Free The Grave of Truth by Evelyn Anthony Page A

take three weeks, maybe a month. Where are you going to stay in London—with Angela?’
    â€˜Yes,’ She seemed thrown off balance by the question. Angela was married to a solicitor; she and Ellie had been close friends. They had stayed with the Steiners in Paris the previous autumn.
    â€˜Max,’ she said. ‘Max, where is this assignment?’
    He didn’t lie to her, although he was tempted. ‘Germany,’ he answered. She kept on looking at him, the brown eyes seemed to widen until they overpowered her face.
    â€˜Sigmund Walther’s murder—is that what you’re going to Germany for?’
    â€˜Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m determined to do it. I want to know who and why, and a whole lot of other things. And it’ll help to know you and the children are safe in London with Angela and Tim.’
    â€˜And if anything happens to you, are Angela and Tim supposed to take care of us?’
    Oh, he said to himself, Christ, here it comes. ‘Nothing will happen to me,’ he tried to sound reassuring, instead of angry. He didn’t succeed because he added, ‘Anyway, I’m heavily insured.’ She gave him an odd look, and he thought she drew her body back and upright, as if something unpleasant had passed close to her. He felt suddenly alarmed, as if he had taken a step too far in a direction he hadn’t intended. ‘Ellie, I’m sorry. Try to understand, will you? This is terribly important to me. I have to find out why Walther was killed, not for bloody Newsworld but for myself! For my own peace of mind—I know you’re scared and upset, and you want me to come with you, but I can’t. I can’t give up the chance to find out something—’
    He stopped, and in the seconds that followed, he tried to retrace that step towards the brink, by telling her the truth. He didn’t get the chance. She brushed her skirt with both hands, as if she were dusting off an apron, and her face was small and pale and set tight like a fist.
    â€˜I understand one thing,’ she said. ‘Me and the children come second. I’ve accepted it for a long while, and I’ve tried to explain it to them so they wouldn’t be hurt. But now we’re threatened with God knows what, because of you and your goddamned job, and you have the gall to tell me you’re not coming over to protect your family! You’re going to Germany instead, while we sit in someone else’s house and let them take on your responsibility. Okay, Max, you go and play detective, and I’ll think up a good reason for Peter and Francine why their father’s gone off and left them.’ She swung round and walked away; at the door she half turned. ‘They’ll be really glad to know you’re insured.’
    He drove them to Le Bourget at eight o’clock the next morning; his daughter was excited about going to London; his son had been morose and ill at ease the night before. He had muttered provocatively about being happy to miss school, but Max had ignored him. Ellie had been bright and artificial in front of the children, who quickly recognized that there was trouble between their parents, but when they were alone she refused to speak to him. At the airport he said good-bye, and it was forced and awkward. He kissed Francine, who started to cry from nerves and excitement, embraced his son, who went stiff, and kissed Ellie on the cheek.
    â€˜Safe journey, darling. I’ll call you tonight.’
    â€˜That would be nice,’ his wife said. ‘Come on, Peter dear, Francy, take hold of my hand—’ Then they were gone. He ignored the funny pang of loneliness that nagged at him all the way back from the airport to his office. He spent the day in the cutting room, and the reference library, and at the end of the day he had completed a set of notes. He did not give them to his secretary to type out. He took them back to the apartment,