I'm meeting her at the Horse Guards at twelve o'clock.'
That's in ten minutes. You talk to her, and I'll have a word with her later.' Carey stood up and held out his hand. 'Am I forgiven?'
'I wanted to kill you,' said Denison. 'I very nearly did.'
'No hard feelings,' said Carey. 'I seem to be hitting you pretty hard.'
Denison got up and shook Carey's hand. 'No hard feelings.'
Lyng smiled and busied himself with the contents of a slim briefcase, trying to efface himself. Carey stood back and looked at Denison critically. 'I wouldn't have believed it -- the change in you, I mean.'
Denison put his hand to his face. 'Iredale unstuck the eyelid -- that was easy -- and took away the scar. He had a go at the nose and that's still a bit tender. We decided to leave the rest -- getting the silicone polymer out would amount to a flaying operation so we gave it a miss. But the beard covers up a lot.' He paused. 'Who did it, Carey?'
'I don't know,' said Carey. 'We never did find out.' He looked at Denison quizzically. 'Has Iredale's handiwork made much difference with Lyn?'
'Er . .. why, yes ... I think . ..' Denison was unaccountably shy.
Carey smiled and took out a notebook. 'I'll need your address.' He looked up, 'At the moment it's Lippscott House, near Brackley, Buckinghamshire. Can I take it that will be your address until further notice?'
'Until further notice,' said Denison. 'Yes.'
'Invite me to the wedding,' said Carey. He put away his notebook and glanced through the window down into Whitehall. 'There's Lyn,' he said. 'Admiring the horses. I don't think there's anymore, Giles. I'll keep in touch. If you ever need a job, come and see me. I mean it.'
'Never again,' said Denison. 'I've had enough.'
Lyng came forward. 'We all do what we think is best.' They shook hands. 'I'm glad to have met you, Mr Denison.'
When he had gone Lyng put his papers back into his briefcase and Carey stood at the window and lit his pipe. It took him some time to get it going to his satisfaction. Lyng waited patiently, and then said, 'Well?'
Carey looked down into Whitehall and saw Denison crossing the street. Lyn ran towards him and they kissed, then linked arms and walked past the mounted guards and under the arch. 'They're sensible people; there'll be no trouble.'
'Good!' said Lyng, and picked up the folder from where Denison had left it.
Carey swung around. 'But Thornton is a different matter.'
'I agree,' said Lyng. 'He's got the Minister's ear. We're going to have a rough ride with this one regardless of whether Denison keeps silent.'
Carey's voice was acid. 'I don't mind if Thornton plays the Whitehall warrior as long as the only weapon he shoots is a memorandum. But when it comes to a deliberate interference in operations then we have to 'draw a line.'
'Only a suspicion -- no proof.'
'Meyrick's death was bad enough -- although it was accidental. But what he did to Denison was abominable and unforgivable. And if he'd got hold of Merikken's papers his bloody secret laboratories would be working overtime.'
'Forget it,' said Lyng. 'No proof.' Carey grinned. 'I told a lie just now -- the only lie I've told to Denison since I've known him. I've got the proof, all right. I've got a direct link between Thornton and his crooked plastic surgeon -- Iredale was able to put me on to that one -- and it won't be long before I find the sewer of a psychologist who diddled around with Denison's mind. I'm going to take great pleasure in peeling the skin off Thornton in strips.'
Lyng was alert. 'This is certain? Real proof?'
'Cast iron.'
Then you won't touch Thornton,' said Lyng sharply. 'Let me have your proof and I'll deal with him. Don't you see what this means? We can neutralize Thornton -- he's out of the game. If I can hold that over him I can keep him in line for ever.'
'But . . .' Carey held himself in. 'And where does justice come in?' he asked heavily.
'Oh, justice,' said Lyng indifferently. 'That's something else again. No man can expect justice in this world; if he does then he's a fool.' He took Carey by the elbow and said gently, 'Come; let us enjoy the sunshine while we may.'
Bagley, Desmond - The Tightrope Men Page 28