JUST SLIPPING AWAY
Wearily, Commander William Bodie reached across the desk and picked up the phone.
"Yes? Thank you." He replaced the phone quietly, and sat back in the chair. His face was expressionless, but the tension in his body was clear to see. The back ramrod stiff, broad shoulders held straight, the hands gripping each other so firmly the knuckles turning white.
He pressed the intercom on the desk.
"Sue, contact Simon Fillborough, and release that notice to all departments please. Then come in here. Oh, and contact Ray Doyle."
Sue's reply was inaudible. Bodie suspected she was in tears. It was going to be hard on everyone for a while, but he wouldn't have allowed it to interfere with the business that was CI5
Bodie stood up and reached for the walking stick he occasionally used. He slowly crossed his office, cursing the pain in his knees. Following a horrific car crash that had ended his career as an agent of CI5, Bodie thought, at 37, his life was finished and he would be consigned to living out his days as an invalid. However, George Cowley, then head of the organisation stepped in, and 'pulled some strings and called in favours,' as he put it. Six months in a private clinic and another three months rehabilitation had given Bodie back his life. While he was no longer fit for active duty, he had one leg that was almost perfect, and one that was a half inch shorter and prone to causing him excruciating pain.
The phone rang again. Bodie picked up the receiver.
"Ray? George died about half an hour ago. Yes, yes. I've called Simon as per his instructions. Sorry to interrupt your break. You'll leave now? Thanks mate. I'll meet you at the club then, about seven."
The door opened and Bodie's secretary entered. She was an attractive woman in her late twenties and as efficient and professional as the much missed Betty. She was balancing an armful of files, a huge envelope and a large mug of tea. Her eyes were red rimmed, and she had obviously repaired her make-up.
"Thought you might like this sir," she said putting the mug down, "and these are the files you want . . . and this," she said hefting the envelope on to the desk, "is the envelope Mr Cowley left when . . . it happened," she finished lamely.
Bodie looked at his secretary. He felt sorry for her, and debated about letting her have the rest of the day off. She had accepted the role of Bodie's secretary when George Cowley first suggested that Bodie take on the role of Recruitment and Training Director. Her youthfulness and infectious laughter made even the greyest day seem bearable, and she was empathic to Bodie's moods. She knew when his knees were almost too painful to bear, and at those times shielded her boss from the myriad of inconsequential details that came with his job, while keeping the tea and painkillers coming. He made up his mind quickly.
"Sue, go home love. There's nothing more to be done today. I'm meeting Ray and Simon later on, and then we'll find out the contents of George's mysterious envelope."
Sue looked gratefully at her boss. Impulsively she gave him a quick hug, knowing how close he had been to George Cowley, and how much he must be hurting inside.
"Thank you sir. I'm so sorry about Mr Cowley. He always treated me so well, especially when I first joined. Please give my condolences to Mr Doyle as well. I'll see you tomorrow."
Later that evening, Bodie called for his car, and quietly left his office. The place seemed subdued and cloaked in sadness. As he walked to the entrance, some of those left on duty offered their condolences to him. As he was signing out, Murphy caught up with him. He put an arm around Bodie's shoulder.
"So sorry about George. What a shock! Doesn't seem real does it?" Bodie nodded in assent. "I know how much George meant to you and Doyle. It must be like losing a relative." Bodie and Doyle were a legend within CI5, and everyone knew how fond Cowley had become of them.
Twenty minutes later, Bodie was walking through the entrance of his club. The doorman nodded as he passed, while the manager appeared at his side.
"Good evening sir. Mr Doyle is already here. He's ordered drinks for both of you and is waiting in the lounge."
Bodie thanked the man and entered the room. He saw Doyle immediately and made his way across to the table. He sat down heavily and looked across at his old friend.
"You got here fast mate. Where did you come in from," he asked.
Doyle peered over a pair of gold rimmed half moon glasses at his partner. At 45, Bodie was still as elegant and beautifully turned out as ever. The cord trousers and leather jackets of his earlier years had given way to expensive Savile Row suits, in charcoal grey or dark blue, well cut across his broad shoulders. His hair, still black, was a little longer now, with a few silver grey strands showing in the sideburns. The main change was in his demeanour. Bodie had matured from a physical, fearless young man, into a quietly powerful older statesman, exuding class and breeding.
"Brockenhurst in the New Forest," Doyle replied. 'Wasn't too far away, did it here in about two hours. Been looking at property down that way."
