John Halkin - Squelch

His plan involved Ginny stationing herself at Gatwick in the Range Rover. From there she would report on the situation to Alan by car phone; he of course would be in two-way contact with the plane itself. Jeff had drawn up a checklist of points for her to observe. Clouds, direction of the wind, and so on.

‘It’s a gamble,’ he admitted freely. ‘If successful, it’ll only prove we need more lizards. One plane-load won’t wipe out every caterpillar in the land. But worth a try.’

They left Alan to continue checking over the equipment and went downstairs to the living room where he poured a couple of whiskies.

‘I find it hard to visualise Jeff Pringle as a public benefactor,’ she commented, adding extra soda to hers. ‘Unless you are a millionaire and haven’t told me. What are you getting out of this?’

‘The same as you,’ he retorted. ‘Survival. So — long life!’

‘Long life!’ she repeated, clinking her glass against his. Never had she been more serious about a toast.

‘The plane is already in West Africa. I’m being paid to fly it back anyway — well, you know that. You took the phone call yourself.’

She hadn’t known it, but she made no comment. ‘How many lizards can you bring?’ she asked.

‘Can’t tell till I get there. The locals are already rounding them up and they’ll have to be paid. Still, that’s part of the game.’

They went over the details a few times. There was plenty that could go wrong and Ginny felt far from sure of herself. Jeff took it all coolly — a routine run, he remarked — yet she suspected a tenseness behind that unruffled front. He had been to recce Gatwick more than once before deciding. When she asked why not bring them in through some other airport still in operation, he fobbed her off with a vague reply about red tape and being refused an import licence.

‘Probably true enough,’ Bernie grunted when she told him about it that night. ‘After the scandals about zoo animals being found dead in their cages on arrival. About a year ago, wasn’t it, he had a run of bad luck?’

‘D’you think he has a chance?’

‘Darling, I really don’t know any better than you. But I desperately hope you’re both right about those lizards.’

Next morning Jeff turned up at the house in his Range Rover shortly before Bernie left. While waiting for her to get ready the two men stood in the hall talking. She overheard Bernie speculating on what would happen if a monitor lizard found itself heavily outnumbered by caterpillars: because that, he argued, was the most likely scenario. Wouldn’t they kill it? She did not wait for Jeff’s answer, but bustled downstairs declaring it was time they got going.

She drove the Range Rover herself to Heathrow just to get the feel of it, dropping Jeff at Terminal Two. He was catching a Paris flight, then transferring at Charles de Gaulle Airport, though he still would not reveal his final destination. Before getting out of the car he leaned across to kiss her. If anything went wrong, she thought, he might easily be killed. Oh God, she’d seen so many deaths since this all started…

By the automatic doors he paused for a second to wave, then he was gone. It left her feeling even more apprehensive than usual.

Leaving Heathrow, she was tempted to head into London but decided against it. It was so hot, there was a muggy white sky over the capital and the crowds would be unbearable. At home it was too risky to sit outside, but at least they could open the windows now they had gauze over the frames. They had also had the creeper cut away from the walls, just in case. Perhaps when all this was over — if it ever did end — she could coax Bernie away for a few days to somewhere cool. Iceland, even. One last fling before she surrendered him to Lesley.

If Lesley was prepared to have him back: there was always that.

Ginny had gone over it again and again, but there was no solution: only hard facts. It had happened. Not all her tears — locked in the bathroom to hide them from Bernie — could change a thing.

She swung the Range Rover into a lay-by to wipe her eyes and blow her nose yet again, ignoring the curious glances of the lorry drivers. It was twenty minutes before she felt ready to go on. Then, when she got home, she found a message from Bernie on the tape to say Jameela had been killed the previous night while visiting friends in Kingston. A caterpillar attack.

Ginny sat on the nearest chair and stared at the blank wall, trying to take in what he had told her. Was it even worth going on, she wondered. It all seemed so unfair.

Phuong disentangled herself from four-year-old Caroline who had been climbing over her demanding a story and went into the kitchen to make a start on the meal. Upstairs she could hear Lesley scolding first daughter as she did so often now. Of course Frankie was noisy and often got up to mischief, but that was not the reason, as Lesley herself knew.

In Phuong’s opinion she was wrong not to let Bernie speak to her. In her eyes the doctor was a good husband who provided well for his family. A good father, too. If he took another woman — his wife’s sister, which perhaps was worse — that could cause much unhappiness but it would pass. To maintain the family should be Lesley’s main concern now. For that reason alone she should talk to Bernie. In moments like this families needed the mother’s strength if they were not to suffer.

Thinking it over while she cut a few slices of root ginger, she knew she could never speak to Lesley herself on the subject, not unless invited to do so. That was not her place. But she could see danger signals. Mary, as the unmarried headmistress of this large boarding school, naturally had different ideas. She had welcomed them warm-heartedly into her home when they needed to escape from the caterpillars, but she was the first to talk of divorce. Phuong had overheard them together.

The tone of Mary’s voice had worried her, she remembered as she picked up the knife and began finely chopping the ginger. No regret that Lesley was unhappy, — but a note of satisfaction that made Phuong dislike her. She was actually glad that her view of marriage had been proved right.

As she worked, the music on the kitchen radio gave way to the announcer’s voice. She reached out to turn it off but stopped with her fingers on the switch, catching the opening words of a news flash.

‘… report having seen the aircraft surrounded by a large swarm of giant moths which may have been sucked into the jet engines, causing them to stall. No figures for casualties have yet been released but the crash is said to be the worst ever experienced at Heathrow and …’

‘Phuong, what’s “casualty”?’ Wendy’s voice piped, cutting across the rapid tenor of the announcer.

She flicked the radio off immediately and tried to hide her feelings with a quick laugh. ‘Oh, I didn’t hear you come in!’ she exclaimed, putting the knife down and scooping the little girl up in her arms. ‘Have you finished playing with the doll’s house?’

‘The dolls are asleep,’ Wendy informed her. ‘What’s “casualty”?’

‘Oh — that means people who are hurt.’ She put her down again and continued working.

‘In hospital?’

‘Yes, they do go to hospital. Look, I’m doing cabbage today. My way — you like it my way, don’t you? Can you bring me the cabbage from the larder?’

‘Say please!’

‘Please.’

It was one of the games they played when Phuong was cooking. She watched Wendy march off to the larder. English food was the rule, naturally, and usually Lesley was in charge, but everyone liked Phuong’s method of preparing cabbage with crushed ginger and garlic. When she could, she tried to divert the children’s attention from the news by asking them to help, hoping to ease them away from the nightmares which regularly disturbed their sleep since the Spring Fête.