Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [49]
As Matthew motored to St. Giles, there was a haze of green over the fields and the first leaves were beginning to open in the hedges. Every so often there was a burst of white blossom.
Matthew was one of the few people who had access to as much petrol as he needed, but he was acutely aware of the shortages and he did not abuse the privilege. However, he would need to travel not only to St. Giles but also to the Establishment, to Shanley Corcoran’s house in Madingley, and probably back and forth to Cambridge. This time he had a reason to drive, and he enjoyed the surge of power in the engine of his Sunbeam, and the sense of momentary freedom it gave him to race along the open road.
He tried to plan in his mind what he would say, then decided it was useless. Grief could not be met with prepared speeches; in fact it could not be met at all, only treated with the dignity of being honest.
He went to the Establishment first. It was less than half an hour beyond St. Giles through the winding, familiar lanes, verges deep in grass. He was not in uniform, since the whole visit was ostensibly a private one, but he carried identification, and was obliged to produce it before being allowed in to see Corcoran.
The edifice was large and utilitarian, and at the moment there was an air of gloom about it. Doors were closed and they were also locked until opened by discreet guards. Their faces were tense, shoulders stiff, and if they recognized Matthew from previous visits, they gave no indication.
After what seemed like endless corridors indistinguishable from one another, he found Corcoran in his office, sitting at his desk and perusing a mass of papers. Even at a glance Matthew could see that many of them were covered with formulas and calculations. Matthew would not have understood them, but even so Corcoran automatically covered them with a couple of large sheets of paper before standing up to greet him.
“Matthew! It’s good to see you.” He clasped Matthew’s hands in both of his. He looked shocked, his face crumpled, every line heavier and more deeply scored, as if dragged downward. But his eyes were vivid as always, and his hands were warm and strong. “Of course you’ve come about this dreadful situation. Poor Blaine was brilliant. One of our best.”
“I know. Can you complete the project without him?” Matthew asked.
Corcoran winced and gave a half smile. “You’re blunt! I suppose you have to be. It will be difficult, but yes, of course we will. We have to. I know every bit as well as you do that victory could depend on it, and very probably will.” His mouth tightened. “I can do it, Matthew. I’ll work on it myself, day and night. I have good men left. Ben Morven is first class—well, good second,” he amended. “And Francis Iliffe, and Dacy Lucas. Every man will throw all he has into it, believe me.”
“I know you will, but will it be enough without Blaine?” Matthew hated having to persist. “I need the truth, Shanley, not optimism, and not just hope or faith. How hard will it be? What difference will it make to the time, being without Blaine? Your best estimate?”
Corcoran considered it for several moments, his eyes dark and bright.
“For whom am I guessing, Matthew? Calder Shearing?”
“Yes. And I would think for Admiral Hall, too.” Admiral “Blinker” Hall was head of naval intelligence.
Corcoran grimaced again, as if stabbed with pain. “Of course it will make it very much harder,” he admitted soberly. “If I have to be specific, it may take us two or even four weeks longer.” His voice trembled with the fierceness of his emotion. “But I swear I will do it!” He gestured toward the desk. “I’ve dropped everything else and I am personally reviewing all Blaine’s notes to determine and execute what he was planning. I know what lives will be lost by even that much delay.”
Matthew believed him, but he was also concerned. Corcoran was well over sixty and he looked shattered by weariness. He had lost considerable weight in the last year and was working himself to exhaustion without the new additional burden.