Free Paving the New Road by Sulari Gentill Page A

wrote a book.”
    “Yes … perhaps I should read it.”
    Milton sat back, playing with a peacock feather that had come loose from Edna’s boa and ended up in his collar. “It makes sense, though … Perhaps that’s why the Old Guard sent Bothwell on this caper in the first place. He’d spied before.”
    “Maybe.”
    “What about Wilfred?” Edna asked, sliding down to share the chaise with Rowland. “Do you think he was an agent too?”
    Rowland laughed. The idea was ridiculous.
    “He was going to do this if you didn’t,” Milton reminded him.
    Rowland sat up. He pushed the hair back from his face. “You’re right, he was.”
    “And he met Maugham during the war. Where exactly was Wilfred posted?”
    Rowland shrugged. “France … Wil’s never spoken to me about the war. I wouldn’t have a clue what he actually did over there.”
    Edna giggled. “Can you imagine what Wilfred would make of Gerald Haxton?”
    Milton grunted. “He’d barely have noticed—the upper classes are full of chaps like Haxton.”
    Rowland smiled. “I’ve known a few,” he admitted.

    The oppressive humidity of the previous evening had dissipated in the deluge overnight, and so the morning was fresh, the air still warm but no longer cloying. With the first light of day, Edna had attempted to drag them all out of bed “to take in the sights”. Only Rowland could be persuaded to leave the superlative comfort of his bed, though he did so reluctantly. Fortunately, they were due back at the airport that morning and so Edna’s sightseeing would be necessarily limited to a walk on the beach before breakfast.
    Although it was early, the paved boulevards of the European sector of the island were busy. Locals pushed carts, laden with produce or trinkets, along Beach Road. Bare-chested men in sarongs swept steps and paths while turbaned traders set up for the day’s business. Edna marvelled at the strength and endurance of the rickshaw pullers, who dragged white-suited businessmen at a run, negotiating a road shared with motor cars and bullock drays.
    “It’s a shame we can’t stay longer, Rowly,” Edna said, as she paused to photograph the colonial splendour of the buildings which lined the thoroughfare.
    Rowland smiled. “We can come back, Ed.” He held out his hand for hers. “Come on, we’d better return to Raffles.”
    “Robbie!”
    Rowland turned towards the voice.
    Maugham and Haxton emerged from the teahouse behind them, dressed almost identically in pale suits and broad-brimmed straw hats. Rowland was mildly surprised to see Haxton. He had expected that the American would be somewhat unwell after his consumption the evening before.
    Haxton kissed Edna’s hand and slapped Rowland heartily on the back. “Well, this is a lucky chance. I had expected I’d have to chase you to the airport.”
    “Chase me? Why?”
    “Willy wanted me to make sure you had this.” He handed Rowland an envelope.
    Edna glanced at Rowland and coaxed Haxton away. “Gerry, you must let me take a picture of you … over here … in front of this palm tree.”
    “What is this, Mr. Maugham?” Rowland asked, studying the envelope as Haxton moved out of earshot under Edna’s direction.
    “A letter of introduction to an old acquaintance.” Again the stammer was barely noticeable.
    “In Germany?”
    “Yes.” Maugham started walking back towards Raffles, motioning for the Australian to follow. Rowland glanced back to see Edna arm in arm with Haxton at the window of some boutique. He fell into step beside the playwright.
    “Peter Bothwell was staying with an old chum of his in Munich—Alois Richter. Of course, Richter has no idea what he was really doing in Germany.”
    “I see.”
    “All of Bothwell’s papers and whatnot are still at Richter’s villa … the address is on the envelope. The letter introduces a Mr. Robert Negus, a dear and trusted cousin of Bothwell’s widow. It gives youthe authority to take charge of the poor fellow’s