Free The Grasshopper's Child by Gwyneth Jones Page B

see? Warning bells rang. If she knows where everything is, she’ll notice if anything’s gone—
    Downstairs he had no chance. Everything was on display, getting dusted daily by the cleaner. Her bedroom was equally as bad: frozen and spotless. Stepping softly, he tried the spare room. This looked more promising. An empty-room smell. Oil-paint portraits on the dark green wallpaper. Photographs in silver frames, heavy candlesticks, a bowl of old brown rose petals, a gold locket decorated with pink-cheeked miniatures—
    Under George’s wandering feet Angela Gunn sat with Evie in reach of her hand; the sunlight from the snowy garden streaming over her right shoulder. A bulky braille New Testament lay open on her lap. She was a fluent braille reader: she found the old-fashioned practice restful. She was also blessed with acute hearing, highly accurate powers of mental visualization, a retentive memory and nerves of steel: traits that had been useful in her long career; not all of it spent behind a desk. The visitor sat to her left, in an armchair that had been her father’s; where she could see him in her surviving peripheral vision.
    His official ID spoke to her fingertips from the braille page, in fleeting impulses, but the ‘warrant’ was unnecessary. She knew this man of old. She knew why he was here, and his presence chilled her to the bone —although she was almost too old to fear death; and although it was she herself who had raised the alarm.
    â€˜How long have we known each other, Angela?’
    â€˜Hm. Twelve, maybe thirteen years, Minister.’
    â€˜Nah. Tha’s not me. Not for a long time now.’
    â€˜Minister will do,’ she said firmly.
    They listened together to George’s stealthy footsteps.
    â€˜What’s he doing up there?’
    â€˜Looking for small objects to steal,’ said Dr Gunn coolly. ‘Or cash. Which is useless in Mehilhoc but I keep a reserve, just in case. He’s a troubled boy, has been for a long time. Don’t worry, his mother returns everything. But he may come down at any moment.’
    â€˜He won’t see me,’ said the visitor. ‘I’m not here.’
    â€˜I believe you.’
    â€˜You weren’t living in Mehilhoc when I first worked with you.’
    â€˜No, but I visited as often as possible. After my father died I used the cottage as a weekend retreat. I came back for good during the Occupation. I have stayed here ever since, keeping George Carron-Knowells under observation; and Portia. I have known Portia all her life.’
    â€˜Carron. You think we can nail him this time?’
    â€˜Yes Minister,’ said Dr Gunn. ‘I think we can, and I think we must. But the circumstances are alarming, and the consequences—’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t like to think of them.’
    â€˜Ooh, I carn’t see there’s going to be any consequences . An’ if there even was, it won’t be your problem. We’ll make sure of that. Just tell me what you have to report.’
    â€˜That’s the problem,’ said Dr Gunn carefully. ‘No evidence, none whatsoever.’
    â€˜But someone might take a second look. No harm in that.’
    No harm , yet Dr Gunn’s old hands took a firmer hold on the holy book that had summoned her saviour. She steadied herself, smiling at her own irreverent joke, and the footsteps overhead moved softly.
    â€˜Anyone you plan to tell about me not being here?’
    â€˜The old gormless, tactless question trick. Certainly not, Minister. I’m old, and tend to cling to my good name. Bear in mind that one can barely move in Mehilhoc without running into George Carron and Portia Knowells’ philanthropy.’
    They sat in silence. Dr Gunn knew that trick too, but she spoke her mind anyway.
    â€˜I suppose this is what we fought for, you and I and many others. The Big Austerity. The whole world pulling together to save