Page 57 of Fire Must Burn

‘To Tony,’ echoed Iris, clinking her tumbler against Gwen’s.

She downed most of it on the first swallow.

‘Pace yourself, darling,’ said Gwen as she took a small sip from hers. ‘We need your brain intact for this conversation.’

‘The gin won’t kick in for a few minutes,’ said Iris.

‘Have some curry,’ said Gwen, ladling it into the bowls with some rice. ‘I find that the burning sensation stimulates thinking.’

‘I don’t want to think right now.’

‘Do you want to find who did this to Mr Danforth or not?’ asked Gwen.

‘Why is that our responsibility?’ asked Iris as she spooned some curry into her mouth.

Then she made a muffled grunt and grabbed for her gin.

‘I told you to pace yourself,’ said Gwen, calmly swallowing one spoonful, then another. ‘As to responsibility – Parham is hampered by having to work alone and in the dark. The Brigadier isn’t going to lift a finger to help him. Which leaves us.’

‘But we’re working for the Brigadier and we can’t tell Parham anything.’

‘We can’t tell Parham anything about the operation, or the Brigadier’s suspicions about Mr Danforth. But what if the attack had nothing to do with the operation?’

‘What else could it be?’ asked Iris.

‘You’re empty,’ said Gwen.

She took Iris’s tumbler and mixed another, the gin nearing the three-quarter mark this time.

‘Chin-chin,’ she said.

‘You can’t toast Indian food with Chinese toasts,’ protested Iris.

‘I don’t know any Indian toasts. Do you?’

‘No, come to think of it. Cheers.’

She swallowed. Gwen sipped, watching her.

‘What else could it be?’ repeated Iris.

‘It struck me that a Molotov cocktail is a particularly viciousmethod of attacking someone,’ said Gwen. ‘It’s designed to cause a great deal of pain and not necessarily a quick death. It also has to be planned. One doesn’t just happen to have a bottle of petrol concealed in one’s coat pocket.’

‘All that is true enough,’ said Iris. ‘What’s your point?’

‘That this was personal rather than political,’ said Gwen. ‘The attacker wanted him to suffer before he died. What if vengeance was the motive?’

‘Vengeance for what?’

‘What about that woman in Cambridge? Nancy something. Sauce, I believe people called her.’

‘What about her?’

‘Mr Danforth comes back in town for the first time in ages and this happens,’ said Gwen. ‘Someone could have been waiting for this opportunity.’

‘After all these years?’ scoffed Iris. ‘That’s a very lazy avenging angel. They should have hunted him down overseas.’

‘They might not have had the means,’ suggested Gwen. ‘Or they might have thought that the wars would take their toll. As they did for the others – what were their names? Kevin something was one, Sally said.’