drinking.
Mr. Hyde was Dutch by birth, but at the time of the Nazi invasion of his country in 1940 was a graduate student at Imperial College, London. He was recruited by the Special Operations Executive, a branch of the British secret services, and trained in sabotage and secret warfare techniques. He was parachuted into occupied Holland in October 1944 and became a key figure in the reorganization of the Dutch resistance, surviving the “Hunger Winter” of 1944–45, when thousands of his countrymen died of starvation. In the spring of 1945, his group was betrayed to the Gestapo, and he was forced to flee for his life with a female member of the resistance, who later became his wife. The couple escaped across the Rhine, under German fire, shortly before Holland was liberated.
Mr. Hyde was awarded the DSO in 1946 and became a British citizen in 1947. He worked for the security services for five years and then joined the Post Office, where he enjoyed a distinguished managerial career. He was a leading member of the team that developed the computerized postcode system that has revolutionized mail delivery.
His daughter-in-law, Mrs. Sonia Hyde, told the inquest that Mr. Hyde was a very intelligent and thoughtful man, though emotionally scarred by his wartime experiences. He had enjoyed a “deep and caring” relationship with his fifteen-year-old granddaughter, Tamar. However, in the weeks before his death he had become “noticeably withdrawn and depressed.” Mrs. Hyde told the inquest that her mother-in-law, Mrs. Marijke Hyde, currently in a nursing home, had been diagnosed as suffering from a degenerative mental illness and that Mr. Hyde had “coped very badly” with the situation.
That was it, start to finish. I’ve got the clipping here in front of me now, but I could’ve written it out without looking. I know it by heart, word for word. At the time, when I read it, I felt all sorts of things. Proud of him, I suppose. Embarrassed. (At school: “Was that your grandad jumped off the balcony, then?”) A bit ashamed of myself — I didn’t know what DSO stood for. Postcodes: boring. Now when I look at it, all I see is the spaces between the words where the truth might have been. But I’ve kept it anyway, along with some of the things that were in the box he left me. The box I refused to open until long after he died, because I was too angry with him. All those other feelings were wrapped up inside a thick layer of anger that stayed with me long after the grief had gone.
Because he had
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