'Who arranged that insurance?' Marjorie asked.

'Lord Stratton and I and the insurance brokers.'

'Very well,' Marjorie said crisply, 'I put forward a motion that the Colonel arranges a contract for the tent on the terms proposed. And Ivan will second it.'

Ivan, galvanised, said vaguely, 'Oh? Yes, rather.'

'Conrad?' Marjorie challenged him.

'Well... I suppose so.'

'Carried,' Marjorie said.

'I object,' Keith seethed.

'Your objection is noted,' Marjorie said. 'Colonel, summon the tent.'

Roger turned the leaves of my phone book and spoke to Henry.

'Very well done, Colonel!' Marjorie congratulated him warmly when all was arranged. 'This place could not function without you.'

Conrad looked defeated; Ivan, bewildered; and Keith, murderous.

Jack, Hannah and Dart, minor players, put no thoughts into words.

The brief ensuing pause in the proceedings came to an end with the arrival of two more cars, one containing, it transpired, two senior policemen with an explosives expert, and the other, Conrad's demolition man and a heavily moustached manifestation of local authority.

The Strattons, as a flock, migrated into the open air.

Roger wiped a hand over his face and said service in Northern Ireland had been less of a strain.

'Do you think we had an Irish bomb here?' I said.

He looked startled but shook his head. 'The Irish boast of it. No one so far has done any crowing. And this one wasn't aimed at people, don't forget. The Irish bombers aim to maim.'

'So who?'

'Crucial question. I don't know. And you don't need to say it... this may not be the end.'

'What about guards?'

'I've press ganged my groundsmen. There are relays of them in pairs patrolling the place.' He patted the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. 'They're reporting all the time to my foreman. If anything looks wrong, he'll report it to me.'

The newly-arrived policemen came into the office and introduced themselves as a detective chief inspector and a detective sergeant. An accompanying intense looking young man was vaguely and anonymously introduced as an explosives expert, a defuser of bombs. It was he who asked most of the questions.

I answered him simply, describing where the det cord had been and how it had looked.

'You and your young son both knew at once what it was?'

'We'd both seen it before.'

'And how close to each other were the charges in the walls?'

'About three feet apart. In some places, less.'

'And how extensive or widespread?'

'All round the stairwell and the landing walls on at least two floors. Perhaps more.'

'We understand you're a builder. How long, do you think, it would have taken you personally to drill the holes for the charges?'

'Each hole? Some of the walls were brick, some were composition, like breeze-block, all of them plastered and painted. Thick and load bearing, but soft, really. You'd hardly need a hammer-drill, even. The holes would probably have to be five inches deep, about an inch in diameter given a wide drill bit and electricity, I could do perhaps two a minute if I was in a hurry.' I paused. 'Threading the holes with det cord and packing them with explosives obviously takes longer. I've been told you need to compress and tamp it all in very carefully with something wooden, no sparks, like a broom handle.'

'Who told you?'

'Demolitions people.'

The chief inspector asked, 'How are you so sure the walls were made of brick and breeze-block? How could you possibly tell, if they were plastered and painted?'

I thought back. 'On the floor beneath each charge there was a small pile of dust caused by drilling the hole. Some piles were pink brick dust, others were grey.'

'You had time to see that?'

'I remember it. At the time, it just made it certain that there was a good deal of explosive rammed into those walls.'

The expert said, 'Did you look to see where the circuit began or ended?'

I shook my head. 'I was trying to find my son.'

'And did you see anyone else at all in the vicinity of the stands near that time?'

'No. No one.'

They asked me and Roger to walk with them as far as the safety cordon, so that we could explain to the expert where the staircase and walls had been before the explosion. The expert, it seemed, would then put on a protective suit and a hard hat and go in wherever he could to take a look from the inside.

'Rather you than me,' I commented.

They watched the best I could do at walking with them. When we reached the point of maximum visual bad news, the bomb-defusing expert looked upwards to the fingers of the Stewards' box and down to my walking frame. He put on his large head-sheltering hat and gave me a twisting self-mocking smile.

'I'm old in my profession,' he said.

'How old?'

'Twenty-eight.'

I said, 'All of a sudden, I can't feel a thing.'

His smile broadened. 'People sometimes get lucky.'

'Good luck, then,' I said.

CHAPTER 8.

'You know what?' Roger said to me.

'What?'

We were standing on the tarmac a little apart from the policemen but still looking at the rubble.

'I'd think our demolitionist got more bang for his bucks than he intended.'

'How do you mean?'

