Spy Line

by Len Deighton

  ‘What has made you growly tonight, teddy bear?’

  ‘I’m not growly,’ I said and managed a convincing smile to prove it.

  ‘A soft-boiled egg will do me,’ she said.

  ‘Me too,’ I agreed.

  She was standing in front of the mirror combing her wet hair. She looked at me and said, ‘You say that, Bernard, but when I give you just an egg you always end up at bedtime rummaging through the larder and opening tins or having Shredded Wheat.’

  ‘Let’s have the frozen Székelygulyás,’ I said, having suddenly remembered that it wasn’t some new packaged line from the supermarket; it was her mother’s Hungarian home cooking. Criticizing such a meal could lead to a tangle in the psyche that only a Freudian gourmet could hope to unravel. ‘It’s my very favourite! Is that the chicken in sour cream?’

  ‘It’s pork with pickled cabbage,’ she said angrily, but when I pulled a face at her she grinned. ‘You are a bastard! You really are.’

  ‘I knew it was pork and cabbage,’ I said.

  ‘Or there’s the new fish and chip shop, the one we haven’t tried.’

  ‘What kind of wine goes with Székelygulyás?’

  ‘You hate Hungarian food.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘You said the caraway seeds got in your teeth.’

  ‘That was my other teeth.’

  She knelt down beside my chair and put her arms round me. ‘Please try, Bernard. Please try and really love me. I can make you happy, I know I can, but you must try too.’

  ‘I really love you, Gloria,’ I said.

  ‘Is Silas very ill?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘One moment he seems on the point of collapse and the next moment he’s shouting and laying down the law.’

  ‘I know he means a lot to you.’

  ‘He’s old,’ I said. ‘We all have to go sooner or later. He’s had a good innings.’

  ‘Is it something I’ve done then?’

  ‘No, darling. You’re perfect. I give you my word on that.’ I meant it.

  ‘It’s this house isn’t it? You’ve hated this house ever since we moved here. Is it the journey? Your other house was so central.’

  She kissed my ear. I held her. ‘The house is fine. It’s just that I’m trying to work out a few problems at work. You’ll have to make allowances for the growly factor.’

  ‘Dicky Cruyer, you mean?’

  ‘No. Dicky is the least of my worries. Without me to do ninety per cent of his work, he’d probably be shifted off somewhere where he could do less damage.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘A lot of people would like to see Dicky booted out of the German Desk. Deputy Europe for instance. He detests Dicky. If getting rid of me meant getting rid of Dicky too, Gus Stowe would do it and throw a party to celebrate.’

  Gloria laughed. The idea of a celebratory party given by Gus Stowe was not easy to imagine. ‘Let me put the food into the microwave,’ she said. The way she chose to say let me, instead of using some more assertive syntax, was the essence of our relationship. Despite what others may think, my love for her was not of any paternal sort: but what was the nature of her love for me? ‘And I’ll bring you a glass of wine.’

  ‘I’ll get it.’

  ‘You sit there and take it easy. When dinner is ready, I’ll tell you the latest about Dicky. It will make your eyes pop.’

  ‘Nothing Dicky could do would surprise me,’ I said.

  She brought me a glass of chilled wine. There was no scotch. No gin, vodka or anything else. We’d run out of such stuff and she’d never bought more. She wanted to rescue me from hard booze. I sat back and drank the wine and took it easy while listening to the electronic squeaks of the timer on the microwave. The oven was her newest toy. I’d overheard her talking to the cleaning lady about it. She’d boasted of cooking delicious braised liver in it, although in fact the liver had exploded and covered the inside of the oven with a garlicky film of pulverized goo. She’d ended up in tears.

  But now I could hear her singing quietly to herself and I knew I’d done the right thing in choosing her mother’s Hungarian cooking, prepared by Gloria in her new machine. It gave her a chance to play at housekeeping. The particular pleasure she got from it was demonstrated by the elaborate way she’d arranged on the table our tête-à-tête meal. There were candles and even a long-stemmed rose, albeit an artificial one.

  ‘How wonderful you are,’ I said when I was permitted into the kitchen to eat.

  ‘I’ve forgotten the pepper mill,’ she said, reaching for it hurriedly. There was a nervousness in her voice, an anxiety, so that sometimes her earnest desire to please me made me uneasy. It made me feel like a tyrant.

  ‘Tell me your news about Dicky.’

  ‘I don’t know how Daphne puts up with him,’ said Gloria. She liked to begin with a preamble that set the mood. ‘Daphne is such a clever woman. You know she’s painting leather jackets?’

  ‘Painting leather jackets? Daphne?’

  ‘She’s an artist, Bernard.’

  ‘I know she went to art school.’

  ‘Same thing.’

  ‘On leather jackets?’

  ‘Dragons and psychedelic nudes. You haven’t seen them? I know you’d love to have one, darling.’

