Desmond Bagley - The Freedom Trap

I shrugged. ‘He miscalculated the speed and direction of Wheeler’s reaction. But for that it was a good ploy.’

‘Even though he was selling you out?’ Her tone was incredulous.

‘God damn it!’ I said. ‘We weren’t playing pat-a-cake. The stakes were too great. Wheeler had to be nailed down and if the way to do it was to sacrifice a man in the field then there was no choice. Wheeler was striking at the heart of the State. The Prime Minister was considering him for a ministerial position, and God knows where he could have gone on from there.’

‘If all statesmen are like Alec then God help Britain,’ said Alison in a low voice.

‘Don’t be bitter,’ I said. ‘He’s dead. He killed himself, not me. Never forget that.’

The waiter came with the drinks and we were silent until he had gone, then Alison said, ‘What are you going to do now?’

I said, ‘I had a visit from Lucy. Of course I can’t do much until the shoulder heals — say a month to six weeks.’

‘Are you going back to South Africa?’

I shook my head. ‘I think I’m being considered for the active list.’ I sipped my drink. ‘What about you?’

‘I haven’t had time to think yet. There was a lot to do in London apart from the funeral. Alec’s personal affairs had to be wound up; I spent a lot of time with his solicitor.’

I leaned forward. ‘Alison, will you marry me?’

Her hand jerked so that she spilled a few drops of red Campari on to the table. She looked at me a little oddly, as though I were a stranger, then said, ‘Oh, no, Owen.’

I said, ‘I love you very much.’

‘And I think I love you.’ Her lower lip trembled.

‘Then what’s the matter? We’re very well suited.’

‘I’ll tell you,’ she said. ‘You’re another Alec. In twenty years — if you survive — you’ll be sitting in a little, obscure office pulling strings and making men jump around, just like Alec. You won’t be doing it because you like it but because you think it’s your duty. And you’ll hate the job and you’ll hate yourself — just as Alec did. But you’ll go on doing it.’

I said, ‘Someone has to do it.’

‘But not the man I marry,’ said Alison. ‘I told you once that I was like a Venus Fly Trap. I want to be a cabbage of a housewife, living, perhaps on the green outskirts of an English country town, all tweedy and Country Life. ’

‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t have that, too,’ I said.

‘And stay behind and be alone when you went on a job?’ She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t work, Owen.’

I felt a sudden resentment, and said abruptly, ‘Then why did you come back here — to Malta?’

A look of consternation crossed her face. ‘Oh, Owen; I’m sorry. You thought... ’

‘You didn’t say goodbye and Armitage told me you’d be coming back after the funeral. What was I supposed to think?’

‘I was flown to England in an RAF transport,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve come back to pick up my plane... and to say goodbye.’

‘To say goodbye — just like that?’

‘No,’ she flared. ‘Not just like that.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Owen, it’s all going wrong.’

I took her hand in mine. ‘Have you ever been to Morocco?’

She looked at me warily, taken wrong-footed by the sudden change of subject. ‘Yes; I know it quite well.’

‘Could that aircraft of yours fly to Tangier from here?’

‘It could,’ she said uncertainly. ‘But... ’

‘I need a holiday,’ I said. ‘And I have a year and a half of back pay which I need help in spending. I’m sure you’d make an efficient guide to Morocco. I need one — I’ve never been there.’

‘You’re trying the blarney again,’ she said, and there was laughter in her voice. ‘Maeve O’Sullivan warned me about that.’

Maeve had also told me that I wasn’t the man for Alison Smith. She could be right, but I had to try.

‘No strings and no promises,’ said Alison.

I smiled. Six weeks together was all the promise I needed. A lot could happen in six weeks.