The Last Houseparty by Peter Dickinson Read Free Book Online Page B

two officers turned and walked into the glare at a lounging pace but still precisely in step. The senior was revealed by the sunlight to be a major in the Intelligence Corps, the junior a pilot officer. They had walked about half-way to the little group of tents when the major halted.
    â€œThis man Mason,” he said. “Where’s he from, do you know?”
    â€œSomewhere in the Midlands, I think, sir. But he doesn’t seem to have much of a tie with home. He never gets any mail, for instance. Worked in a garage before the war, I gather.”
    â€œDid he now? What an extraordinary coincidence. I think it must be the same man who used to service my Jowett. D’you mind if I go and have a chat with him?”
    â€œWe really want to be off by fourteen-thirty, latest, sir.”
    â€œOh, I won’t hold him up more than a couple of minutes. I’ll see you in the mess tent, if that’s all right.”
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    Back under the camouflage awning the major stood in silence, watching the mechanic at work. Little was visible of the man above the waist as he leaned in through the cabin door doing something at floor level which apparently demanded brief, precise but effortful wrenchings. He finished and began to back out of the cabin.
    â€œVince,” said the major.
    The movement stopped.
    â€œNo, sir,” said the man, mumbling a little.
    â€œYou have a most characteristic backside,” said the major. “I’ve seen it too often poking out of the bonnet of a motor to be deceived. Come on, Vince, I’ve always hoped we’d meet somewhere.”
    Slowly the man turned round.
    â€œSeven three oh oh nine Aircraftman Mason, sir,” he said.
    â€œAll right. That’s who you are now. I won’t tell anyone. But listen. That appalling business at Snailwood. It wasn’t you who did it. I’m absolutely certain of that.”
    â€œI …”
    â€œDon’t misunderstand me. Of course I never thought it was you because I know you well enough to be sure you wouldn’t do anything that foul. That’s not what I’m talking about. What I’m saying is that I now know who did do it, though I’ll never prove it. I think I know why you cleared out, too, but …”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”
    â€œYes, you do, Vince, and I haven’t got much time, so I’m going to go on talking as if you’d admitted it. There’s nothing I’d like better than to get back to the old days, and the old relationship. I still feel that apart from Joan and Sally you’re the person I care about more than anyone else in the world—you probably don’t know that I’ve married Joan Dubigny and adopted Sally—but I can see that whatever I think there’d still be problems if you tried to come back, even after the war, so if you want to carry on being A/c Mason, I won’t stop you.”
    â€œI don’t see how you can, sir. That’s who I am.”
    â€œI wish you’d call me Hal. Just here, where there’s no one to hear. Never mind. I’ve got to confess I’m in a bit of a state, Vince. I’ve been having quite a jolly war so far—I’ve managed to attach myself to a slightly eccentric general who spends half his energy intriguing against other generals and the other half putting up hare-brained schemes to HQ. Just when everybody’s sick of him we manage to pull off something, and then he’s a hero and those in power take the chance to pack him off to some other quarter of the war where they don’t know about him yet. So I’ve been around quite a bit, as you can imagine. Now we’re here and he’s got a notion that the way to stop the Hun coming to punch us back into Egypt, which they’re due to do any moment, is to go and punch them first. He’s right, in a way—it’s almost impossible to fight a