Bodie looked across at his friend. Doyle hadn't changed much from his younger days either. Still curly haired, although slightly greyer now, he was casually but expensively dressed. After Bodie's car accident, Doyle had stayed in the organisation, working with other agents, but not actually partnered with anyone in particular. On his fortieth birthday, he decided that active service in CI5 was a young man's game, and had moved to a desk job in the agency. His official title was Head of Information, and he was responsible for keeping tabs on anything that might cause HM Government a problem or embarrassment. Now 46, he was thinking about buying property, as an investment.
"Need something for my old age mate," he had said, when Bodie made a comment. "Might let you holiday over in my first acquisition," he joked. His initial purchase some time ago was a cottage in Cornwall, where he often spent the weekends. Now he was thinking about the future, and the idea of owning property interested him. He claimed it was a reaction to the constant moving he had been subject to as an active agent, never staying long enough to create a proper home for himself.
Now both men were sitting in the elegant and expensive surroundings of the club, waiting for Simon Fillborough, George Cowley's solicitor to arrive.
They were just finishing their drinks, when the room manager announced Simon's arrival. He walked quickly across the room and sat himself down.
Thin was an ideal word to describe Simon. He was tall and loose limbed with thinning hair, a long thin nose and a thin lipped mouth. He had been George's solicitor for a number of years, and had become one of his few, personal friends as well. It was clear to both Bodie and Doyle that his death had hit Simon extremely hard. He shook hands with the partners and sat down heavily. Bodie waved across to the waiter.
"Could we have a scotch and water and a pot of tea please?" he asked.
Simon began without any preamble.
"I see you've bought the envelope with you. If you open it you'll find a letter for each of you from George. It's a personal letter, written to both of you and identical in every way. I also have a copy. His instructions were that it was read to you, outside of my 'official' business premises. He wasn't one to stand on ceremony, and wanted to do this informally.
Bodie and Doyle sat quietly. The news of George's death had hit them both hard, and each man was still trying to come to terms with their feelings. As the original hard men of the organisation, they were used to dealing in violence and death, and had been put in dangerous scenarios more than once by George Cowley. However, neither man ever bore their old boss any ill will. They accepted he had a most difficult job to do, and as Bodie once said "no-one twisted my arm to join this lot. The pay's crap, there's no time for a social life, and I may not make old bones, but Cowley will go to the wall for me every single time and that does it for me."
Simon cleared his throat, put on his glasses and began to read:
"Gentlemen. If Simon is sitting with you at the club, with a scotch and water, then he is following my instructions, and I am dead.
Firstly, let me say it was a privilege working with both of you. CI5 was relatively new when you were both offered employment, and I think it is true to say that you both showed your mettle and set the bar for other staff.
Doyle, I worried about you constantly at first. Our work was always going to blur the line between black and white, and I know you had to wrestle with the decisions, actions and outcomes you felt were wrong. Your sensitivity and conscience became your biggest strength. You joined me with a huge chip on your shoulder. I know the Met gave you a hard time, after the corruption case, but the actions you took, though difficult at the time, were right, and the police service here in London is now a better place because of your bravery.
Bodie, out of the entire early intake you instinctively knew you would have to play dirty, in order to keep the citizens safe and the country smelling sweet. I never questioned your methods, indeed turned a blind eye to some of them, but you never let me down laddie. Africa was your initiation into the life you chose, the Army was your training ground and CI5 your reward. "
Simon stopped and took a sip of his drink. He looked across at Bodie and Doyle. Bodie had sat himself in one of the club's expensive Queen Anne leather chairs. Outwardly he seemed at home, comfortable even, but Simon noticed that he stared straight ahead, unseeing. Doyle appeared more relaxed, lying back in his chair with his eyes closed. They said nothing, didn't even look at Simon. He picked up the pages and began reading again.
"You amused me in the early days. All that posturing! I knew you would be a partnership of opposites, but it was edifying to watch you at first. Circling around each other like a pair of young lions; neither of you willing to give the other an inch. So many people told me I was wrong and that you would end up killing each other, but I knew you'd find common ground. You grew and matured and became the best of the rest. You earned each other's respect, friendship and in time, affection.