  ‘Having a psychedelic nude, even on a leather jacket, might prove a bit too much for me these days.’

  ‘They take hours.’

  ‘I would imagine.’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m serious. Daphne works very hard and Dicky doesn’t understand her.’

  ‘Did he tell you that?’

  ‘Of course not. I wish you’d listen instead of trying to be so smart.’

  ‘I like this pork and cabbage. A bit too much salt but it’s very good.’

  ‘Last time you said it was tasteless. I put the extra salt in.’

  ‘It’s delicious. So what about Dicky?’

  ‘He’s going to Berlin on Friday. He’s booked a suite at Kempinski’s; he’s taking a girl with him. Poor Daphne. If she ever finds out…’

  ‘What girl? Someone from the office?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘Where did you hear these rumours?’

  ‘They are not just rumours. He’s got the suite booked.’

  ‘Did Dicky’s secretary tell you?’

  Gloria took a moment to swallow her cabbage and then drank some wine too. It gave her time to consider her reply. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘She has no right to be gossiping about such things.’

  ‘You wouldn’t tell Dicky?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘of course not. But it’s stupid of her to gossip like that.’

  ‘Don’t be stuffy, teddy bear,’ she said pouring more wine.

  ‘Suppose there was no woman,’ I said. ‘Suppose Dicky was waiting for an agent coming through the wire? Suppose that agent’s safety depended upon everyone keeping their mouth shut.’

  ‘Yes.’ She thought about it and said, ‘Suppose it was a woman; suppose it was your wife?’

  ‘Impossible,’ I said.

  ‘Why impossible?’

  ‘Because Fiona is one of theirs! Damn you, I wish you’d get that simple fact into your thick blonde Hungarian head!’ I saw the sudden alarm in her face and only then realized that I was shouting and banging on the table.

  She said nothing. I could have bitten my tongue off as soon as I’d said it. But once it was said, there was no way ever to unsay such a stupid gratuitous insult.

  ‘I’m sorry, Gloria. Forgive me, please. I didn’t mean it.’

  She was crying now, the tears running down her flushed cheeks as if they’d never stop. But she managed a hint of a smile and said, ‘You did mean it, Bernard. And there’s nothing I can do to make you see me any other way.’

  ‘Let’s go and sit in the other room,’ I suggested. I poured the last of the wine.

  ‘No. It’s almost time for me
to go and collect the children, and I must throw some clothes into the spindrier before I go.’

  ‘Let me collect them,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t know where it is, Bernard. It’s all ill-lit one-way streets: you’ll get lost.’

  She was right. She usually is.

  17

  It was easy to know when Dicky was having a new love affair. I suppose it is easy for the casual observer to know when any husband is having a new love affair. There was that tiger look in his eye, that stiffened sinew and summoned-up blood that Shakespeare associated with Mars rather than Venus. His detailed evaluation of expensive restaurants had become even more rigorous. The plats du jour of some of the favoured ones were sent to him each morning on the fax. And there were jokes.

  ‘Ye Gods, Bernard! As far as ethnic food goes – the less authentic the better!’ He looked at the fingernail he’d been biting and gave it another brief nibble.

  He’d been striding around his office, pausing sometimes to look out of the window. He was jacketless, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, a dark blue shirt and a white silk bow tie. His shoes were black patent leather of a design that simul ated alligator hide.

  Dicky had mentioned his planned weekend in Berlin several times. He said he was ‘mixing business with pleasure’ but then immediately changed the topic of conversation by asking me if it would be a good idea if Pinky came to work here in London. I found the idea appalling but I didn’t say so. Answering that sort of question in London Central was fraught with dangers. Almost everyone here was related to, or at school with, someone else in the building. It could easily turn out that Pinky was Dicky’s distant cousin or shared nannies with the D-G’s son-in-law, or some such connection. ‘Fiona said she couldn’t spell,’ I told him.

  ‘Spell!’ said Dicky, and gave one of those little hoots of laughter that indicated how ingenuous I was. ‘Even I can’t spell properly,’ he said, as if that clinched the matter for all time.

  I felt like saying, well, you can’t bloody well do anything properly, but I just smiled and inquired whether Pinky was asking for a transfer.

  ‘Not officially, but she was at school with your sister-in-law.’ A tiny smile. ‘It was Tessa who mentioned it to me, actually.’ When I didn’t react Dicky added, ‘At my dinner party.’

  ‘It’s a small world,’ I said.

  ‘It is,’ said Dicky. There was an audible sigh of relief in his voice as if he’d been trying to make me admit to that fact all the morning. ‘And strictly between the two of us, Tessa is also going to be in Berlin next weekend.’