He said, 'High explosives are funny things. Unpredictable, often. They weren't my speciality in the army, but of course most soldiers learn about them. There's always a tendency to use too much explosive for the job in hand, just to make sure of effective results.' He smiled briefly. 'A colleague of mine had to blow up a bridge, once. Just to blow a hole in it, to put it out of action. He over-estimated how much explosive it would take, and the whole thing totally disintegrated into invisible dust which was carried away in the river below. Not a thing left. Everyone thought he'd done a brilliant job, but he was laughing about it in private. I I wouldn't have known how much to use to cause this much damage here in the grandstands. And I've been thinking that whoever did it probably meant only to put the stairway out of action. I mean... setting all those careful charges rounds its walls... if he'd meant to destroy the whole stand, why not use one single large bomb? Much easier. Less chance of being spotted setting it up. See what I mean?' wouldn't have known how much to use to cause this much damage here in the grandstands. And I've been thinking that whoever did it probably meant only to put the stairway out of action. I mean... setting all those careful charges rounds its walls... if he'd meant to destroy the whole stand, why not use one single large bomb? Much easier. Less chance of being spotted setting it up. See what I mean?'

'Yes, I do.'

He glanced directly at my face. 'Look,' he said awkwardly, 'I know it's not my business, but wouldn't you be better lying down in your bus?'

'I'll go if I have to.'

He nodded.

'Otherwise,' I said, 'it's better to have other things to think about.'

He was happy with that. 'Just say, then.'

'Yes. Thanks.'

The Strattons were suddenly all round us. Dart said in my car, 'Conrad's architect has come. Now for some fireworks!' I looked at his impish enjoyment. 'Did Keith really kick kick you?' he asked. 'Ivan says I missed a real pretty sight by a few seconds.' you?' he asked. 'Ivan says I missed a real pretty sight by a few seconds.'

'Too bad. Where's the architect?'

'That man beside Conrad.'

'And is he a blackmailer?'

'G.o.d knows. Ask Keith.'

He knew as well as I did that I wouldn't ask Keith anything.

'I reckon Keith made that up,' Dart said. 'He's a terrible bar. He can't tell the truth.'

'And Conrad? Does he lie?'

'My father?' Dart showed no anger at the possible slur. 'My father tells the truth on principle. Or else from lack of imagination. Take your pick.'

'The twins at the fork in the road,' I said.

'What the heck are you talking about?'

'Tell you later.'

Marjorie was saying formidably, 'We do not not need an architect.' need an architect.'

'Face facts,' Conrad pleaded. 'Look at this radical destruction. It's a heaven-sent opportunity to build something meaningful.'

Build something meaningful. The words vibrated in memory. Build something meaningful had been one of the precepts repeated ad nauseam ad nauseam by a lecturer at college. by a lecturer at college.

I looked carefully at Conrad's architect, turning the inward eye back more than sixteen years. Conrad's architect, I slowly realised, had been a student like myself at the Architectural a.s.sociation School of Architecture: senior to me, one of the elite, a disciple of the future. I remembered his face and his glittering prospects, and I'd forgotten his name.

Roger left my side and went across to put in a presence at the MarjorieConrad conflict, a hopeless position for a manager. Conrad's architect nodded to him coolly, seeing Roger as critic, not ally.

Dart, waving a hand towards the rubble, asked me, 'What do you think they should do?'

'I, personally?'

'Yes.'

'They don't care what I think.'

'But I'm curious.'

'I think they should spend their time finding out who did it, and why.'

'But the police will do that.'

'Are you saying that the family doesn't want to find out?'

Dart said, alarmed, 'Can you see through brick?'

'Why don't they want to know? I wouldn't think it safe not to.'

'Marjorie will do anything to keep family affairs private,' Dart said. 'She's worse than Grandfather, and he would pay the earth to keep the Stratton name clean.'

Keith must have cost them a packet, I thought, from my own mother onwards; and I wondered fleetingly again what Forsyth could have done to cause them such angst.

Dart looked at his watch. 'Twenty to twelve,' he said. 'I'm fed up with all this. What do you say to the Mayflower?'

On reflection I said yes to the Mayflower, and without fanfare retreated with him to the green six-year-old Granada with rusted near wings. Harold Quest, it seemed, never interfered with exits. We made an unhindered pa.s.sage to imitation AD 1620, where Dart accepted a half-pint and I also ordered fifteen fat rounds of cheese, tomato, ham and lettuce home-made sandwiches and a quart tub of ice cream.

'You can't be that that hungry!' Dart exclaimed. hungry!' Dart exclaimed.