In The Presence Of The Enemy by Elizabeth George Read Free Book Online

it’s this gorgeous in May?”
    “That’s the general rule.”
    A fish broke the surface of the pool before them, its tail fin slapping on a lily pad. “It’s an unfair rule,” Fiona said. “Spring should make a promise that summer fulfi lls.” She gestured towards a stand of young birches in a hollow some twenty yards from where they sat. “The nightingales have come again this year. And there’s a family of whinchats that Leo and I watched this afternoon. We were feeding the squirrels. Darling, Leo must be taught not to feed the squirrels from his hand. I’ve spoken to him about it time and again. He argues that there’s no such things as rabies in England, and he refuses to consider the danger he’s putting the animal in when he allows it to become too accustomed to human contact. Won’t you speak to him again?”
    If he was going to speak to Leo about anything, Luxford thought, it wouldn’t be about squirrels. Curiosity about animals was typical to a growing boy, thank God.
    Fiona continued. Luxford could tell she was speaking with care, which gave him an uneasy moment until her choice of subject became clear to him. “He talked again about Baverstock, darling. He does seem so reluctant to go. Haven’t you noticed? I’ve explained and explained about its being your school and wouldn’t he truly like to be an old Bavernian like his father? He says no, he doesn’t much care for the idea, and what does it matter because Grandpa isn’t an old Bavernian nor is Uncle Jack and they’ve done quite well for themselves, haven’t they?”
    “We’ve been through this, Fiona.”
    “Of course we have, darling. Time and again. I only want to tell you what Leo said so that you’re prepared for him in the morning.
    He’s declared that he is going to speak to you about it over breakfast—man to man, he said—providing you’re up before he sets off to school. I did tell him you’d be coming in late tonight. Listen, darling. There’s the nightingale. How lovely. Did you get the story, by the way?”
    Luxford almost stumbled. Her voice had been so quiet. He’d been enjoying the softness of her hair against the palm of his hand. He’d been trying to identify the scent she was wearing. He’d been thinking of the last time they’d made love out of doors. So he very nearly missed the delicate transition, that gentle feminine shifting of conversational gears.
    “No,” he said and continued with the truth, glad that there was a truth he could tell her.
    “The rent boy continues in hiding at the moment. We went to press without him.”
    “Dreadful to have to waste an evening waiting for nothing, I imagine.”
    “A third of my job is waiting for nothing.
    Another third is deciding what will go in nothing’s place on tomorrow’s front page.
    Rodney’s suggesting we back off on the story.
    We had a go-round about it this afternoon.”
    “He phoned here for you this evening. Perhaps that’s what his call was about. I told him you were still at the office. He’d phoned there but couldn’t get you, he said. No answer on your private line. Around half past eight. I expect you’d popped out for something to eat, hadn’t you?”
    “I expect. Half past eight?”
    “That’s what he said.”
    “I had my sandwich round then, I think.”
    Luxford stirred on the bench, feeling sticky and uncomfortable. He’d never lied to his wife, at least not after a single lie about the endless tedium of that fateful Tory conference in Blackpool. And Fiona hadn’t been his wife then, so it didn’t much count in the truth and faithfulness department, did it? He sighed and picked up a flake of stone from beneath them.
    He used his thumb to flick it into the pool. He watched the flurry of interest at the surface of the water as the fish zipped to the spot in hopes of catching a bug. “We should have a holiday,” he said. “The South of France. Hire a car and drive through Provence. Take a house there for a month. What