The Gulf Conspiracy

NINE

Steven called Jane Sebring from home and asked if he could come and see her on the following day.

‘You’ve seen Martin Hendry?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he tell you anything?’

‘He couldn’t; he was dead.’

‘Oh my God. How? What happened?’

‘It looked like suicide,’ said Steven, thinking that this really wasn’t a lie. It did. The Scottish police, as far as he knew, had not yet stated that they were treating Hendry’s death as murder so he couldn’t openly suggest otherwise. He had an ulterior motive in that he had no wish to scare Jane Sebring into silence by telling her that another person had been murdered over something her husband had been involved in.’

‘So you are no further forward in finding out who killed George or why?’ said Jane.

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Then I don’t understand why you want to see me again,’ said Jane.

‘I just thought if we talked for a while you might remember something that you hadn’t thought of as being important before,’ said Steven.

‘You’re driving up from London?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come for lunch.’

Steven thanked her and agreed to be there by one o’clock. As he put down the phone, he found that he was very much looking forward to seeing Jane Sebring again.

The woman whom Steven remembered dressed in black and behaving with such poise and dignity at her husband’s funeral opened the door wearing jeans, sandals and a halter neck blouse. Her long fair hair was hanging loose and she pushed it away from her face as she said, ‘The bloody cat’s just been sick on the floor. Come on in; I’ll be with you in a moment. Help yourself to a drink.’

Steven was left alone in the room they had all been in after Sebring’s funeral. It seemed much bigger now that it was empty of mourners and smelt of leather and furniture polish rather than the heady mix of perfume and flowers. There was a tray sitting on a walnut dresser with a number of drinks bottles on it so he poured himself a gin and tonic. He considered shouting through to ask if his hostess would like something but, as he couldn’t hear any nearby sounds, he decided that she was probably out of earshot. He sipped his drink and looked out at the garden where he had walked and talked with Sebring’s mother.

‘Sorry about that,’ said Jane as she returned. ‘It’s dry food for Moggie from now on. He can turn up his nose all he wants to but that’s what he’s getting. Nice to see you again.’

‘You too,’ said Steven, shaking hands with her.

‘I thought we might eat outside,’ said Jane. ‘It would be a shame to waste a day like this. What d’you think?’

‘Sounds good,’ said Steven.

‘You can either wait here or give me a hand in the kitchen. What would you prefer?’

‘I’ll help but I warn you, I know nothing about cooking,’ said Steven. He followed Jane through the house to a bright, modern kitchen with open patio doors leading out into the back garden.

‘We’re having lasagne and salad,’ said Jane. ‘You can do the dressing.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ said Steven.

‘You’ll find a small bowl in that cupboard above the sink,’ said Jane with a wave of her hand, clearly used to taking charge. ‘You’ll find balsamic vinegar and virgin olive oil among these bottles on the island.’

‘Now what?’ asked Steven after finding them.

‘Two tablespoons of each into the bowl and mix thoroughly. When you’re happy with it, drizzle it over the salad.’ She pushed a large bowl of salad towards him. ‘That’s all there is to it. Easy huh?’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Steven, feeling absurdly pleased to have mastered a new skill.

‘If you take it outside, I’ll bring out the lasagne,’ said Jane, putting on oven gloves and bending down to open the over door of the Aga.

‘Yes ma’am,’ said Steven, taking the bowl outside and putting it down in the middle of the round wooden table sitting on the patio.

‘We’ll need knives and forks,’ Jane called to him from inside. ‘Third drawer from the end on your left as you come in.’ She made another vague gesture with her arm. Steven collected the cutlery and returned to set the table.’

‘Well done,’ said Jane with a smile as she arrived carrying the lasagne.

‘Why, thank you,’ said Steven slightly tongue in cheek.

‘Oh dear, you think I’m bossy, don’t you?’ said Jane.

‘Yes,’ replied Steven matter of factly.

‘Sorry,’ said Jane with a grin.

‘I’m not complaining,’ smiled Steven back.

