Free The Blood Upon the Rose by Tim Vicary

anything.
    He had hoped to travel home at weekends, but had only managed it once so far. Some of the greatest miseries of this time were the constant train strikes, encouraged by Sinn Fein as a protest against British rule. The one time he had got home, he had had to wait fifteen hours on Sunday night for the chance to return.
    So he was forced to rely on the telephone. He had had one installed in the house before he left; it was only the second private phone in the street, the engineer had told him, and they had put up a special pole to carry the wires. But it was not very satisfactory. Kee was an undemonstrative man, but he loved his wife deeply, in the way the Bible prescribed. He realized now that he loved the warmth of her, the rich full curves of her body in his arms in bed; and he loved her cheerful efficiency, the way she bossed him and the kids around, so that they dared not be lazy or untidy. And he loved the smell of hot stew or fresh bread when he opened the door of the little terrace house in the evening, despite the irregular, unpredictable hours that he worked. None of that came out of the tinny, crackling voice on the telephone; and Kee could not express his feelings towards her, with the thought of the ever-present ear of the operator on the line.
    So their phone conversations were inhibited, awkward and increasingly irregular.
    His other great loyalty, apart from those to parents, church and Empire, was to William Radford. Indeed, it was only for Radford's sake that he had agreed to come to Dublin at all.
    If it had not been for Radford, Kee would probably still have been a uniformed sergeant, patrolling the Shankill Road on Saturday nights. A docker's son, he had no connections or influence to help him climb to the top. But ten years ago Radford, then a detective inspector, had recognized some traces of ability in the young sergeant, and encouraged him to take the exams for the CID. He had passed, and had worked with Radford during the war on anti-espionage work. They had foiled two attempts by spies to penetrate Belfast's naval dockyards, and their mutual respect had grown and lasted. So when Radford had been made Assistant Commissioner of the DMP, with orders to do something about the demoralized G Division, he had asked for Kee to go with him.
    Now they lodged together in the Standard Hotel in Harcourt Street, a few hundred yards from the entrance to Dublin Castle.
    Most of the rest of the clientele were army officers. As the two detectives crossed the dining room to a table in the corner, Kee noted with amusement how several had ostentatiously laid a loaded revolver on the table before them, beside the fish knife.
    Radford waved greetings to one such officer, a much-decorated major with fine handlebar moustaches.
    ‘What's that for, Tony? Waiters late with the soup again?’
    The Major shook his head. ‘This is a country in rebellion, Bill - don't you forget it. I remember a chap like you in Simla once. Intelligence officer. Fine fellow, great on the polo field, but refused to believe the natives meant what they said. I had to fish his body out of the river in the end. Nasty business.’
    Radford nodded. ‘I know. I'll be careful, don't worry.’
    Kee admired Radford's assurance. He might be an inspector now, but he wasn't able to relate to men like these. He lacked their sense of ease, of banter, of worldwide social control.
    Their table was quite secluded, out of casual earshot for the other customers, away from any door or window. To Kee's surprise it was laid for three. ‘Expecting someone, Bill?’ he asked.
    Radford smiled, and ordered beer. While they waited for it he said: ‘That's my surprise. The man we're meeting here tonight is from Military Intelligence. To be precise, that girl's father.’
    ‘What?’ Kee spilt some beer on the table, and mopped it with a handkerchief.
    ‘I know, he doesn't sound the type. But he must have more between the ears than he lets on, to be where he