Eye of the Needle - Ken Follett [103]
In a few moments the door was open, the storm blew into the little kitchen, leaving the floor wet. When it shut, Lucy shivered and began to mop the water from the tiles.
Faber reached out and touched her arm.
“Don’t,” she said, nodding her head toward Jo.
“You’re being silly,” Faber told her.
“I think he knows,” she said.
“But, if you reflect for a minute, you don’t really care whether he knows or not, do you?”
“I’m supposed to.”
Faber shrugged. The jeep’s horn sounded impatiently outside. Lucy handed him an oilskin and a pair of Wellington boots.
“Don’t talk about me,” she said.
Faber put on the waterproof clothes and went to the front door. Lucy followed him, closing the kitchen door on Jo.
With his hand on the latch, Faber turned and kissed her, and she did what she wanted, she kissed him back, hard, then turned and went into the kitchen.
Faber ran through the rain, across a sea of mud, and jumped into the jeep beside David, who pulled away immediately.
The vehicle had been specially adapted for the legless man to drive. It had a hand throttle, automatic gearshift and a handle on the rim of the wheel to enable the driver to steer one-handed. The folded-up wheelchair slid into a special compartment behind the driver’s seat. There was a shotgun in a rack above the windscreen.
David drove competently. He had been right about the road; it was no more than a strip of heath worn bare by the jeep’s tires. The rain pooled in the deep ruts. The car slithered about in the mud. David seemed to enjoy it. There was a cigarette between his lips, and he wore an incongruous air of bravado. Perhaps, Faber thought, this was his substitute for flying.
“What do you do when you’re not fishing?” he said around the cigarette.
“Civil servant,” Faber told him.
“What sort of work?”
“Finance. I’m just a cog in the machine.”
“Treasury?”
“Mainly.”
“Interesting work?” he persisted.
“Fairly.” Faber summoned up the energy to invent a story. “I know a bit about how much a given piece of engineering ought to cost, and I spend most of my time making sure the taxpayer isn’t being overcharged.”
“Any particular sort of engineering?”
“Everything from paper clips to aircraft engines.”
“Ah, well. We all contribute to the war effort in our own way.”
It was, of course, an intentionally snide remark, and David would naturally have no idea why Faber did not resent it. “I’m too old to fight,” Faber said mildly.
“Were you in the first lot?”
“Too young.”
“A lucky escape.”
“Doubtless.”
The track ran quite close to the cliff edge, but David did not slow down. It crossed Faber’s mind that he might want to kill them both. He reached for a grab handle.
“Am I going too fast for you?” David asked.
“You seem to know the road.”
“You look frightened.”
Faber ignored that, and David slowed down a little, apparently satisfied that he had made some kind of point.
The island was fairly flat and bare, Faber observed. The ground rose and fell slightly, but as yet he had seen no hills. The vegetation was mostly grass, with some ferns and bushes but few trees: there was little protection from the weather. David Rose’s sheep must be hardy, Faber thought.
“Are you married?” David asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Wise man.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“I’ll wager you do well for yourself in London. Not to mention—”
Faber had never liked the nudging, contemptuous way some men talked about women. He interrupted sharply, “I should think you’re extremely fortunate to have your wife—”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing like variety, though, eh?”
“I haven’t had the opportunity to discover the merits of monogamy.” Faber decided to say no more, anything he said was fuel to the fire. No question, David was becoming annoying.
“I must say, you don’t look like a government accountant. Where’s the rolled umbrella and the bowler hat?”
Faber attempted a thin smile.