‘I’m a teacher,’ said Jane. ‘I tend to treat everyone like class 4b.’

‘What do you teach?’

‘English. This salad dressing is perfect by the way,’ said Jane, picking up a piece of lettuce with her fingers and popping it in her mouth. ‘You’re a natural.’

Steven laughed out loud and pointed out that he had only mixed a plus b as directed.

‘That’s probably enough to get your own TV show these days,’ said Jane. ‘How come you never learned to cook?’

‘Old fashioned family,’ said Steven. ‘Mum did all the cooking. I tried when I was at university but it always turned out a complete disaster so I tended to live on bacon and egg and beans and toast then I joined the army — so once again someone else did the cooking.’

‘You were an army doctor?’

‘Sort of.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Field medicine.’

‘Ah,’ said Jane. ‘You were an operational medic and you’ve no intention of telling me any more about your daring exploits. Right?’

‘You could say.’

‘Why is it the men I meet always have secrets to keep?’ asked Jane.

‘Maybe all men have secrets,’ said Steven.

‘You know what I mean,’ said Jane. ‘Real secrets, government secrets, military secrets.’

‘I can see it must have been difficult having a husband with a secret past,’ said Steven.

‘I don’t know that difficult is the right word,’ said Jane. ‘But it was certainly something that was always there between us. I’d see his mood change and not know why but it was because he was thinking about something that I couldn’t ask about, or if I did, something he couldn’t tell me.’

‘Maybe he should have,’ said Steven.

‘You clearly didn’t know George,’ said Jane.

‘No I didn’t,’ said Steven. ‘Tell me about him.’

‘George was an everything-by-the-book sort of a man. Rules and regulations were the cornerstones of his life,’ said Jane. ‘A more honest, dependable, loyal, dutiful employee never walked this earth. If George’s superiors said something was secret then George would carry that secret with him to the grave.’ Jane winced at her own mention of the word grave as if she’d suddenly realised that that was exactly where George was.

Steven was afraid that she might change the subject so he said, ‘But he did decide to talk to Martin Hendry?’

‘Yes he did,’ agreed Jane distantly. ‘After all these years and all that his damned past had done to us he finally chose a complete stranger to unburden himself to. A certain irony there, don’t you think?’ She paused and re-charged Steven’s wine glass before pouring what remained of the bottle of Riesling into her own.

‘Pudding?’ she asked.

‘Er, yes,’ said Steven, unprepared for Jane’s sudden change from wistfulness to concerned hostess.

‘I’ve made a lemon tart and, although I say it myself, it is spectacular,’ she said, getting up from the table and disappearing inside. She returned with two large portions of lemon tart and a jug of cream.

‘You weren’t joking!’ exclaimed Steven as he tried a mouthful. ‘This is wonderful!’

‘Told you,’ said Jane, making him smile.

When they’d both finished, Jane suggested that it might be more comfortable if they sat on the garden swing — a chintz-covered couch mounted on a metal swinging frame beneath a canopy of the same material and positioned between two silver birch trees.

‘That was a delicious lunch,’ said Steven as he settled down on to it.

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ said Jane, sitting down beside him. ‘God, this weather’s so nice,’ she said, leaning back and closing her eyes. ‘If only it was like this more often. I think we bought this swing two years ago and used it about four times in all.’

‘Makes you appreciate it all the more when it happens,’ said Steven. ‘We’d get bored if it was like this all the time.’

‘Do you really believe that?’ asked Jane.

‘No,’ replied Steven and they both laughed.

‘You mentioned something earlier about what George’s secrets had done to you?’ Steven said gently. ‘What did you mean by that?’

Jane kept her eyes closed and remained silent for a few moments. Steven watched the sunlight flicker on her eyelids as the swing moved slowly to and fro. He suspected she was considering whether she should say any more or not.

