“Angela, there was a rumour of a bit of a scandal about the time Gillian was born; it seems that Mr Davis wasn’t her real dad. Did you know that?”

“Oh yes, Pete, this is a village. Everyone knows everything, there are no secrets here. It was before my time but it was village folklore long before Nick spilled the beans during one of our long talks. There were a lot of those. They were intended to let Les know I was protected, and it worked.

Nick told me that he had his eye on the new estate manager at Tallgarth House; she was a ‘pretty little thing’, he would always say, but I think he was head over heels in love with her without ever telling her. Her name was Andrea Jane Bailey and she was one of the first women to graduate in Estate Management at Reading University. Nick explained to me that they spent all of their spare time together, but he just couldn’t find the words to tell her how he felt, and then Denton Miles turned up for an internship. Suddenly Andrea was spending every waking hour with Miles, and some non waking hours, too, I suppose.”

Angela giggled. It was the sound of a young woman’s giggle. It was light and it was infectious. Geordie smiled.

“Anyway, he left, she was pregnant with Gillian and then she fell ill. She died very quickly after the birth, if I recall the story correctly.”

“Did you know Gillian as a child?”

“Of course. Like most girls she loved horses, and she trailed around with me, for days sometimes, but that was before she discovered shooting. We were right proud of her when she started winning medals.” Geordie laughed at Angela’s accent which suddenly morphed into a mix of Geordie dialect and West Country brogue. Angela giggled again.

“I’ll be saying this is my one and that’s your one next, won’t I? I’ve been here too long,” she joked.

“What happened to Denton Miles, do you know?”

Angela gazed into the fire and paused before answering.

“The story goes that he returned to the States to run his family farm in Virginia.”

“Would Gillian have known who her real father was?”

“Absolutely, yes. Nick told her as soon as she was old enough to understand. She would talk to me about taking one of the horses and trekking to Virginia; she was six or seven at the time and didn’t understand where the USA was.”

“Angela, don’t answer this if you don’t want to, I won’t be offended.” He paused as she turned to look at him; sadness cloaked her wet eyes.

“Pete, its all in the past now. I had one rotten husband who I loved madly and then a wonderful husband who loved me madly, if only the two burning passions of my life had coincided in one man. Both are dead now; one shot, and one the victim of an unexpected heart attack. It’s just me now. Maybe it’s best that way.”

“You’re still young. You’re an attractive woman.”

Angela smiled at the compliment and pre empted the question.

“Les didn’t kill himself, you know,” she blurted out. Pete showed his surprise.

“Nah. He was way too selfish for that. I remember the day, though. He had been setting traps on the estate and he came home grinning all over his face, and, standing right over me, he rubbed his groin where his trousers were damp and said two words, ‘Young meat’. I tell you, Pete, I nearly killed him myself. Not for my benefit, but I couldn’t bear to see another life ruined.

A little while later he went out to clear his traps and he never came back. I called Nick to ask if he knew what was going on. Let’s face it, his niece was fourteen, pretty as a picture and the only young teenager in the village. Nick told me that Les had assaulted Gillian and had committed suicide out of remorse. With more than a little help from Nick, I suspect. That little girl was the light of Nick’s life. Anyway, suicide or no suicide, Les Vaughan didn’t deserve to live and so there was no sorrow in the village at his passing, just relief.”

Tears flowed down her cheeks and her shoulder shook as she continued speaking through sobs.

“I loved him you know, and yet I still wonder how anyone could love a bastard like that. I couldn’t bring myself to go to his funeral because, for all that he did, and was, I still loved him and I didn’t want to be seen to shed a tear for him in public.” She broke down, and Pete pulled her into his shoulder with his arm around hers.

***

Pete had calmed Angela. It had taken fifteen minutes but she was now back to her ebullient self. Even her Geordie accent was making a comeback.

“Here, it’s a long way back to London. Take a couple of these.” As Geordie watched, Angela rolled a mini quiche and a corned beef pasty into a sheet of greaseproof paper.

“I made them myself. Don’t know why, really, I rarely eat them. Pete?”

She paused and handed him his packed lunch, looking up at him.

“None of this is going to hurt Gillian, is it? I mean, I know you are a close security operative, it says so on your card, but she isn’t in trouble, is she?”

Pete thought about the answer and lied to Angela for the first time.

“No, we’re helping her meet up with her father. They’ve been separated for too long.”

Angela’s expression changed from one of concern to one of peace. She lifted her hands to either side of Pete’s face and drew his face down to hers. Standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed him softly but fully on the mouth.”

The tough bodyguard blushed.

“It’s not often I get kissed by a handsome man these days,” Angela murmured.

“I didn’t recall kissing anyone; I thought I was the one being kissed,” he replied rather ungallantly, but with a smile on his face.

“Well, when you live in a village called Stratfield Turgis, you take your fun where you find it,” she said in defence of her actions.

Geordie gave Angela a last hug and then set off to find the Chameleon, and he thought he knew a good place to start.

Chapter 3 4

Security Service Director General’s Office, Thames House, London. Wednesday, Noon.

Barry had been in this office only twice before and in both cases he had left the office with a demotion. This time he was on sure ground. He had solid evidence that his employer’s representative had not only bullied and discriminated against him in the workplace - cause enough for unfair dismissal - but it was about to become common knowledge that the Director had been sleeping with Barry’s wife. The service would want to sweep that tawdry mess under the rug.

Monica Stewart-Smith could now legitimately claim the title Dame of the British Empire. The award had been made just a year before for services to Her Majesty’s Government. She had spent her career in the security services and had been a surprise appointment when the last incumbent, a Labour government toady, lost the coalition’s confidence after wholly misreading the public appetite for increased security and reduced freedom.

‘Ballbuster’, as the DG had been known since the 1980s, had shattered the glass ceiling long before anyone had known there was such a thing. Unlike the ‘boys’ club’ that ran MI5 in the 1970s, Monica had known that the fourth and fifth man would eventually have to be exposed, and so she planned her career accordingly. Well placed memos and reports naming them were sent and ignored, but once the two men were exposed her memos mysteriously came to light and she appeared to Margaret Thatcher, the current PM, to be a prophet whose predictions were both accurate and troubling.

The PM was keen to promote a woman to high office in the security service but the Home Secretary was having none of it, until Peter Wright blew the lid off the security services’ culture of secrecy. Faced with overwhelming pressure, the Home Secretary gave in and Monica Stewart-Smith became the agency’s first female director. Sidelined during the Labour years, she bided her time and at the ripe old age of sixty two she replaced the DG, who had unfathomably been promoted after the Iraq ‘sexing up’ affair.