Omega

Owain descended the steps and stood on the path. The house was of modest proportions, but surrounded by sturdy stone walls. Guards manned the front gates, smoking cigarettes and warming their hands on the slanted nose of an Echelon APC. A black Citroen staff car sat on the driveway, muddy slush now hardening to ice around its wheels. The old man must have had Rhys ferried in for the occasion. He set great store in family ties, the more so since his own direct bloodline had been extinguished. And Owainhad spoiled it all. But, try as he might, he couldn’t feel charitable towards Rhys. Why should he grow plump and pampered on the sacrifices of others?

Behind him the door opened again. His uncle came shuffling out.

“What on earth’s the matter with you?” he asked, more incomprehension than anger in his tone.

“I’m sorry,” Owain said again, taking care to stick to English. “I know you wanted it to be—” he tried to find a phrase—“like old times.”

The field marshal leant on his stick. “I don’t understand why there’s this bitterness between you, Owain. Care to enlighten me?”

How could he explain without saying that he considered Rhys a coward whose personal life he found repulsive?

“We’ve nothing in common,” he said.

“You used to be as thick as thieves.”

“That was a long time ago, sir.”

“He’s your brother. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“We live in different worlds. I can’t find it in me to respect what little I know of his.”

The field marshal shook his head. “You’re too hard on him, my boy. There’s a lot he’s not in a position to talk about. Not all of us are cut out to be men of action.”

“I can’t believe that his—activities have always been a credit to the family and in particular to your position, sir.”

Sir Gruffydd made a dismissive noise. “Which of us are free of peccadilloes, eh? Turn over any stone and you’ll find things crawling about underneath. It’s only human nature, after all.”

“That’s a very generous consideration, sir.”

“Set rank aside for a moment. This is a family gathering. Rhys is all you have apart from me. And I’m not always going to be around.”

His breathing was laboured in the sharp air. Owain said, “Is there something I should know, sir?”

The field marshal wasn’t looking at him. “We live in challenging times, Owain. There might come a day when you’ll need one another, when the ties of blood are the only thing you can be certain of. Could be sooner than later.”

He didn’t elaborate. Owain was unsure what to say, though he was conscious that Rhys and his uncle were his sole surviving relatives. When the o marsha was gone—then what?

Frustrated with taking a back seat, I made Owain blurt: “Are you dying?”

His uncle at first looked surprised. He gave a humourless laugh. “Aren’t we all?”

Owain squirmed with embarrassment: he couldn’t fathom what had possessed him to say this. In a sense it was cruel of me, but his uncle didn’t show the least sign of being offended. And there was a limit to my tolerance of Owain’s reticence.

I had also wanted to see if he finally knew I was there. But he viewed my interventions as maverick outbursts of his own.

“My dinner’s getting cold,” Sir Gruffydd said, going inside. “Clear your head and get back to the dinner table. Where you belong.”

Still feeling mortified, Owain walked around to the garden at the rear of the house. The walls obscured views of everything except the lowering sky. They were in Croissy, but it might have been anywhere.

Only the muted drone of the Echelon’s engine disturbed the silence. The garden was featureless, devoid of shrubbery. Its lawn had been swept and diminutive goalposts set up at either end. Near the centre spot several identical birds were rooting around, searching for something to eat.

“Redwings,” a voice said softly at his shoulder.

Rhys had come up behind him.

“Northern thrushes,” his brother went on. “Once upon a time they were rarely seen this far south.”

The usual irritation blossomed in Owain, swamping any feelings of shame. His brother had always been a pedant, always ready to flaunt his store of useless facts.

Owain turned slowly to face him. Rhys had only just come outside but already he was shivering, his hands clasped across his chest.

“What do you want?” Owain asked.

“I think we need to talk.”

“I’ve nothing left to say to you.”

“Perhaps you just need to listen.”

“To what? More empty boasting?”

Already his voice was raised again. Already Rhys was recoiling from it. I tried to calm him. They were saved from further embarrassment when Giselle appeared in the rear doorway and informed Owain that there was a telephone call for him.

The phone was in the lobby, an ancient shiny black Bakelite affair whose handset felt lead-weighted.

He put the receiver to his ear. There was the whoosh of static and below this a drowned, barely audible voice saying something in a querying tone.