‘When I first met George he told me that he’d worked at Porton Down some years before — I must say I hadn’t even heard of the place at the time — and that he’d suffered a nervous breakdown. He told me that he’d recovered but that he was prone to bouts of depression. I felt it was no big deal and thought I knew what to expect. I suppose like all women in love I thought I could change things. I could make him happy and everything would be fine but, of course, I couldn’t and it wasn’t. George was moody: he had nightmares. He couldn’t — or wouldn’t — tell me why or what about so I just had to assume that it had something to do with his secret past. Gradually he lost interest in… the physical side of our married life so we ended up having separate bedrooms.’

‘I see,’ said Steven.

‘Don’t get me wrong, George was the kindest, most gentle man when he was well and we loved each other… in our own way; a bit like brother and sister I suppose in the last few years.’

‘You were going to adopt a child,’ said Steven.

‘We thought — I thought — it might help.’

‘Compensate for not having any of your own?’

‘I suppose. The frustrating thing for me was that there was nothing physically wrong with George. It was all psychosomatic. He just seemed to be on the mother and father of all guilt trips. He could just never relax enough to…’

‘Make love to you?’ said Steven softly, turning his head to look at Jane’s closed eyes. She opened them and turned to face him. ‘Yes,’ she said.

At that moment every other thought in Steven’s head gave way to an overwhelming desire to kiss Jane Sebring and he did, very gently. It was every bit as beautiful as he thought it might be, her mouth was warm and inviting and the fact that she did not draw away made it all the more exciting.

‘I always knew drinking at lunch time was a bad idea,’ said Jane as they moved apart.

‘Steven kissed the side of her neck.

‘This is silly,’ murmured Jane. ‘I hardly know you… and George has only been dead for…’

‘Several years by the sound of it,’ said Steven. ‘That was sheer selfishness on his part. He shouldn’t have made his guilt yours. You are a beautiful woman; it’s a perfect summer’s day and my only secret is that I want to make love to you.’

‘The really awful thing,’ murmured Jane as Steven continued to kiss her neck and run his tongue across her ear lobe. ‘Is that I want you to.’

‘Upstairs?’

After a moment’s hesitation, Jane took Steven by the hand and led him up to her bedroom where sunshine was streaming in through the open window and the smell of fresh linen and newly-mown grass was heavy in the air. She lay down on the bed and turned to look at him, the look in her eyes giving him all the invitation he needed. He knelt astride her and removed her jeans and top before taking off his own clothes. He lay down beside her to run his hands over the curves of her body while his mouth sought hers. He unhooked her bra and moved down on her to suck on her nipples and tease them with his tongue, becoming increasingly aroused by the groans of pleasure that were coming from her.

Jane reached down and took his erect penis in her hands. She altered position to take it into her mouth and it was Steven’s turn to gasp with pleasure. He caught a glimpse of dust motes dancing in a sunbeam as he turned his head on the pillow, willing the minutes to become hours. Jane released him and swung her right leg over his to sit up astride him and look down at him. ‘I told you, I’m used to being in charge,’ she said.

‘We’ll see,’ replied Steven, gripping her buttocks firmly and pulling her up higher on him. She laughed and reached behind her to grip his penis with both hands while he cupped both her breasts in his hands and squeezed. ‘God, you really are beautiful,’ he murmured.

‘Why thank you, kind sir,’ said Jane.

Steven brought Jane up on him until she was sitting on his chest. She was still wearing her panties so he moved the silky crotch to one side to seek out her clit with his tongue.

‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ murmured Jane, reaching out in front of her with the palms of her hands to steady herself against the wall. ‘That is… is… bloody wonderful.’

At length Jane, sweat running down her face and breathing heavily, looked down at Steven and said, ‘Much as I’m learning to love your tongue, I think something more substantial is called for.’ She rolled over and spread her legs, taking Steven’s penis in her hand and guiding him into her as he rolled on top.

‘Now that is good,’ she gasped as he filled her up. ‘Very good.’

‘Bloody wonderful,’ murmured Steven, thrusting into her in a slow rhythmic grind.

