Daniel Martin Read Online Free PDF Page B

reeds.’
    ‘Good God.’
    The student called Mark, who is several years older than the other two, tanned, a moustache, clear grey eyes, known only to Daniel as some obscure crony of Andrew Randall, who has obscure cronies everywhere, stands and steps ashore.
    ‘You’re sure?’
    ‘Absolutely. We ran right into it. Over it.’
    Andrew comes beside them. ‘Where’s Jane?’
    ‘Just back there. She’s okay. Just shocked.’
    Mark says, ‘We’d better go and see.’
    ‘Hang on, dear boy.’ Andrew scrambles back into the punt, rummages in a coat, comes out with a silver and leather flask. The three stride quickly back along the bank. Jane looks up. Andrew goes down beside her, uncapping the flask.
    ‘Try a drop of this, Jane.’
    ‘It’s all right now.’
    ‘Orders. Just a sippington.’
    She takes the flask, swallows, chokes momentarily. Mark glances at Daniel.
    ‘You’d better show me where it is.’
    ‘It’s a bloody awful sight.’
    The grey eyes are dry. ‘I landed at Anzio, old man. And have you ever seen a long-drowned sheep?’
    ‘For Christ’s sake, we were right on top of the ‘
    ‘Yes. Well let’s make sure.’
    Daniel hesitates, then follows him down the bank to where the reeds stretch across the water.
    ‘About there.’ He points. ‘In the middle.’
    Mark kicks off his shoes and climbs down into the reeds, parts them, then takes a cautious step forward. His leg sinks. He feels for footing further out. Daniel looks round. Jane is standing now in the long grass, watching from forty yards away. Andrew walks towards him, holding out the flask. Daniel shakes his head. The reeds close behind Mark, half-masking him, as he sinks above his knees. Daniel stares at a tuft of purple hyssop on the bank. Two shimmering blue demoiselle dragonflies with ink-stained wings flutter over the flowers, then drift away. Somewhere further up the cut a moorhen croaks. All he can see now is little interstitial glimpses of Mark’s blue shirt between the dense green stems that have closed behind his passage; the susurrus, the squelches and splashes.
    Beside him Andrew murmurs, ‘Bet you a fiver she’s a tart. Our gallant American allies again.’ Then he says, ‘Mark?’
    ‘Roger. I’ve found it.’
    But Mark says nothing more. He seems to spend an inexplicable time hidden there in the reeds, silent; occasionally a reed-head bends sideways. In the end he comes heavily back, then clambers up on the grass, wet to the loins, his feet cased in black mud, a stench of stagnancy; and something sweeter in the air, hideous. He grimaces at the two others, glances back towards where Jane is, speaks in a low voice.
    ‘She’s been dead some time. Stocking round her neck. Her hair’s full of maggots.’ He reaches down and tears off a handful of grass and brushes the worst of the mud away. ‘We’d better steam on up to the Victoria. Get the constabulary.’
    ‘I say, what a bore. I was just getting into silage. To say nothing of the champers.’
    Daniel looks down, unamused. He senses in them both a contempt for him… the bohemian, the effete middleclass aesthete. It is as if be is being cheated of his own discovery. But he did not land at Anzio; or indeed see any action at all during his two years’ wasted time in the army. They walk back towards Jane. Mark takes command.
    ‘You two’d better wait here till the coppers turn up. I should take our mooring. And for God’s sake keep everyone away. They won’t want anyone else trampling around. Come on, Andrew.’
    Andrew smiles at Daniel. ‘You owe me a fiver, old chap.’
    ‘I didn’t take the bet.’
    And Daniel gets a momentary amused stare, the age-old quiz of the aristocrat. The flask is held out.
    ‘Sure you won’t have a nip? Look a bit pale round the gills.’
    Daniel curtly shakes his head. Andrew blows a light kiss to Jane, then sets out after his friend.
    Daniel mutters, ‘My God, I believe they’re actually enjoying it.’
    ‘Who’s the other