We Shall Not Sleep_ A Novel - Anne Perry [11]
He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of the doorbell. It startled him, and it rang again before he stood up and walked into the hallway to answer. Even then he hesitated. He spent very little time in his flat. He worked long and irregular hours, and when he had a day or two off he went home to Cambridgeshire. It was most unusual to receive a visitor here.
He opened the door slowly, keeping his weight at least half behind it so he could force it shut hard if necessary.
“Major Reavley.” It was a statement, not a question. The bland face of the man in front of him held no doubt at all. He was of average height, his hair dark but thinning, his brows colorless, his features unremarkable, except possibly for his eyes. They were steady and penetrating. He wore the drab suit and white dog collar of a man of the church.
“Yes?” Matthew answered without moving to allow him in.
The man smiled very slightly, more with his eyes than his mouth. “I have a message for you that might have very little meaning for anyone else, but if it fell into the wrong hands could cost me my life,” he said quietly. “Very much more important, if it did not reach you, it could alter the peace that faces us. The outcome of the war is now inevitable, but what follows it is not. There is still much to play for.” This time the smile reached his lips as well. “I daresay it is just as cold inside, but it will be more discreet.”
For Matthew there was only one decision possible. “Come in,” he offered, stepping back and allowing the man to pass him before closing the door again and making sure the lock was fast. “If you are cold, perhaps you would like tea, or whisky? How about a sandwich? It’s only cheese and chutney, but the chutney is good.”
“Thank you. I have little time. I do not dare wait here too long, but a sandwich would be welcome.” The man had a very slight accent, as if German was his native tongue.
Matthew boiled the kettle again while he made a sandwich, and then took the plate and tea together. “What is your message?” he asked, sitting down opposite the man. In the light from the lamp it was clear that he was well into his forties, and there were lines of strain and weariness in his face, especially around his eyes and mouth. “Is there any point in asking your name?”
“Not really. I am only a messenger,” the man replied, swallowing hungrily.
“Army chaplain, by your clothes,” Matthew remarked. “Does that mean anything?”
“No. It’s just a convenient way to travel. But like you, I have a brother who is, or was. He was killed on the Somme last year.”
“I’m sorry.” Matthew meant it. He could imagine losing a brother very easily. He always read casualty lists. He had nightmares about it.
The man finished the whole sandwich and drank the last of the tea before speaking again. “Thank you. I imagine you are still interested in knowing the identity of the Peacemaker, as I believe you have called him?”
Matthew felt the sweat stand out on his skin, and yet inside he was suddenly cold. No outsider could know the name they had given him. Who was this man? The silence in the room was so intense, he could hear the faint sounds of footsteps outside in the street.
“For the death of your parents,” the man went on, watching Matthew’s face. “But also because he will have a very great effect on Britain’s demands at the peace negotiations, which cannot be more than weeks away now. I would estimate about the second week in November. If we make the wrong decision, we will pay for it in pain all over Europe, perhaps in a world far bloodier and more terrible than this one. Not only this generation will be lost, but our children’s generation as well, with weapons we have not dreamed of yet.”
“I know!” Matthew said harshly. His chest was hurting. It was hard to breathe. The weight of grief seemed almost crushing. He remembered his father so vividly that he could hear his voice and