There were times when I thought I'd pushed you both too far. The questionable actions I asked you to take. The Operation Susies! The injuries you suffered, all for Queen and country. I will never forget Bodie, watching you in hospital after the knifing. Seeing you lying there, it was the first time I realised what was expected of me in my role, and it made me sick to my stomach. The time Doyle almost died made me question whether I could carry on. Sending young men like you on assignments, often knowing how dangerous it would be, but also how important and necessary to the Realm it was! I knew such decisions had to be made, but at what price? It seemed too high at times. I have more blood on my hands than I'm happy with, and latterly I began to ask myself if it had been worth it. During those moments of introspection retirement seemed so inviting! I also realised the cost to me personally. No wife or family. Few friends, and those I had, not entirely certain of my trust.
I had concerns for you both as men too. I could see similarities to myself in you Bodie, and I wanted to shield you from the loneliness of the life I had. Doyle, you were my voice of reason. You would question why we did what we did, and in turn, that made me think more about our remit. Once I realised how important both of you had become to me, I knew my work and my life had blurred together. I began to care for you as individuals, worry about your welfare. It was indefinable to start with; I couldn't see what was happening.
I spoke to Dr Ross about this. She talked about guilt, feelings, duty. Not a very helpful woman at the best of times was she? However it was dear Betty who put her finger on it. She pointed out that out of all my agents, good men every one, you were the two I called 'my boys'. She said it was plain to see I saw you both as the sons I never had. It was so simple once it was pointed out to me! I knew then I wanted to take care of you as a father should.
This brings me to the last part of this letter. Simon has taken care of all the relevant paperwork; these instructions are several weeks old. I put them in place once I knew they could do nothing more for me."
At this Bodie started. His blue eyes were blazing, and his lips drew back into a snarl. He spat out his words to Doyle.
"He never said he knew! He should have told us! You were there last week Ray! We both saw him! He looked fine. I thought he would be going home. Did you know?"
Doyle just shook his head tiredly. Simon intervened quickly. It was obvious that it was taking Bodie all his willpower to stop himself from completely losing his temper, to cover up his real feelings.
"George didn't want anyone to know," he said. "Said there was little point in knowing. What would be would be. Time enough, for grieving when he'd gone, although he wouldn't have wanted that either. The letter was the last item he put together. He put all his affairs in order some time ago. There was a lot to be done, and I've worked closely with him, so I can assure you it has all been taken care of."
He looked at them both. Bodie looked very tired. Simon knew he saw George as a surrogate father, someone to replace the vicious drunk who was Bodie's real father: a man who thought nothing of taking a leather belt to his small son and beating him senseless for the smallest error. Hardly surprising then, that Bodie had just removed himself at sixteen and joined the murky world of the soldier of fortune. By the time he joined CI5 Bodie was hard, tough, emotionless and very, very lonely. George Cowley had taken this damaged young man under his wing and through his guidance and support, a different Bodie had emerged. He had lost his angry, soulless persona, and found a peace in himself. When Cowley introduced Bodie to Ray Doyle, an ex policeman with as much emotional baggage as Bodie, the transformation was complete. He saw the slight ex copper rein in the excesses of the soldier and watched as the two of them learnt to trust each other, become close friends, and a formidable team. He saw as Bodie soothed Doyle's infamous temper with a joke or light-hearted comment, and knew his gut instinct had been correct.
Simon looked across at Doyle. The man had not said much at all, and had remained seated, with his eyes closed while Simon had been reading. He was vaguely irritated. He had been told by many that Doyle was the more sensitive man in the partnership, and that Cowley's death would affect him deeply. Yet here he was, seemingly cool as a cucumber, relaxed and untouched by the day's event.
He went to resume the reading of the letter, but managed to drop a sheaf of papers on the floor. Doyle quickly leant forward to help collect them. As Doyle handed the papers back to him, Simon noticed that Doyle's large green eyes were red rimmed and his cheeks were wet with tears. Swallowing back his surprise, he took the papers, and with a strangled "thanks" resumed his role.
"I have been fortunate in that Her Majesty's government ensured I received excellent remuneration for my work. It certainly compensated in some way for the interrupted evenings, weekends and other occasions when I had to leave without delay. I have a large house in Eaton Square, and a smaller property in Greenwich. Simon has always been happy there, so I am leaving it to him. The Eaton Square house will be sold, and the proceeds are to be split 50/50 between you both. I am also leaving some personal items to you. There is no one else, and I want you to benefit in a way I would have wanted any son of mine to have done.
