tousled, the creases in his coat, the soaking wet shoes and stockings. These were things Morag had grown used to observing. Even though she was afraid to meet him, and determined to draw stiffly away from him, she could not hold back.
‘Father, for heaven’s sake …’
There was a note of sympathy in the voice, and such a note, however slight, is impossible to miss. Jock could not have failed to hear it. But he looked at her with pale, flat eyes as if he were defending himself: as if she had spoken in another tongue.
‘Ach!’ It was a noise, not a word, and Morag drew her elbows into her sides.
‘Father, you’re soaked through.’
He shook and turned away. In a rough voice, with a drunkard’s brutality, he said, ‘Och, you can keep all that stuff. You wrote me a lie and you’re too bloody late now,’ and before she moved, he hurled himself out of the front door, slamming it hard behind him. He walked heels down, determinedly through the snow, with obstinacy in every stride. After only a moment he was miserable but he knew he could not return to the house; his obstinacy prevented that.
TWO
AN HOUR LATER Jimmy Cairns saw Jock, and by then a great deal had happened.
When Jimmy arrived at Battalion H.Q. that Monday morning there was already a buzz in the air. A filing clerk was leaving the Colonel’s room, and Mr Simpson had just re-entered. The Colonel himself was in a fever of excitement. His hands were on his hips, his eyes were bright and he was lighter than ever, lighter than thistledown, perpetually on tiptoe. He was like a politician flitting house, sending people here and there, talking on the telephone, jotting down notes on a pad. Nobody knew exactly what was happening. Everybody made a guess. All this Jimmy saw from his own office as his assistant dashed in and out, but it was a little while before he picked up the first scents of the story. The key seemed to lie in the doctor’s visit. Barrow and he had spent half an hour closeted together and it was known now that the doctor had been called across to the Band Block because a piper had been hurt. From one of the sergeants in the office, from a brief talk with Mr Riddick, and from the hush-hush expression on Simpson’s face, Jimmy managed to piece the story together. Then he was called in himself. Barrow made an effort to look grave, but he could not stand still. He bounced about the room as he said how serious and awkward was the situation.
‘I have reason to believe – no evidence, you understand, Jimmy, but reason to believe that a corporal was struck by an officer in a bar last night.’
Jimmy nodded, and Barrow continued.
‘Well, well,’ he clipped his words, in this mood. ‘Of course we must take steps.’
‘Sir. Have you rung the proprietor?’
Barrow smiled. ‘No evidence there. The men shouldn’t have been given drinks anyway. He won’t make any statement. If the newspapers got hold of the story he’d lose his seven-day licence. He might lose his licence altogether. No … no. The evidence lies within the barracks. There were other people there. We could get some sort of a story but it’s a question of whether we want to go so far.’
Barrow bounced over the other side of the room and flapped a piece of paper that was pinned on a board there.
‘Whether we want to go on,’ he said again, with a little drama. ‘It would probably be a court martial, you know.’ He shook his head. ‘That sort of thing doesn’t do the Battalion’s name any good.’
‘It does its name more harm if the story leaks out and we do nothing about it.’
‘You think so?’ Barrow opened his eyes wide: he looked curiously innocent. But Jimmy did not have a doubt.
‘Of course.’
Barrow nodded, and he steadied a little.
‘It’s very difficult.’
‘So,’ Jimmy often said when he did not quite understand.
‘The personalities in the case complicate things. I’ve called for Charlie Scott. We’ll talk it over, the three of us.’
‘So.’
Almost in passing Barrow said, ‘Jock’s involved,’ and at last it all made sense to Jimmy. He understood the buzz now, and the Colonel’s fidgeting. The game had fallen into his hands. As the situation dawned on Jimmy he began to look sad. He did not enjoy the look in Barrow’s eye: he did not quite believe in the anxious expression. He almost felt that Barrow was cheating. But Jimmy could not have explained these things even to himself. He just had a feeling that way, but his distaste showed clearly in his expression. Meantime Barrow rested on his heels.
‘A very unpleasant business. And, as you can appreciate, awkward. My motives are bound to be suspected. Then that’s neither here nor there.’ He was anxious to talk: the words came fast. ‘Clearly I can’t be expected to take a purely objective view of the thing. That’s why I’ve asked Scott to come along. It’s all a great pity.’
‘Jock never struck a corporal,’ Jimmy said slowly.
‘Well, yes … I’m afraid he did. There’s really not much question about it.’ He went into a few details. The doctor had picked up a great deal of information. He knew Morag was staying over in the Married Quarters.
‘All that proves nothing. It’s no business of the doctor’s either,’ Jimmy said. ‘He’s always talking.’
‘Jimmy, five minutes ago I received a request from Mr McLean that I should see him as soon as possible.’ He handed over a piece of paper on which the formal request was made. I remain, Sir, your obedient servant.
‘So,’ Jimmy said again, and he was prepared to wait until Charlie came round. But he did not get the chance of seeing Charlie before they saw the Colonel. Barrow was too good a tactician. He kept Jimmy with him until Charlie arrived. He invented one reason after another to keep him in the office. Barrow’s mind seemed to be working five times faster than ever before. He was planning fast: interviews ahead.
And when Charlie came things did not go at all as Jimmy had expected. There was no long discussion. All the pros and the cons were not trundled out. Indeed the preliminaries to the interview were as long as the main discussion itself. Barrow was at his most tortuous. He had a habit of discussing general political news, perhaps because he always knew more of current affairs than any of his colleagues. For the most part the officers lived body and soul within the limits of the high wall; Macmillan could gossip a little on social items, but even he was inclined to concentrate on county news. Some of the other more earnest officers knew something of the disturbances in other parts of the globe, Malaya, Kenya or Korea, because they had friends there, but by and large they were innocent of world, and even of national, affairs. Something had evidently been happening in the United States: it had to do with Communism. There was some scandal about a trial on television. Barrow made reference to it, described it, and condemned it. That took a moment or two and gave time for Charlie to sit back in his chair and stretch out his long legs. He laid his crook beside them. Charlie always carried his crook, rather than the regulation ash walking-stick.
Jimmy sat on the edge of his chair, impatient of the preliminaries, and he looked hard at Charlie while Barrow outlined the reason for their meeting. To give him his due he put the matter very fairly. He did not ask for a decision until he had mentioned Jock’s name. He could almost certainly have won a tactical point by asking for Charlie’s decision
