The Dying Light by Henry Porter Page A

long time and I came back expecting things to be the same, but having spent nearly a week in this godforsaken backwater, I’m beginning to wonder if I made the right choice. Maybe it’s this town, but everyone seems so on edge - suspicious. People seem to be so out of sorts.’ She stopped. ‘Sorry, I’m being a bit of a bore, aren’t I? The funeral made me angry. It all seemed so bloodless and damned English. I wondered how many people there actually liked David Eyam.’

    ‘Oh, quite a few I should think. He was an exceptional person.’

    She nodded. ‘You were carrying seed catalogues at the inquest - that must have put me off the scent, though I did feel there was something familiar about you.’

    ‘Yes, I was. For the first time I have a good-sized garden to play with, plus a very good view, plus a good library and the time to think and . . . well . . . exist.’

    ‘You also had some kind of academic journal - Middle Eastern Archaeology or something?’

    ‘Spot on. You were noted by the office for your exceptional powers of observation and recall,’ he said. ‘But David wasn’t nearly so good.’

    ‘Eyam? Eyam wasn’t on the New Intake Course.’

    ‘We had a look at him the year before you, but then we decided he was not cut out for the life of an intelligence branch officer abroad, whereas you were a natural. They were very sorry to lose you.’

    ‘Eyam in SIS.’ She began shaking her head. ‘No, that can’t be true.’

    ‘He lasted no more than a matter of months and found the whole thing richly comic. Far too intelligent for the work.’

    ‘What’s that make us?’ she said quickly, still smarting from the news that Eyam had never told her he’d been recruited. Through the whole of their exchange his lips had barely moved, but now Kilmartin’s mouth spread into a sardonic smile and his eyes shone. ‘I think you know that I meant he was too cerebral.’ He took a sip of water from a tumbler.

    ‘I’ll settle for that,’ she said. ‘Was that time your only contact with him?’

    ‘No - we worked together on some issues, mostly to do with Central Asia: oil and gas, water, that sort of thing.’

    ‘At Downing Street?’

    He nodded. ‘But we were friendly in other arenas.’

    ‘So you know what happened - why he lost his job?’

    ‘I know very little. I’ve spent the better part of the last five years either looking after my late wife or abroad pursuing the national interest, or so I was persuaded. No, I have no idea what happened, but I’d like to find out. You were a good friend; you must know a lot more than I.’

    ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

    ‘What did you make of the inquest?’

    ‘I’d like to have heard a lot more about the bomb and who planted it. For a lawyer, it is a surprising process to watch - no real scrutiny of the evidence, no cross-examination of the witnesses, no jury.’

    ‘What do you mean?’

    ‘Well, clearly there are grounds for suspicion that David was the target of that bomb.’

    ‘Would it be insensitive to say that you saw less than you wished of David?’

    ‘Would it be insensitive of me to say that you’re getting off the subject? Like you, I was abroad and we did lose touch. But it doesn’t seem to have mattered because I was close enough to be his main heir.’ She regretted this, but it would become public soon enough.

    His face had lost its humour. ‘Maybe we should meet.’

    ‘And talk about what?’

    ‘You’ll know. Contact me at St Antony’s College in Oxford. There is a secretary at the Middle East School who takes messages for me. You don’t have to be explicit - simply suggest a time and place and give your maiden name. I seem to remember it’s Koh.’ He was in deadly earnest. ‘We will need to speak. I promise you that.’

    ‘Is all this intrigue really necessary?’

    ‘You’re not in the cosy world of an American law firm - there have been changes here that are about much more than mood and