A Delicate Truth A Novel

done.’
    ‘Maybe that’s your clue.’
    ‘No way,’ Kit retorted adamantly. ‘Jeb didn’t know my name until he showed up at the Fayre and put two and two together’ – glad to keep up the indignation.
    ‘So no pictures of you anywhere?’
    ‘None that came our way. And if there had been, Mrs Marlow would have told us. Our housekeeper,’ he declared stoutly. And for extra certainty: ‘And if she did miss something, the whole village would be telling her.’
    The waiter wanted to know whether they would like the same again. Kit said he wouldn’t. Crispin said they would and Kit didn’t argue.
    ‘Want to hear something about our line of work at all, Kit?’ Crispin asked, when they were alone again.
    ‘Not sure I should, really. Not my business.’
    ‘Well, I think you should. You did a great job in the Foreign Office, no question. You worked your backside off for the Queen, earned your pension and your K. But as a first-rate civil servant you were an enabler – all right, a bloody good one. You were never a player . Not what we might call a hunter-gatherer in the corporate jungle. Were you? Admit it.’
    ‘Don’t think I know where you’re leading,’ Kit growled.
    ‘I’m talking incentive ,’ Crispin explained patiently. ‘I’m talking about what drives the average Joe Bloggs to get out of bed in the morning: money, filthy lucre, dosh. And in my business – never yours – who gets a piece of the cake when an operation is as successful as Wildlife was. And the sort of resentments that are aroused. To the point where chaps like Jeb think they’re owed half the Bank of England.’
    ‘You seem to have forgotten that Jeb was army ,’ Kit broke in hotly. ‘ British army. He also had a bit of a thing about bounty-hunters, as he happened to inform me during our time together. Tolerated them, but that was as much as he could manage. He was proud of being the Queen’s soldier, and that was enoughfor him. Made the very point, I’m afraid. Sorry about that’ – getting hotter still.
    Crispin was gently nodding to himself, like a man whose worst fears have been confirmed.
    ‘Oh dear. Oh Jeb. Oh boy. He actually said that, did he? God-a-mercy!’ He collected himself. ‘The Queen’s soldier doesn’t hold with mercenaries, but wants a mega-slice of the bounty-hunters’ cake? I love it. Well done, Jeb. Hypocrisy hits new depths. And when he doesn’t get what he wants, he turns round and shits all over Ethical’s doorstep. What a two-faced little’ – but for reasons of delicacy he preferred to leave the sentence unfinished.
    And again Kit refused to be deterred:
    ‘Now look here, all that’s beside the point. I haven’t got my answer, have I? Nor has Suzanna.’
    ‘To what , exactly, old boy?’ Crispin asked, still struggling to overcome whatever demons were assailing him.
    ‘The answer I came for, damn it. Yes or no? Forget rewards, bounty, all that stuff. Total red herring. My question is, one: was the operation bloodless or was it not? Was anybody killed ? And if so, who were they? Never mind about innocent or guilty: were they killed? And two ’ – no longer quite the master of his arithmetic, but persisting nonetheless – ‘was a woman killed? And was her child killed? Or any child, for that matter? Suzanna has a right to know. So’ve I. And we both need to know what to tell our daughter, because Emily was there too. At the Fayre. Heard him. Heard things that she shouldn’t have done. From Jeb. Not her fault that she heard them but she did. I’m not sure how much, but enough.’ And as a mitigating afterthought, because his parting words to Emily at the railway station still shamed him: ‘Earwigging, probably. I don’t blame her. She’s a doctor. She’s observant. She needs to know things. Part of her job.’
    Crispin appeared surprised, even a little hurt, to discover thatsuch questions should still be out there on the table. But he elected to answer them anyway:
    ‘Let’s just take a look at your case first, Kit, shall we?’ he suggested kindly. ‘D’you honestly think the dear old FO would have given you that posting – that honour – if there’d been blood all over the Rock? Not to mention Punter singing his heart out to his interrogators at an undisclosed location?’
    ‘Could have done,’ Kit said obstinately, ignoring the outsider’s hated use of FO . ‘To keep me quiet. Get me out of the firing line. Stop me from blabbing. The Foreign Office has