Hell Is Too Crowded - Jack Higgins [38]
They were probably watching the boats more than anything else, thinking he might try to get back to the States. He passed into Sloane Square and a few moments later, braked to a halt on the Embankment on the opposite side of the road to the spot where it had all begun.
He stood under the same lamp, lit a cigarette and stared down at the river and for a single moment, time had no meaning--no meaning at all.
He turned away and crossed the road and walked along the opposite pavement through the thickening fog. Rain dripped depressingly from the trees and most of the leaves had gone. He paused on the corner and looked up at the old blue-and-white enamel plate that said Edgbaston Gardens, and then moved on.
The road repairs had long since been finished and the house was shuttered and dark. He gazed up at it, thinking about what had happened there, seeing the crowd tight against the railings, the man who had panicked like some hunted animal, with his back to the wall as they moved in on him. The beginning of a long nightmare.
He passed the railings of the graveyard, beaded with moisture, silent and waiting. The church stood on a corner plot and out of some strange sixth sense he knew what he was going to find when he turned into the next street and examined the name plate. Edgbaston Square and number two was next to the church.
He mounted the steps to the door. There was a light on in the porch and a neat card in a black metal frame said Madame Rose Gordon--visits by appointment only.
A car was parked a few yards away and as he turned to look at it, he was aware of movement inside the house. He descended the steps quickly and melted into the shadows
The door opened and a woman in a fur coat moved out into the porch. She turned and spoke to someone inside. "You've helped me more than I can say, my dear Madame Rose. I can't wait to see you again next week."
Brady couldn't catch the reply, but the door closed and the woman in the fur coat descended the steps and walked to the car. A moment later she drove away.
He stood there, for a minute, looking up at the house, a frown on his face and then he turned and walked back along the front of the church and went in through the main gate.
The windows were like strips of rainbow in the night, misty and ill-defined like an impressionist painting and an organ sounded faintly. The tower was cocooned in a network of steel scaffolding and he skirted a heap of rubble and moved round to the back.
He found the garden of Madame Rose's house with no difficulty. It was separated from the graveyard by a six-foot stone wall, at one end of which there was a narrow wooden door.
It was locked. He tried it tentatively and then turned and picked his way through the gravestones to the other side. As he approached the garden at the rear of Marie Duclos's house, a quiet voice said, "Excuse me; but can I do anything for you?"
He turned quickly. Standing in the patch of light thrown out by the side windows of the church was an old white-haired man in a shabby tweed jacket, his neck encircled by the stiff white collar of a priest.
Brady moved towards him with a ready smile. "I know it must sound pretty crazy, but to tell you the truth I was looking for a headstone. I always understood my great-grandfather was buried somewhere in this churchyard."
"Ah, an American," the old priest said. "Well, I don't think you'll have much luck tonight. Much better to come back tomorrow. As a matter of fact I'll be here myself in the morning. I could check in the parish register for you."
Brady tried to put real regret into his voice. "It's kind of you to offer, but I'm afraid I'm flying out again tomorrow." He laughed lightly. "At least I've managed to see the church which is something."
"It is rather lovely, isn't it?" the old man said and there was real enthusiasm in his voice. "Of course it was hit by a bomb during the war. That's one reason for the scaffolding round the tower. We can't put off the repairs any longer, but there are many features of interest."
"It's a pity