The Salt Marsh Read Online Free PDF Page A

Greenwich Park. Why hadn’t she noticed before? Roger the Todger, they used to call him. They couldn’t any more, at least not within earshot of Liz. Partner was the coy term her mother used. Liz turned to her youngest daughter as she made her way into the front room.
    â€˜Sam.’
    There was guilt in Liz’s enunciation.
    â€˜Mum.’
    â€˜I was worried you wouldn’t arrive in time for me to say goodbye.’
    â€˜Goodbye?’
    â€˜We’re heading to the airport. The flight leaves early afternoon.’
    â€˜Aren’t you coming to the graveyard?’
    â€˜I can’t.’
    â€˜I thought you were leaving for Greece tomorrow. That’s why I arranged the memorial service two days early. To fit in with your plans.’ She hoped that sounded like an accusation. It provoked a marginally defensive response.
    â€˜Roger found some cheaper tickets. If it were just a holiday, I would have waited. But it’s work and all the travel costs come out of the research grant.’
    In the fuzzy margins of her vision, Roger was gliding closer. She ignored him.
    â€˜How is a cruise around the Greek Islands connected to your research on Marlowe?’
    Roger intervened. ‘Not Marlowe. We are doing a joint project on Milton.’
    She sidestepped, inserted her back between him and her mother. Milton was an uncharacteristic departure for Liz – she usually went for spies of sorts. Marlowe, Jim. Even Roger had once worked for the Special Boat Service. There was nothing to suggest Milton had ever been a spy, although he had worked as a political propagandist for Oliver Cromwell.
    â€˜Milton? Isn’t he a bit... boring?’
    â€˜Hidden depths.’ Liz said it without looking at Sam.
    â€˜Really? I still don’t see the Greek connection.’
    Roger edged around Sam, pressed his hand against the base of Liz’s spine and propelled her in the direction of the door. The possessiveness of the gesture made Sam want to puke.
    â€˜We’d better go,’ he said.
    â€˜
Paradise Lost.
Classical references,’ Liz said. She was halfway through the door. ‘The Fall. I’ll phone to see how it went with your father.’
    Your father. Two years after his death and Liz still referred to Jim as ‘your father’ when he irritated her. She hovered on the threshold.
    â€˜Speaking of your father, Harry called.’
    â€˜Harry?’ She couldn’t disguise the shock. Liz seemed oblivious.
    â€˜He said he needed to talk to you.’
    â€˜Oh.’ She managed to say the oh casually, despite her panic. Why would Harry want to speak to her? Now? Perhaps she had summoned him up by digging out his photograph. Then it occurred to her that it could have been Harry who whistled down the telephone line; a signal she would know. A comforting explanation for the eerie call – she’d hold on to that.
    â€˜What’s Harry doing these days?’ she asked Liz. ‘Isn’t he working for some weird part of Intelligence?’
    â€˜Intelligence? How would I know? He was your father’s friend. Yours as well, it seems. The three of you...’
    Liz opened her handbag, faffed, pulled out a slip of paper, snapped the bag shut, handed the scrap to Sam.
    â€˜Here’s his number. I hope you’re not involved in anything stupid.’ Liz hauled her suitcase over the threshold. ‘Roger says he thinks you can be a bit naïve sometimes.’
    â€˜He what?’
    Her mother shut the door.
    *
    Helen and Jess lounged on the floor, dark hair curtaining pale faces, a cross of cards laid out between them. Sam was sandier than her sisters, khaki eyes to their sapphire blue, but you could tell they were related. Shared attitude if nothing else; the wayward sisters. Jess still lived at home, doing shifts at the local frozen-food supermarket, meagre earnings spent on her chopper that she used on weekend runs with the Outlaws, the local