To you, Bodie, I am leaving a pair of Purdey shotguns. Simon has the insurance certificates. I want you to have my Rolex watch too. It's by no means new, but has served me well. For you Doyle, there is a pair of Rembrandt sketches in the hallway. I bought them with you in mind, knowing that they will be appreciated and loved. I would like you to have my regimental signet ring as well. There are other incidentals, some stocks and shares, a couple of bonds, and of course cash in my bank. Simon has the details and has done the necessary work."
Simon paused and looked up.
"That is the main body of the letter. He wanted you to benefit from his tenure at CI5. I can't tell you how much he thought of you both. He never married, although I think he came near to it once, and it was a source of sorrow to him that he had no children. He has several nephews and nieces, and is godfather to several more, but it was you two he looked on as family." He sipped his scotch and continued.
"Betty was right y'know. He always referred to you as 'my boys'. He was so proud of your achievements. Bodie, he knew about your dad. Went to see him a couple of years ago . . ."
Bodie looked up abruptly. "I'd no idea! Why? That bastard never meant anything to me. I was just a biological accident!"
Simon gave a small, hard laugh.
"George knew you'd had a letter from your dad, asking for money to cover the enormous gambling debts he'd incurred, so George paid him a visit. He told your dad that to make a request for such a large amount of money was unfair and unacceptable in light of his past treatment of you. George also pointed out that as Mr Bodie had never bothered to make any contact on previous occasions when notified by CI5 that you had been injured while on duty, he should not expect any help from you now. Your dad was left in no doubt that if he ever tried to contact you again, he would live to regret it. I've no idea what George said or did; only that Mr Bodie left for Ireland within the week, where he remains to this day. Apparently he is too frightened to return to Liverpool!"
Simon paused, gathering his thoughts. The reading of the letter, and the feelings it had generated left him drained. He cleared his throat and went on.
"He arranged for your mum to stay in her home after your dad died Ray. There was no money to pay for repairs, so he sorted that as well. It was just after you were shot, and he just felt she couldn't deal with any more worry. He never told her, just arranged it with the mortgage company."
Doyle's expression was unreadable. He straightened up in his chair, and made a strange little choking sound. Simon looked on nonplussed, as Bodie drew out a fine linen handkerchief, and passed it across to his partner. Doyle wiped his eyes and blew his nose noisily. He looked gratefully at Bodie, who waved away any thanks. Both men had had deeply hidden emotions wrenched to the fore by Simon's words, and such displays did not sit easily with either of them.
Simon read through further papers, and coughed politely.
"George's greatest sorrow was that his position meant he could never discuss or demonstrate how much you came to mean to him. It would not have been seemly for him to do so. He could not be seen to treat you any differently from your colleagues. The bequests he made were his way of providing for you as if you were his sons. His family are in full agreement with the arrangements. He told them some years ago. Millie said to tell you 'don't ever think you were just his favourite agents. He grew to love you both as sons.'"
Simon finished his speech and looked away from Bodie and Doyle. While not embarrassed by this outpouring, Simon did not feel he knew either man well enough to share with them George's deathbed confirmation of his feelings for them. He coughed politely, and continued.
"The house will sell quickly. I had it valued three weeks ago as per his request. I estimate it'll realise about three million at a quick sale. Of course with the furniture and other effects, you should see about £1.75 million each, more if you want to wait."
Bodie and Doyle looked at each other. Doyle shook his head and smiled sadly.
"Thanks Simon, but money, property etcetera is the last thing on my mind right now. I can't believe he's gone. He seemed so well last week. I thought he'd take it easy and do more with his retirement. He was talking about going back to Edinburgh to see Millie and Paul." His voice trailed off and he lapsed into reverie.
"That was the nature of his illness," replied Simon. "He was adamant that neither of you should know the full extent. He made the doctors promise not to tell you. Rightly or wrongly, it was his wish that you should treat him no differently.
All three men sat quietly, wrapped in their own thoughts. The waiter replenished their drinks and withdrew as silently as a ghost.
Bodie raised his head.
"Simon, we need to arrange things . . . the funeral . . . let people know . . ." his voice faltered and he looked towards Ray Doyle.
Simon looked at them both.
"George thought of that too. He wanted a small service at St Alphegh in Greenwich. He read the lesson there occasionally you know. Just family, colleagues and close friends. He'd made the arrangements himself with the vicar – they were in the army together. Of course there will be a memorial service later, the PM insists. Top brass from all the services, government departments, that sort of thing. Bodie, he'd thought of everything so you wouldn't have to y'know."
