Free Requiem by Clare Francis Page B

might be close to that now, but since he had almost finished he wasn’t going to let that get in his way. One more run, then it was back to the Portakabin for a couple of well-earned cigarettes, a large cup of coffee and one of Jeannie’s lead-lined ham sandwiches.
    He turned and came in for the last time. He switched on the atomizers, automatically glancing at the flow meter as he did so. He did a double-take. No spray. Red light. Cursing, he disengaged and re-engaged the atomizers several times. Still a red. He fiddled the control valve. Nothing. He spun it again, then punched at it viciously. Finally he was rewarded with a feeble green light and the sight of vapour when he glanced back. Too late for most of the run: the end of the plantation was approaching fast. The question now was, would the blasted spray turn off?
    Only with great difficulty, he discovered. It took several flicks of the switch and a fast turn of the control valve before the spray trail finally thinned and vanished. Looking down, he saw he was overflying a clearing with a fleeing deer.
    ‘Sorry about that, old girl.’
    Gaining height, he turned sharply and headed back to the air strip. Hot and weary, he half hoped the mechanic would be unable to fix the trouble so that, though it would mean the loss of much-needed loot, he could take the rest of the day off.

 
Chapter 4

    A S SOON AS lunch was over, Nick slipped away and strode briskly up through the park to the rowan tree. Wrapping the shotgun in the poacher’s jacket, he made his way back to the house, feeling conspicuous as he walked stiffly and unnaturally with the gun clamped firmly against his thigh. But there was no Alusha to see him this time, nor anyone else, and he managed to return the gun to the secure cupboard in the corner of the boot room unobserved.
    As for the jacket, he couldn’t make up his mind about that. To leave it in the wood store would be to suggest that last night was forgiven and forgotten, which it most certainly was not. To keep the damn thing would be equally unsatisfactory. Putting the decision off, he finally hung it on a peg behind the door.
    On his way out he met Alusha in the hall and almost gave himself away with a guilty laugh. Duplicity had never been his strong point. But if Alusha noticed, she chose not to mention it. Instead she invited him to walk with her to the paddock while Mel was watching the American football on TV and David was, inevitably, phoning London.
    They stepped into air that was unexpectedly fresh. He stood looking around him, as he always did when leaving the house. The sky was clear, the hills were bathed in a light which seemed to have burnt the high moors an unaccustomed shade of ochre. The trees sparkled and shimmered, their leaves tinkling and rustling in the breeze.
    They walked past the walled garden, through the rhododendron grove and began the climb towards the paddock. Nick looped his arm firmly in Alusha’s. Already the events of the previous night seemed a long way off and, if he tried really hard, he could persuade himself that none of it had happened.
    Clear of the gardens the breeze was stronger and cooler, and he realized that, unusually for the time of year, it was coming from the north, maybe even a little east of north.
    From the house came the distant sound of a car crunching across the gravel and a moment later Nick glanced back to see the unmistakable figure of Duncan coming round the side of the house. Nick whistled to him and Duncan, waving a brief acknowledgement, started after them. Even at that distance Nick could see that Duncan was using his angry walk: stride rapid, head down, arms pumping. By the time he caught up with them at the paddock rail, his complexion was a deep and dangerous shade of red.
    ‘They’ve been at it again!’ Duncan panted through clenched teeth. ‘They’ve been at it again!’
    Nick caught Alusha stifling a slight smile and frowned at her. ‘Who has?’ he asked.
    ‘Those damned