We Shall Not Sleep Read Online Free PDF

the war would be a blessing for Hannah. At last she would be able to sleep without nightmares about Archie, or about her eldest son joining up, as he was so keen to do before it was too late to fight for his country.
    Matthew ate the sandwiches slowly. The cheese was a little stale, but the chutney masked it. He thought about having a whisky, and knew tea would be better. It was too easy to let one whisky become a second, and a third.
    For Judith the end of the war would be quite different. Suddenly she would be purposeless again, a single woman nearly thirty, in a marriage market almost bereft of young men. Those there would want someone more comfortable to be with: less passionate than Judith, less demanding, possibly even less brave or clever. The nation was tired. Beauty, even like hers, was good to look at, but disturbing and exhausting to keep. What would she do with all that fire that burned inside her?
    He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of the doorbell. It startled him, and it rang again before he stood up and walked into the hallway to answer. Even then he hesitated. He spent very little time in his flat. He worked long and irregular hours, and when he had a day or two off he went home to Cambridgeshire. It was most unusual to receive a visitor here.
    He opened the door slowly, keeping his weight at least half behind it so he could force it shut hard if necessary.
    "Major Reavley." It was a statement, not a question. The bland face of the man in front of him held no doubt at all. He was of average height, his hair dark but thinning, his brows colorless, his features unremarkable, except possibly for his eyes. They were steady and penetrating. He wore the drab suit and white dog collar of a man of the church.
    "Yes?" Matthew answered without moving to allow him in.
    The man smiled very slightly, more with his eyes than his mouth. "I have a message for you that might have very little meaning for anyone else, but if it fell into the wrong hands could cost me my life," he said quietly. "Very much more important, if it did not reach you, it could alter the peace that faces us. The outcome of the war is now inevitable, but what follows it is not. There is still much to play for." This time the smile reached his lips as well. "I daresay it is just as cold inside, but it will be more discreet."
    .For Matthew there was only one decision possible. "Come in," he offered, stepping back and allowing the man to pass him before closing the door again and making sure the lock was fast. "If you are cold, perhaps you would like tea, or whisky? How about a sandwich? It's only cheese and chutney, but the chutney is good."
    "Thank you. I have little time. I do not dare wait here too long, but a sandwich would be welcome." The man had a very slight accent, as if German was his native tongue.
    Matthew boiled the kettle again while he made a sandwich, and then took the plate and tea together. "What is your message?" he asked, sitting down opposite the man. In the light from the lamp it was clear that he was well into his forties, and there were lines of strain and weariness in his face, especially around his eyes and mouth. "Is there any point in asking your name?"
    "Not really. I am only a messenger," the man replied, swallowing hungrily.
    "Army chaplain, by your clothes," Matthew remarked. "Does that mean anything?"
    "No. It's just a convenient way to travel. But like you, I have a brother who is, or was. He was killed on the Somme last year."
    "I'm sorry." Matthew meant it. He could imagine losing a brother very easily. He always read casualty lists. He had nightmares about it.
    The man finished the whole sandwich and drank the last of the tea before speaking again. "Thank you. I imagine you are still interested in knowing the identity of the Peacemaker, as I believe you have called him?"
    Matthew felt the sweat stand out on his skin, and yet inside he was suddenly cold. No outsider could know the name they had given him. Who