Old Flames (65 page)

‘There’s nothing to tell. But I do need to get up to town.’

‘Secrets, Freddie. Secrets. You’re worse than the old man. You play every damn card so close to the chest. Well, I’m telling you now that if you can’t tell me honestly
that your business is more important than mine, I say sod you for your secrets. I’m commandeering the Fat Man and his motorbike and I’m going.’

Troy said nothing. The very word ‘commandeering’ made him wince inwardly. This was wing Commander Troy in fully operational mode. Playing by the Queensberry Rules. Rules that let him hijack the bike, but did not permit
him to read a telegramme addressed to someone else.

‘Quite,’ said Rod. ‘Silence.’

When the Fat Man trudged back to his bike Rod made his pitch, plain and simple. A fiver to get him, as he put it, ‘to
civilisation’. The Fat Man looked to Troy. Troy nodded almost imperceptibly and, as Rod made a racket clambering into the sidecar, leant over and whispered.

‘Dump him at the nearest station and get back here. I may need you for a few days.’

The Fat Man tapped the side of his nose.

Rod looked ridiculous sitting in the sidecar. Knees tucked almost to his chin, hat rammed down to his ears, goggles over his eyes, briefcase pressed to his chest. He looked like an owl.

‘There is one thing,’ he said from his preposterous perch.

‘Of course,’ said Troy.

‘What’s the Second Law of Thermodynamics? Is it Einstein or one of those blokes?’

‘It’s Kelvin.’

‘Never heard of him. What did he say?’

‘Entropy. Everything expands into … nothing.’

‘Don’t quite follow …’

‘Everything turns to shit in time.’

‘And we need a “Theory” to tell us that?’

The Fat Man raised a giant’s foot off the ground, slamming down on the kickstart, and brought four 250cc cylinders spitting and roaring into life. He was back in less than an hour.