Free When Shadows Fall by Paul Reid Page A

this fashion after such a long absence was not in the least bit surprising to Adam. It was in fact proof that life had gone on as normal. He stooped to kiss her hand. “I know, Mother. But it wasn’t exactly haute cuisine in the trenches.”
    “How do you feel?”
    “Excellent,” he said truthfully, three pints of Guinness in his belly.
    “Hmm.” She cast her eyes over his frame. “We shall have to feed you up again. Can’t have you returning to society like a half-starved beggar.”
    “Certainly not, Mother.”
    “You must rest now and recover. You will be tired after your boat journey.” Marjorie was naturally ready with instruction, chronically short on affection. “Once you’re rested, our other guests will come.”
    “Other guests?”
    “Your brothers, of course. Duncan and Allister will be most anxious to see you.” Only Marjorie could have described her children as the other guests .
    Adam sighed. “Today? I mean, I really am quite tired.” A stiff, formal family occasion was about the most unpalatable thing he could think of right now.
    “As I said, you will rest first.” She sat back on her chair. “Quentin, tell Lizzie to see that Adam’s old room is made up. You may while away a few hours, Adam, and later we’ll sit down to dinner. The whole family.”
    He nodded in resignation. “When you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

    Sleep was not forthcoming, lying in the warm afternoon light on silken pillows and a feather mattress. The quietness and comfort was utterly unnatural; he almost wished for frozen duckboards and the whistling of artillery shells overhead to set him at ease.
    A little before six, Quentin knocked gently and suggested that he might like to wash and dress before dinner. Lizzie, the housemaid, had filled the bathtub with hot water, and while he attended to his toiletries she laid out a new suit, shirt, and waistcoat on his bed.
    There was a hum of chatter from the drawing room. With his cheeks freshly shaven he slapped on some Old Spice aftershave—it was like rubbing flames into his skin—and ran oil through his hair to tame the unruly spikes. Lastly he put on his tie and fastened the laces on his shoes.
    They were waiting for him.
    Lizzie had lit candles round the room and was serving predinner aperitifs. A pleasant smell of roast beef, herbs, and onions wafted from the kitchen.
    “Adam!” The big man in the centre of the room, his mouth stuffed with cheese, turned in delight. “Adam, by God—come here, boyo!”
    Duncan, the eldest son, was almost the same height as Adam but considerably heavier, a paunch bulging shamelessly below his waistcoat. He grabbed Adam in a bear hug, until Adam almost choked, before releasing him and thumping his shoulder. “Look at you, the Hun slayer. You look good, brother. Grand suit—a nice change from the army issue khakis, eh?”
    “Yes.” Adam wiped his chin clear of the food morsels spattering from Duncan’s lips. “Quite a change all right. How’s everything with you, Duncan? Business good? I can see you’re not starving anyway.”
    Duncan guffawed and patted his belly. “All my wife’s fault. She’s such a damned good cook. Where’s Sarah? Sarah! Come say hello to your brother-in-law returned from the war.”
    Sarah was a dainty creature, red-haired and narrow-waisted. She rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and smiled. “Welcome home, Adam. We’re all very glad you’re safe.”
    “Thank you, Sarah.”
    There was one more person left.
    Allister approached slowly, pinched his nose, and then shook Adam’s hand. “So, you’re back, then.” Though only a year younger than Adam, he was much smaller and slighter of build, with freckled skin and red rims of hay fever round his nostrils. “You’ve been missed.”
    They had never been close. Allister, perhaps because of his being born last, had grown up jealous and distrustful, a manipulator who devoted his ample powers of intellect always towards furthering his