Tom Bradby - The Master Of Rain

“Don’t do that again,” Geoffrey said.

Field tried not to look at her, either. “This is because of what happened to you in the war?” he said.

Geoffrey went completely still. “Do you know how many men marched into Delville Wood that day?”

“Yes I do.”

“And how many of us came back?”

“I understand.”

“No you don’t. You can’t possibly understand. Nobody survived that day. We all died in Delville Wood.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Life goes on, of course. It goes on and on and bloody on. But people forget, Richard; they confuse meaningless sacrifice with nobility. The Great War? Oh yes. That was the war to end all wars. But Delville Wood? It’s just a place on the map.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Spare me your pity. I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you watch me dragging myself through another roomful of bloody beautiful people. It’s the same way Penelope looks when she’s just been with someone who can fuck her-”

“What harm have these girls done you?”

Geoffrey’s face twisted. “They despise me. They judge me. You all dare to judge me.”

Field shook his head. “You’ve got it wrong, Geoffrey. My father destroyed himself by trying to prove himself worthy of you, of your family. So did Mother. She couldn’t bear to incur your disapproval. They felt they couldn’t measure up. The fact that you came back a hero was just… It made my father even more haunted by the mess he thought he’d made of our lives. He hated me for admiring you.”

“So I’ve let you down as well?” The anger burned deep within Geoffrey’s eyes. “You’re disappointed, like your mother, that I’m not the man I was, that I am somehow diminished by my journey through seven versions of hell? Damn you, Richard. Your arrogance disgusts me. You’ve been in this city for little more than a heartbeat, and yet you believe you can lord it over us all.”

“I’ve never believed-”

“Get out of my sight. And just see how long you last. This is my city, Field. It dances to my tune.”

“Let me take the girl-”

A look of complete incredulity crossed Geoffrey’s face. “She’s a Russian.”

“She’s got a little boy to look after. Natalya’s son.”

“Get out, Field.”

“It’s not too late.”

“Don’t insult me further.”

“It’s not-”

“Get out. I’m damned if you’ll lecture me. You cannot save the girl.”

“Why?”

“Because of the look in her eyes,” Geoffrey exploded. “Because of the promises she makes but cannot keep.”

Natasha twisted suddenly, unbalancing Geoffrey, and Field lunged across the bed, grabbing hold of his knife arm. His momentum took them both crashing onto the floor.

Geoffrey managed to wrench himself round as they fell, forcing Field onto his back. The pain burned through Field’s shoulder as he tried to keep his grip; Geoffrey was astonishingly strong. He looked up at the long blade closing on his neck and felt Geoffrey’s free hand scrabbling at his face, fingers searching for his eyes.

Field let go with his right hand and hit him as hard as he could on the underside of the jaw. As Geoffrey’s head snapped back, Field grabbed and twisted the knife, watching the blade disappear into Geoffrey’s stomach as the bullet from Chen’s revolver thumped into his uncle’s chest.

Geoffrey’s body went slack, his eyes widening in surprise, the knowledge of his own imminent death creeping across his face.

Field pushed Geoffrey off him and got to his feet. As he did so, Geoffrey began to convulse, at first violently, and then with diminishing force as the life drained out of him.

Field knelt and watched his uncle slip away, watched the cold anger disappear from his eyes, to be replaced by a sadness more profound than he had known.

The man who had sacrificed himself at Delville Wood searched Field’s face, then fumbled for his hand. “Don’t remember this,” he said.

He tightened his grip, his hand slippery with his own blood. It was as though the Geoffrey that Field had once known was trying to summon himself back from the past, before it was too late. He struggled to speak, his mouth opening and shutting, but could not enunciate the words.

Field leaned nearer. Geoffrey closed his eyes. Field felt the dying man’s breath on his cheek as he finally managed to whisper, “Don’t-remember-this.”

The pain ebbed from Geoffrey’s face and his grip on Field’s hand weakened. He did not open his eyes again. His breathing was now almost inaudible, the room suddenly quiet.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs. Chen was on one knee in the doorway. For a split second, Lu’s bodyguards did not see them. Chen fired twice at Grigoriev, who fell back into the man behind him.

Chen stood, firing at the second man as he was still trying to scramble clear. The first shot punched a hole in his forehead, the second buried itself in his neck, spinning him back into the corridor.

Chen moved forward to check that they were dead, his shoes scuffing the wooden floor.

Field looked for a moment more at his uncle’s face, then got slowly to his feet.

The keys to Natasha’s handcuffs were on the table, next to the candle. Field wiped the blood from his hands on her sheet, then picked them up and sat on the bed beside her. When he had released her, she clung to him, her head on his chest, her fingers digging deep into his back. She sobbed quietly as he held her, her blood seeping through the front of his shirt.

Field gently prized her away and bent to examine the gashes across her breasts. He stood and looked about him, then moved to the closet and pulled it open, ran his hands through the clothes that hung there, and pulled out a white cotton shirt and dress. He tore the material into strips and gently raised her chin. Her mouth was swollen and the skin around her right eye was already discolored.

Field folded a strip of the shirt. “Put your head back.”

She did as she was told, closing her eyes as he placed the makeshift bandage across the first of the gashes and pulled it over one shoulder and under her arm, kneeling on the bed as he tied the two ends tightly behind her back. She caught sight of the blood seeping from the bullet hole in his shoulder. She touched his cheek with her fingers, her eyes on his, but he lowered her hand and continued to dress her wounds as best he could.

As he finished, she tipped back against him. His arms were around her, her hair in his face and mouth. “It’s all right,” Field said. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her. “It’s all right.”

He held her tight, until her breathing began to ease. He ran his fingers through her hair, wiped the tears from her cheek.

Chen stood in the doorway. It was a few moments before Natasha seemed aware of his presence. She pulled away and walked to the corner of the room, where her raincoat was draped across a chair. She drew it around her, then reached into the pocket and threw a thick sheaf of paper onto the bed beside him.

“They said they had been looking for me. They made a telephone call. I only had a few minutes… less. I took as much as I could.” She paused, the fear returning to her eyes. “Where is Alexei?”

“He’s hiding in the car.” Field stood. “We must go.”

He leafed through the pages until he found the most recent entry: SS Saratoga, then today’s date and the sum of $750,000 Shanghai.

Beneath it was a list of names and opposite each, a figure. Field ran his finger over the characters as he tried to decipher them.

She moved alongside him.