Free The Dying Light by Henry Porter Page A

David fell from grace big time. Everyone knows that. Easy enough when you get to the very top.’

    ‘How?’

    ‘I don’t know the details.’

    ‘You didn’t talk to him to find out what happened?’

    He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. What about you?’

    ‘I didn’t know anything was wrong. I’ve been in the States for nearly eight years, working at Calvert-Mayne in New York.’

    Mermagen saluted the name with a nod. ‘So you weren’t in touch at all. You two used to be so close. I mean, I’d have put money on you eventually getting together, but then you went off and found someone else. Who’s this Lockhart?’

    ‘Charlie Lockhart: he was in the Foreign Office. He died nearly ten years ago.’

    Mermagan did a good impression of recollection followed by regret. Charlie’s face flashed in front of her. They were playing tennis with another couple from the embassy. Charlie missed a shot at the net and without warning doubled up in agony. When he straightened, his expression had changed for ever. That pain would last until his death from liver cancer nine months later at his family home on the Black Isle in Scotland.

    She looked around the room. Mermagen couldn’t tell her anything, or wouldn’t. Through the glass of the Pineapple House she could see Darsh Darshan sitting on a garden bench. He was staring ahead with his arms clamped round his chest. Glenny’s bodyguards stood at a distance.

    ‘I’m surprised Darsh wasn’t arrested,’ she said.

    ‘The home secretary was very understanding: he put it down to grief. Darsh was always a rather overwrought character.’

    ‘Surely you didn’t know him at Oxford? It was just our crowd at New College that knew Darsh.’

    ‘Of course I did,’ he said.

    ‘What did you think of the things he said in church - all that stuff about murder?’

    ‘Well, you know Darsh was virtually in love with David.’

    ‘But what did he mean?’

    His eyes moved to the home secretary. ‘He was blaming them for David’s fall and therefore his being in High Castle and therefore his being in Colombia when a bomb goes off and kills him instead of some bloody union leader or whatever - logic that is surely not worthy of the man who invented the Darshan Curve.’

    ‘What was David doing before he left government service, Oliver?’

    ‘He was head of the Joint Intelligence Committee; before that at COBRA - the Cabinet Office Briefing Room “A”, mostly to do with energy, I gather but I don’t fly at that altitude so I do not know the details of his jobs. He darted about giving a lot of people the benefit of his laser mind. You did know that he was thought likely to become cabinet secretary one day. All he needed on his CV was a big department to run. There was talk of the Ministry of Defence.’

    ‘Darsh said he was mortified. What did he mean by that? It’s an odd word to use - mortified.’

    Mermagen pouted mystification and touched the handkerchief in his breast pocket. ‘Better ask him. By the way, how’s your mother?’

    ‘My mother!’ she said, astonished. ‘My mother’s fine, thank you: why do you ask?’

    ‘Still playing golf?’

    ‘Yes, between bridge and running the Faculty of Advocates In Edinburgh.’ She remembered her parents’ excruciating visit to Oxford, her disruptive father smirking in the wake of his rigid wife. Perversely the only student her mother had taken to was Mermagen, who had ingratiated himself by pretending an interest in women’s golf.

    ‘Can I ask you something?’ Kate said. ‘Did anyone have a reason to kill Eyam? It was raised - well, hinted at - during the inquest.’

    ‘Kill David? What on earth for? Really, you’ve been watching too much American television, Kate. What an absurd idea.’ His arm swung out towards a tray of canapes that was just about in range. ‘I must say, Ingrid’s done David proud with these caterers. Are you coming to the dinner tonight? No, of course not. How could anyone