The South Lawn Plot Read Online Free PDF Page B

eagle.”
    He decided to pour himself a small whiskey to warm up his damp bones. This entailed stepping into the kitchen and retrieving both the bottle and a glass from an old pine dresser.
    â€œI was down on the beach taking photographs and the damp went right through me,” Pender said by way of making conversation.
    The old man was holding potatoes under a thin stream of water flowing from the faucet and scrubbing them with bony hands.
    â€œI'm going to have a drop; fancy one yourself?”
    â€œLater,” said the old man.
    There was no arguing.
    Pender was determined not to retreat. A high stool was backed up against the wall at the opposite end of the narrow kitchen from where the old man stood.
    Pender poured himself a generous measure of whiskey. He reached into the ancient refrigerator's icebox and chipped out a couple of cubes. He sat on the stool and watched the old man who was now cutting up a thick piece of steak he had taken from one of the plastic bags.
    â€œMaking an Irish stew?” said Pender.
    The old man was cutting the steak into squares. “Just a stew,” he said.
    Pender stared into his glass.
    â€œEamonn must have gone for a walk up the mountain,” he said.
    â€œMr. Manning likes his walks,” the old man replied, more quickly this time.
    The old man was cracking a bit, Pender thought.
    â€œI suppose his father liked to walk the mountain as well,” he said.
    â€œDid,” came the reply.
    That was about it. The old man made a fuss of digging out a large cooking pot from the space below the sink.
    Pender decided to retreat into the living room. He stood and considered the kind of job he had been given. If it required the use of a diplomat based in Washington he imagined that his target would be either political or diplomatic; hopefully not his host but, of course, what could one do if it was?
    Then again, it might be a business type. Diplos met all sorts of people. Manning would more likely be the means of access and introduction, the Trojan Horse.
    Would the horse have to be disposed of at the end of the operation? He stared intently at his hand holding the glass. Not a tremor. The liquid was absolutely still. He was curious as to what was coming next. But for now he would just relax and enjoy a little Irish hospitality.

5
    M ANNING STARED THROUGH THE WINDOW . His guest was somewhere out in the murk. The ambassador had asked him to entertain Pender. And so he had, for two long days.
    It wasn't that Pender was dull, or uneasy company. But Manning had not flown the Atlantic to socialize.
    He had planned the visit to the house for months. It was to be a final immersion in his father's private space before the place was put on the market. But it hadn't been so simple. He had been foolish to think that simply because of his father's death the old man's presence would somehow evaporate. Adjourning to the town and considering matters from the safe distance of a hotel would have been an alternative.
    But now there was Pender, lost somewhere below in the gloom.
    Still, Manning thought, his guest would be gone tomorrow and he could manage to wangle another couple of days leave from the embassy, time enough to make final plans. And besides, there was the sudden complication. The thought of it made him look again at his watch. What the hell did they want now?
    He tried to clear his mind by thinking of other things, of Rebecca, Jessica, even work at the embassy. But he had found solace only by turning his mind back, to his father, here in this place, and earlier still to the boarding school in the midlands, the one with the farm, ivy covered walls and scholar monks who were either three quarters genius, or two thirds mad.
    The place had been his home for six years. There had been days of late when he wanted to be back there, closeted behind the muscular traditions and the embracing certainty of history essays and Latin preparation.
    But thoughts of schools days had