Dying Flames Read Online Free Page A

to Milton Terrace, since Christa’s mother was quite probably there on her own now. His mind rejected this at once. He was not ready to see Peggy Somers again yet. Someday he would—he was sure the time would come, and perhaps soon. But today it was all too new, too strange. He drove forward as if in a trance, then through the college gates, parking in one of the spaces reserved for visitors. Then he sat and watched the waves of young people—he felt he had never seen so many young people together at one time—until the waves ebbed to a trickle. Classes must have begun.
    At twenty past nine he got out of the car and strode toward reception. It was all rather like a hotel, he decided. Should he ask to see the manager? The woman in Reception added to this illusion: he could imagine her behind the desk in some old-fashioned West Country hotel.
    â€œI wonder if you could help me,” he began. “My name is Graham Broadbent.” There was a tiny flicker on her polite features. “I need to see the—what is it?—principal of the college?”
    â€œThe director.”
    â€œAh, yes. Er, I’m a stranger in Romford, and I don’t have an appointment—”
    â€œThe director is free until nine forty-five. Could I ask what you wish to see him about ?”
    â€œIt’s rather personal. I’m a writer—”
    â€œYes. The Day Wanes.”
    He felt absurdly pleased. “You make things much easier. The matter is entirely personal, but it does concern someone who I think is a student at this college.”
    The woman opened her mouth, and Graham was sure she wanted to ask whether it was a male or female student. She was too wise to do that, asked him instead to wait for a moment, then disappeared along a corridor. When she came back, she simply said, “Dr. Warhope will see you now,” and ushered him to the director’s door.
    â€œAh, Mr. Broadbent,” said a bearded, bespectacled man, strong on authority and decisiveness. “I know of your books, I’m afraid, rather than knowing them as I should, but I’m afraid I’m a scientist by training. Anyway, we’re honored by your visit. And a bit curious too. Please sit down and tell me how we can help you.”
    Graham sat cautiously on the seat facing the director, feeling glad he was beyond being a student.
    â€œYes, I’ll try to do that,” he said. “I’d better tell you what happened to me on Tuesday. I presume anything I tell you will be in total confidence?”
    â€œOf course.” The fingers of the director’s hands made a neat triangle on the desk.
    â€œOn Tuesday evening I was in the King William Hotel in Colchester. It is my hometown, and I was there for a school reunion. There was a knock on the door, and when I opened it, a girl stood outside. She was a complete stranger to me. The first thing she said was ‘Hello, Dad.’ ”
    The man’s eyes widened. “I can see you must have been disturbed.”
    â€œTo put it mildly. In subsequent conversation—”
    â€œYou asked her into your room?”
    â€œYes. I suggested coffee downstairs, but she said wasn’t it too public for the conversation we were going to have? I didn’t think I had any choice. In that conversation it emerged that she must have been conceived in 1983, when I was working for Christian Aid in Mali.”
    â€œI see…. Do you mind giving me her name?”
    â€œThe surname she uses I can’t be sure about. Probably Webster. The Christian name is Christa. She said it was short for Christabel.”
    â€œYou can never be sure these days. I do seem to remember…” He pressed keys on his computer, then looked intently at the screen. “Yes, we have a Christa Webster. Second year, has been studying Art History. It became popular when Prince William did it at St. Andrews. Quite a lot of dropouts recently…Her birth date is