Read Online French Leave by Elizabeth Darrell - Free Book Online Page A

Cordwell.
    Tom’s morning began badly. It was not unusual for two of his daughters to quarrel with each other. When all three spat and clawed it was difficult to restore order. The trouble began at breakfast when Tom announced that they would not be setting out for the hills until around eleven thirty because he had to conduct an interview.
    Beth looked up from her bowl of cereal in protest. ‘You’re always doing this. It’s Saturday. Everyone has Saturday off. Why can’t you?’
    â€˜Because I’m not everyone. We’ll only set out an hour or so later than planned.’
    â€˜The plan was to go at nine thirty. We’ll be going two hours later,’ Gina pointed out moodily.
    Striving to keep the situation light, Tom said, ‘Haven’t you three yet worked out that Mum suggests a departure time at least fifty minutes early, knowing you won’t be ready until half an hour after that?’
    Maggie, thirteen and vastly smitten with a German boy who lived opposite their rented house, aired a view she expressed almost every day. ‘If we had two bathrooms we’d all be ready in time.’
    â€˜You’d hog one of them trying to make yourself beautiful for Hans, so it wouldn’t make any difference,’ snapped Gina, at eleven fast reaching the age to hog a bathroom herself.
    â€˜Damn bathrooms,’ cried Beth. ‘I want to go to the hills right after breakfast like we planned.’
    â€˜Watch that language,’ warned Nora. ‘We are going, but later.’
    â€˜I don’t want to go at all,’ sighed Maggie. ‘I hate it up there. There are snakes all over the place.’
    â€˜Don’t exaggerate,’ said Gina scathingly. ‘You just don’t want to trek. It would get rid of your rolls of fat quicker than that stupid diet.’
    â€˜Fat! Have you looked at yourself lately?’
    Beth shoved her half-full cereal bowl across the table. ‘All you two think about is how you look. I can tell you. Hags , both of you!’
    Usually a controlled peacemaker, Nora lost her temper and told them that if they did not shut up they’d stay at home tidying and cleaning their rooms. Coping with three bright, sparky girls was a job and a half at the best of times, but Nora was feeling the heat during these school holidays. She probably also missed having wedding or evening dresses to make – her enjoyable hobby that alleviated the demands of motherhood and brought in money for extras.
    Tom felt a pang of guilt over leaving her to deal with their offspring, but it did not last long. He found young girls incomprehensible at times. It had been better when they were cute toddlers. Even Beth, nearly ten, no longer believed her father was a totally unblemished hero. Boys would have been easier. He would understand them.
    Sergeant Eric Miller was brought in by Staff Sergeant Melly, and was volubly angry at this treatment. Tom had approached the interview with professional calm, but Miller’s aggression aroused his own.
    A sandy-haired man of average height, with well-developed muscles, Miller’s entire mien was belligerent. It was apparent before he said a word. When he did speak, it was in a torrent of them.
    â€˜This is bloody persecution. I told your sergeant all I knew about that bastard Smith. What right d’you have to bring me in like a frigging criminal? What authority?’
    â€˜The authority of military law,’ snapped Tom. ‘I don’t believe you told Sergeant Piercey everything when questioned at home. Away from family distractions you’re likely to remember much more about the day Private Smith disappeared.’
    â€˜Bring in the thumbscrews, do you?’ Miller sneered. ‘Or is it an injection of something that makes men say what you want?’
    â€˜We’re not the KGB.’ Tom pretended to read Piercey’s report although he knew it almost word for word. ‘You gave my