and a bleak look in her eye. ‘I want children, one day, lots of them – but I want to be around for them. I’ve seen too many mates get married, have kids, then find themselves divorced a few years later because their wives got sick of trying to run a family on their own. I’ve even heard a few women say they prefer it when their men are away on ops because they’re just a nuisance when they’re at home, disrupting everyone’s routine. Well, that’s not going to happen to me.’ He paused. ‘Or my wife.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I can accept that you’re a soldier and you love your work, and that your mates are as close to you as your family, or maybe even closer, but does everything have to be quite so macho? This is the twenty-first century, not the Stone Age. Does any display of affection or tenderness, any interestin life outside the SAS really have to be taken as a sign of weakness? And would the world end if just once you said, “Sorry, I can’t make it,” when your friends or your precious Regiment asked you to do something?’
‘You and the Regiment are the two most important things in my life, Delphine,’ Tom said. ‘You know I love you, really I do, and I hope that we’ll have a life together long after I’ve left Hereford, but please don’t ask me right now to choose between you and the work I do.’
‘Because I wouldn’t like the choice you’d make?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘No,’ Delphine said. ‘You didn’t have to.’
They sat in silence for a while. ‘Anyway,’ he said brightly, putting down his mug on the nearest pile of hotel trade mags, ‘the trial by ordeal with my parents is over, and we don’t have to go back there any time soon.’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’d go if you wanted to.’
‘Well,’ he gave a sly smile, ‘perhaps we will in a few months, if we’re still together by then.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I could probably be doing a lot better for myself.’
He gave her a quizzical look, then broke into a broad grin.
At the end of her six-month posting at the Green Dragon, Delphine had applied for an extension, and done so again six months later, even though it was against the wishes and advice of her boss. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to move on, after all her hard work.
In the end he’d extracted a promise that this would be her last six months, which was now almost up. But tonight, when Tom arrived, there was a more pressing situation she was desperate to discuss. Her future with Tom or, rather, the lack of it. The mistress had won. So much so that, for the last few weeks, every time she had tried to do so, something had cropped up at the Lines: Tom had been called in for a briefing, for training, a deployment, an operation, but often, she suspected, just to go out yet again with the lads.
But that was all history. She’d seen the news on TV. The speculation that the SAS had been involved in the mysterious explosions in Hampstead earlier in the day was probably right. Tom was heading back to Hereford and should be with her soon – maybe. She’d booked a table for dinner at the pub in Fownhope. She’d asked for the same table as they’d had on the night of their first date, even asked for a bottle of the same wine to be on the table waiting for him.
19
TOM AND GAVIN had just turned off the M4 at Swindon. It would be another hour and a half before they got back to Hereford.
Gavin sighed, fidgeted some more, then took his feet down from the dash. ‘Mate, do me a fucking favour. Let me bung some proper music on for a change. That racket’s doin’ me head in.’ He reached across to switch the radio to a rock station.
‘Racket?’ Tom shook his head in mock disbelief. ‘That’s Lang Lang playing Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring . I thought it was your favourite.’
‘Never heard of them. Any relation to the Ting Tings?’ Gavin gave a sly smile. ‘I’m guessing they’re French. You have
‘OK,’ she said. ‘I can accept that you’re a soldier and you love your work, and that your mates are as close to you as your family, or maybe even closer, but does everything have to be quite so macho? This is the twenty-first century, not the Stone Age. Does any display of affection or tenderness, any interestin life outside the SAS really have to be taken as a sign of weakness? And would the world end if just once you said, “Sorry, I can’t make it,” when your friends or your precious Regiment asked you to do something?’
‘You and the Regiment are the two most important things in my life, Delphine,’ Tom said. ‘You know I love you, really I do, and I hope that we’ll have a life together long after I’ve left Hereford, but please don’t ask me right now to choose between you and the work I do.’
‘Because I wouldn’t like the choice you’d make?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘No,’ Delphine said. ‘You didn’t have to.’
They sat in silence for a while. ‘Anyway,’ he said brightly, putting down his mug on the nearest pile of hotel trade mags, ‘the trial by ordeal with my parents is over, and we don’t have to go back there any time soon.’
‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’d go if you wanted to.’
‘Well,’ he gave a sly smile, ‘perhaps we will in a few months, if we’re still together by then.’
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I could probably be doing a lot better for myself.’
He gave her a quizzical look, then broke into a broad grin.
At the end of her six-month posting at the Green Dragon, Delphine had applied for an extension, and done so again six months later, even though it was against the wishes and advice of her boss. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t want to move on, after all her hard work.
In the end he’d extracted a promise that this would be her last six months, which was now almost up. But tonight, when Tom arrived, there was a more pressing situation she was desperate to discuss. Her future with Tom or, rather, the lack of it. The mistress had won. So much so that, for the last few weeks, every time she had tried to do so, something had cropped up at the Lines: Tom had been called in for a briefing, for training, a deployment, an operation, but often, she suspected, just to go out yet again with the lads.
But that was all history. She’d seen the news on TV. The speculation that the SAS had been involved in the mysterious explosions in Hampstead earlier in the day was probably right. Tom was heading back to Hereford and should be with her soon – maybe. She’d booked a table for dinner at the pub in Fownhope. She’d asked for the same table as they’d had on the night of their first date, even asked for a bottle of the same wine to be on the table waiting for him.
19
TOM AND GAVIN had just turned off the M4 at Swindon. It would be another hour and a half before they got back to Hereford.
Gavin sighed, fidgeted some more, then took his feet down from the dash. ‘Mate, do me a fucking favour. Let me bung some proper music on for a change. That racket’s doin’ me head in.’ He reached across to switch the radio to a rock station.
‘Racket?’ Tom shook his head in mock disbelief. ‘That’s Lang Lang playing Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring . I thought it was your favourite.’
‘Never heard of them. Any relation to the Ting Tings?’ Gavin gave a sly smile. ‘I’m guessing they’re French. You have
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