‘I’m going to feel so guilty…’

‘Fuck feeling guilty,’ whispered Steven.

‘No… fuck me,’ gasped Jane.

At length and without withdrawing from her, Steven reached down and pulled Jane’s left leg across between them so that she was turned onto her right shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’ she giggled.

‘Something I always do to bossy women,’ he replied. ‘Fuck them sideways.’

Jane giggled.

As they lay together in complete calm with the birds singing outside in the garden and the leaves rustling in the soft summer breeze that played with the curtains, Jane whispered. ‘That was outrageous.’

‘Was it that bad?’ murmured Steven.

‘Don’t be obtuse,’ said Jane, poking him in the ribs. ‘You know damn well it wasn’t. But now comes the guilt. We really shouldn’t have.’

‘Don’t look forward and don’t look back. Live life as it happens.’

‘A philosopher,’ said Jane.

‘More disillusioned realist,’ said Steven.

Jane rolled on to her front and traced circles on Steven’s chest with her forefinger. ‘Well, Dr Dunbar, I suppose your interview is now at an end?’

‘Do you want it to be?’

‘No,’ said Jane softly.

‘Then let’s shower, dress, go walk in the sunshine and find a place by a river that’ll serve us strawberries and cream under a weeping willow.’

Jane looked at Steven’s smiling face and recited wistfully, ‘When he came in she was there. When she looked at him, he smiled. There were lights in time’s wave breaking on an eternal shore…’

Steven ran his fingers gently through her hair.

‘Bet you don’t know who wrote that?’ said Jane.

Steven looked at her as if he were about to agree then he said, ‘There were fathoms in her too, and sometimes he crossed them and landed and was not repulsed.’

‘Oh my God,’ exclaimed Jane, resting her head on Steven’s chest. ‘A literate lover. Now I know there is a God.’

Jane returned from the shower with a white towel wrapped round her. It emphasised her smooth, tanned shoulders. She was carrying another towel, which she tossed to Steven saying, ‘Your turn.’

When he returned Jane had put on a summer frock and was trying on a large brimmed sun hat. He thought she looked like a figure from a French impressionist painting.

‘What d’you think?’ she asked. ‘Over the top?’

‘Beautiful,’ he replied, coming towards her and circling his arms round her from behind.

‘We’ve done that bit,’ she said, holding up her hands. ‘If we start that again we’re never going to get out of here.’

‘Would that be so bad?’ said Steven, coming closer.

‘No…’ murmured Jane. ‘But I do love strawberries…’

It was well after six in the evening before they got back to the house. ‘That was a wonderful afternoon,’ sighed Jane as she slumped down into a chair and kicked her shoes off.

‘I enjoyed it too,’ said Steven, sitting down opposite her and smiling at the way she was sitting in the chair, arms and legs akimbo. ‘If 4b could only see you now.’

‘Bugger 4b,’ replied Jane, looking up at the ceiling. ‘What now, Prince Charming?’

‘We sit in the garden with our eyes closed and listen to the birds herald the end of the day, then we shower, get changed and go out to dinner at a good restaurant, which you will choose. We’ll sip chilled wine from crystal glasses and tell each other things that we’ve never told anyone else before.’

‘Before your regiment marches at dawn…’ said Jane.

‘No regiment,’ said Steven.

‘Oh day that I have loved…’ said Jane.

The sky was overcast next morning and there was a threat of rain in the air. It seemed to match their mood as they sat together having breakfast in the kitchen. The looks that passed between them said more than the small talk.

‘So how will you go about finding out what George worked on at Porton?’ asked Jane.

‘I already know,’ replied Steven. ‘At least I know the official version.’

‘You do?’ said Jane, sounding surprised.

‘He and the team he was assigned to were working on a vaccine against the HIV virus. That’s what the Ministry of Defence told my boss.’

‘A vaccine?’ said Jane. ‘Why would anyone have nightmares about making a vaccine?’

‘My thoughts too,’ said Steven.

‘Then you don’t believe them?’