He looked across at the big man: he'd known Bodie for several years, and held the former agent in high regard. It shook him to see the man looking so desolate.
"There is a lot to be done, but it was George's wish that I should handle the work."
Doyle looked up, ready to comment, but Simon held up a finger.
"Let me finish Ray. George knew you would want to jump in and start making these arrangements. He also thought you might both need time to come to terms with his death. He was an excellent judge of character, and I would suggest that you both heed his advice."
He collected up his papers and drained his glass.
"I'm off now. It's been a long day, and . . ." he looked at them, "a very hard one. I'll be in touch over the next few days. You've got my number, so call me if there's anything else you think of, or if there's things you want to check."
The lanky solicitor bade them goodnight and left. Doyle stretched his body, catlike, easing out the kinks from where he'd been reclining in the large leather armchair. He rested his fingertips together, and stared at Bodie over the top of his glasses.
"You look like a wise old owl in those," Bodie commented with a hint of a smile. He sighed heavily. "What a day. I knew it was on the cards. I'd prepared the notices a couple of days ago. I just hoped they wouldn't be needed."
"I think we all hoped that sunshine." He rose out of the chair. "C'mon Bodie. We both need a good night's rest. It's going to be a different ball game from now on. Mind you, I'm not sure how I feel right now." He rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his curls.
As he turned, Bodie caught sight of a large tear coursing down Doyle's face. He put his hand on the smaller man's shoulder and turned him around. Silently, both men embraced, needing the physical presence of each other to ease their grief.
The two friends walked slowly out of the club. Bodie's driver had brought his car around to the entrance.
"Need a lift mate?" he asked. Doyle shook his head.
"Nah. Car's bein' bought round now, and I'm off 'ome. I've told Sam the news, and I wanna see 'er. Thanks anyway. I'll be in the office about 9.00 so I'll see you tomorrow."
A young valet got out of a Landrover Defender and handed the keys to Doyle. He climbed in and with a wave drove off towards his home.
Bodie sank back into the luxury of his car. Funny how Doyle's Derby accent came through when he was upset or stressed, he mused. He knew Sam would look after her man and that Doyle would get the comfort he needed.
The journey to his flat was swift. He took the lift to his apartment. Before he could get the key in the lock, the door opened and Cora, his partner gently took him in her arms.
"Darlin'," she said in her soft Irish brogue, "I'm so sorry about George. Come on, let's sit quietly for a while."
Two weeks later, George Cowley's funeral was held in at St Alphege's church. The former head of the Criminal Intelligence 5 Unit was remembered by his nearest and dearest in a warm and loving service. Long time stalwarts of CI5, Murphy, Jax and Anson were there with their wives and partners. Betty travelled from Paris, where she worked for the British Ambassador. Simon and his wife attended, and George's sisters and other family members were present, all wearing the family tartan.
The service was not sad or tearful. George Cowley had touched so many people with his kindness and generosity of spirit for them to remember him any other way than with love. Many people stood and gave their memories, some inducing laughter, murmured comments and generally leaving the congregation gathered feeling not so much bereaved, but as if George had just slipped away for a while.
Finally, Bodie and Doyle stood together in front of everyone. They were both composed and contained. Bodie, as ever, looked elegant and handsome. Doyle, wearing a suit in deference to the occasion, cleared his throat and began to speak.
"Everyone here has their own memories of George. He was many things to many people. A brother to Margaret, Millie and Patrick," he nodded towards George's family. "He was a soldier and an astute businessman. He was proud of his nieces and nephews and the many children he was godfather to. I'm told he never forgot a birthday and would always telephone on the day. He was a fearsome boss, who wouldn't brook any nonsense from those he chose to work for him. Bodie and I were privileged to be part of that team"
Bodie took over.
"His talents were recognised and he formed CI5. He was given an extraordinary free hand in how the organisation was moulded. He was highly regarded by politicians, the media and many, many foreign dignitaries. He was feared by those whose agenda was to harm the country he fought for, and those who wanted to overrun that country with drugs, illegal arms and terror."
The partners stood shoulder to shoulder, proudly talking about their boss.
Finally, they stood silently. Doyle cleared his throat.
"George meant so much too so many. Over time I came to realise that he was the fairest and bravest man I've ever known. He looked after his own. Me an' Bodie were so proud to work for 'im, and . . ." Doyle's voice began to falter. Bodie put his arm round his shoulders.
"We loved him", he said simply, "we loved him."