The Edge of Madness by Michael Dobbs

Author:Michael Dobbs [Dobbs, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9781847375605
Google: 2KQQLqeN1z8C
Amazon: B007YLTCNY
Barnesnoble: B007YLTCNY
Goodreads: 4510596
Publisher: Pocket
Published: 2008-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Early Friday evening. Castle Lorne.

They had gathered in the library for drinks before dinner. Harry loved libraries, their smell of knowledge, their passion, the air of peace, yet the library on the third floor was unlike any he had known. Almost one entire length of wall was taken up by a series of mullioned windows that offered the most spectacular views across the water to the purple-green archipelago of the Inner Hebrides, to Jura and Islay and Mull. There was gold in these islands, he knew, liquid gold that made up the most stunning selection of malt whiskies. He felt sure Flora would have a cache.

The library was on the seaward side of the castle and below him Harry could see nothing but swirling waves and spray-soaked rocks that cast back the reflection of the evening sun. Gulls competed in a show of aerial acrobatics while two dark-feathered cormorants scythed low across the water, racing each other back to their evening roosts. For a while Harry was content to lose himself in the view, trying to identify the different species of birds, until he realized he wasn’t alone. Blythe Edwards was tucked away in one corner, perched on the arm of a cracked leather chair, staring idly at an old globe, looking uncomfortable and out of place.

‘Evening, Madam President.’

‘Don’t give me that “Madam President” crap, Harry Jones,’ she replied, offering her cheek for him to kiss.

‘You’re looking…’ Harry hesitated. Suddenly he saw that she looked drained, her eyes rimmed with pain or fatigue, almost as if she’d been crying. ‘Wonderful,’ he added, a fraction too late.

‘Not you, too, Harry. I need someone to tell me the truth.’

‘OK. You look as if you need a good night’s sleep. In fact, several of them.’

‘That’s better. Or at least more accurate,’ she replied, trying to rustle up a smile of appreciation.

Their moment was broken when Nipper appeared at their side bouncing from foot to foot before he came stiffly to attention like a guard on parade. ‘May I offer you a drink, Madam President?’ he enquired in a formal little voice.

‘Yes, that would be very good,’ she replied.

Nipper took it as encouragement. ‘And will you come and see my planes later?’ he added enthusiastically.

‘I can recommend them. They’re quite a collection,’ Harry said.

‘I’d love to,’ she replied, relaxing, squatting once more on the arm of the chair so that the boy could more easily see her face. ‘You know, Nipper, I have a son–he’s a little older than you, but when he was your age he collected toy soldiers. Whole armies of them. He used to lay them out on the dining table and shoot them with a gun that fired matchsticks.’

‘Were they English soldiers?’

‘Some of them, probably.’

‘And is your son a soldier?’

‘No, wants to be a lawyer.’ She could see a flash of disappointment cross the boy’s face. ‘But Mr Jones here was once a soldier. He saved my son’s life.’

‘Really?’ Nipper jumped on his toes with eagerness to know more, but a thousand questions seemed to crowd in on him and his frown returned.

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