‘Not a word of it,’ said Steven.

‘So what can you do?’ asked Jane.

‘I know you think it was Gus Maclean’s visit that pushed your husband over the edge and into making contact with the press but I’ve spoken to Maclean about that and he seemed to think your husband was already uptight about something when he arrived. He agrees his visit might have made things worse but he doesn’t think he was the root cause of the problem.’

‘I just remember it as being one shit awful day,’ said Jane. ‘Maybe Maclean’s right. It’s possible that George was having one of his days.’

‘This is really important,’ said Steven. ‘If something else happened to upset your husband that day, I have to know about it.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Jane, trying to think back. ‘But it’s hard to think what. He didn’t go out at all and no one else came to the house that day before Maclean.’

‘No telephone calls?’

‘None that I remember.’

‘E-mail?’

‘He always picked these up in his office at the university and the postman just brought a couple of bills I think. I remember he was absolutely fine at breakfast. He planned to spend the day marking essays at home. I had the day off because I had been supervising a school trip the previous weekend so we thought we’d have lunch together at the local pub. When the paperboy brought the morning paper I remember he made a joke about reading some facts before changing to fiction. He was sitting reading the paper and drinking coffee at the kitchen table when I left to go down to the local shops for some odds and ends.’

‘So you went out?’ said Steven.

‘Only for ten minutes or so,’ said Jane, then she added more thoughtfully, ‘But you’re right. I remember it now. His mood had changed when I got back from the shops. I asked him if he was feeling all right because he seemed very pale but he said it was nothing and went off to his study to start his marking.’

‘Did you go out to lunch as planned?’ asked Steven.

‘No we didn’t, come to think of it,’ said Jane. ‘When I asked him about it he said he’d changed his mind and didn’t feel like it after all.’

‘It was the paper,’ said Steven.

‘The paper?’

‘Something he read in the paper upset him,’ said Steven. ‘You said he was reading the paper when you left.’

‘But what?’ said Jane.

‘Can you remember the date?’ asked Steven.

‘It would be… Monday the 28^th,’ said Jane.

‘Time for a trip to the local library,’ said Steven. ‘What paper do you get?’

‘The Guardian.’

‘Want to come?’

‘Of course, this is fascinating.’

Jane gave Steven directions and they drove to the nearest public library where Steven used their computer reference facility to access back issues of the Guardian. He brought up the edition for June 28^th and after a few moments said, ‘There it is. It has to be this.’ He read out, ‘Gulf War Veterans slam Ministry of Defence over plans to use up old vaccine stocks.’ He paused to read it fully before saying, ‘The government were planning to use up old stocks of vaccine on the troops being put on alert for a new conflict in the Gulf. The veterans’ associations are up in arms because they believe that the vaccines were faulty in some way.’

‘Do you think one of them could have been the vaccine that George was supposed to have been working on?’ asked Jane.

Steven said not. ‘There would be no call to vaccinate the troops against AIDS,’ he said. ‘Apart from that, no one’s succeeded in coming up with such a vaccine as yet. The troops would be given the WHO recommended vaccines for the region: they would also be given protection against bacteria and viruses likely to be used as weapons — anthrax, plague and the like.’

‘So why should a story about using up old vaccine stocks have George running to the newspapers after keeping quiet for twelve years?’

‘Good question,’ murmured Steven. ‘But I’m pretty sure that it did.’

‘I suppose this would fit with the phone calls I heard George making immediately after Maclean’s visit,’ said Jane. ‘He kept asking the people he was calling why the government were doing something that he clearly thought they shouldn’t. He seemed to be getting more and more angry and frustrated about it all,’ said Jane.

‘This was before he called Martin Hendry at the Guardian?’

‘Yes.’

‘So George clearly did think that using old vaccine stocks was a bad idea.’ said Steven.

‘Surely it must have been something more than that to have made him go to the papers,’ said Jane.

‘A very bad idea?’ suggested Steven.

‘But why?’ said Jane.

‘Why indeed?’