Free More Than You Can Say by Paul Torday Page B

a fuller explanation, but then he looked at his watch.
    ‘Oh Lord, we’d better go through and have lunch. I promised the keeper we’d be back out again by two. Come and eat something, Leader.’
    ‘I’d love to, but may I then ring for a taxi to get me into Oxford?’
    Over lunch I was stuck between two complete strangers, but everyone was friendly, as people in shooting parties sooften are, and the conversation did not require much effort. Just as we rose from the table and everyone was getting ready to go outside for the rest of the afternoon’s sport, the man called Eck asked me an odd question:
    ‘Did I hear you say that Mr Khan might also be called
Aseeb
?’
    ‘That’s what I gathered. Do you know him?’
    ‘I might have met him somewhere,’ said Eck. ‘It’s an unusual name.’
    ‘Not common in Oxfordshire,’ I agreed.
    Eck reached into his pocket and found a small diary with a pencil tucked into its spine.
    ‘Give me your phone number, if you don’t mind. I might ring you. I’m curious to know if your Aseeb is the same man I used to know.’
    He was suddenly very serious and I could see he wouldn’t be put off. I gave him my home number and we said goodbye. Another man was hovering beside me. He had been on the other side of the table at lunch but too far away for us to have spoken.
    ‘Did someone mention your name was Richard Gaunt, or have I got that wrong? My name is Charlie Freemantle, by the way.’
    ‘Yes, I’m Richard Gaunt.’
    ‘Sorry to bother you with such a personal question, but didn’t you used to walk out with a very sweet girl called Emma Macmillan?’
    I felt a sharp stab of remembered pain when I heard the name.
    ‘Yes, but that’s all over now. Do you know her?’
    ‘I’ve met her. She’s a very attractive girl. I’m sorry you’renot with her any longer. I suppose that means anyone can have a crack at asking her out now, doesn’t it?’
    ‘I suppose it does,’ I said.
    ‘Come on, everybody, hurry up,’ roared Freddy. ‘This isn’t a cocktail party – we’re meant to be shooting things!’
    I waved goodbye to Freddy and shouted my thanks across the room.
    ‘Come again, Leader, but do try to dress in something more appropriate to the countryside next time.’
    As they left, I spotted a phone on the hall table, sitting on top of a telephone directory. Within a few minutes I had arranged for a taxi to pick me up and take me into Oxford. There I bought a pair of jeans, a tweed jacket and some new shoes, and put all the clothes I had been wearing into a carrier bag and stuffed them into the first litter bin I could find. I kept the gun. Then I walked to the station and took the next train to Paddington.
    On the train I sat and stared out of the window. It had been an odd couple of days, to say the least. On the whole, I could not look back on my behaviour with any satisfaction. Even the temporary thrill of punching Kevin a couple of times had dissipated. It seemed to me I had, without much reflection at all, sold my soul for ten thousand pounds: a Faustian bargain of the most useless kind, as I was unlikely ever to be paid. The thoughts kept rattling around my head. So I did what I always did when what remained of my conscience gave me trouble: I tried not to think. Outside rain streamed across the window.
    Nature abhors a vacuum and into my empty mind came thoughts of home and family. It had been raining the last time I had been home. I remembered that very well: the sheetsof rain descending from low streamers of dark grey cloud as I drove down the winding road, trying to avoid the occasional sheep that strayed in front of my car, through the remote green Cumbrian valley towards my parents’ house. I had left the army: my last two leaves had been spent with Emma and I hadn’t been home for nearly two years. I felt strange about seeing my parents and my little sister again, but I longed to be with them too. Home would make me feel better.
    Hardrigg Manor sat in a