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘Yes,’ he ran a fingertip around his mouth as if showing me where it was. ‘As a matter of fact, she…’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look here, can you hang on for a cup of coffee?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ I’d enjoyed many cups of coffee with Dicky in his office but that didn’t mean that the Kaffeeklatsch was part of his everyday routine. Dicky usually cloistered himself away from the hurly-burly to have his coffee. It was, he said, a time for him to wrestle with his thoughts, to struggle with difficult ideas, a time to confront his innermost self. Invitations to join him in his spiritual mêlée were not extended lightly or without thought of recoupment. I can truly say that most of the worst experiences of my life sprang from some notion, order, favour or plan that I first encountered over a cup of Dicky’s wonderful coffee.

  With coffee Dicky smoked a cheroot. It was a bad habit, smoking – a poison really – he was trying to cut himself down to three a day. I suppose that’s why he didn’t offer one to me.

  ‘The fact is…’ started Dicky, sitting back in his swing-chair, coffee in one hand and cigar in the other, ‘that is to say, an important detail of next week’s trip is that I need your help and cooperation.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said. This was an entirely new line for Dicky, who had always denied his need for anyone’s help or cooperation.

  ‘You know how much I depend upon you, Bernard.’ He swivelled an inch or two from side to side but didn’t spill his coffee. ‘Always could: always can.’

  I found myself looking for the fire escape. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I didn’t realize that.’

  Delicately Dicky placed his cigar in the cut-glass ashtray and used his free hand to tug at one end of his bow tie so that it came unknotted. On the wall behind him there was a framed colour photo of Dicky and the D-G in Calcutta. They were standing at a stall offering a huge array of crude portrait posters. Lithographs of famous people from the Ayatollah and all the Marxes to Jesus Christ and Laurel and Hardy surrounded Dicky and his boss. They were all looking straight ahead: except Dicky. He was looking at the D-G.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt Daphne,’ said Dicky, as if suddenly deciding upon a new approach. ‘You understand…’

  He left it there and looked at me. By now I was beginning to guess what was coming, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. And I wanted time to think. ‘What is it, Dicky?’ I said, sipping my coffee and pretending not to be giving him my whole attention.

  ‘Man to man, Bernard, old sport. You see what I mean?’

  ‘You want me to go instead?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Bernard. You can be dense at times.’ He puffed at his cigar. ‘No, I’m taking Tessa.’ A pause. ‘I’ve promised and I’ll have to go through with it.’ He added this rider woefully as if a call of duty prevailed over his personal wishes. But then he fixed his eye on me, and, with a quick glance towards the door to be sure he wasn’t overheard, he said, ‘For the weekend!’ He said it fiercely, through almost gritted teeth, as if my failure to understand was about to cause him to run amok.

  ‘We all go? Gloria too?’

  He shot to his feet as if scalded and came round to where I was sitting. ‘No, Bernard; no, Bernard; no, Bernard. No!’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘You come along. You stay at Tante Lisl’s but for all practical purposes you are in the hotel suite with Tessa.’

  ‘For all practical purposes? Surely for all practical purposes you will be there with Tessa.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood for your bloody comedy,’ he barked. But then, remembering that I was designated to fulfil an indispensable role in his curious scenario, he became calm and friendly again. ‘You check into the hotel. Okay?’ He was standing by the lion’s skin rug and now he gave the head of it an affectionate little kick with the toe of his shiny patent leather shoe. He’d always been an animal lover.

  I said, ‘If it’s just the propriety of it, why don’t you check in under an assumed name?’

  He became huffy. ‘Because I don’t care to do that,’ he said.

  ‘Or get Werner to let you have a room at Lisl’s?’

  I watched his face with interest. I don’t think even Lisl herself would put the hotel high on a list of Berlin accommodation suitable for a lover’s tryst.

  ‘Jesus Christ! Are you mad?’ I saw then that he was nervous. He was frightened that the desk clerk at some big hotel would challenge him in some way and he’d be revealed not just as an adulterer but as a bungling adulterer. Certainly Tessa in such a situation would not make it easy for him. She’d revel in it and make the most of it. ‘Lisl’s,’ he said. ‘What a thought.’

  He chewed a nail. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at this aspect of Dicky, I’d discovered long ago that womanizers like him are often uneasy and incapable when faced with the minor logistics of such adventures: hotel bookings, plane tickets, car rentals. The sort of man who will boast of his doings to all comers at his club will go to absurd lengths in attempts to deceive the concierge, the waiters or the room maid. Perhaps that’s why they do it.

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘You won’t…’

  He cut me short. He wasn’t going to let me give him a negative reply. Dicky was a grandmaster at squeezing the right sort of replies from people. Now would come the softening up: a barrage of incontrovertible platitudes. ‘Your sister-in-law is one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever met, Bernard. Glor
ious!’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  He poured more coffee for me without asking if I wanted it. Cream too. ‘And your wife of course,’ he added. ‘Two truly extraordinary women: brainy, beautiful and with compelling charm.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Fiona took the wrong road of course. But that can happen to anyone.’ By Dicky’s standards this was an astonishingly indulgent attitude to human frailty. Perhaps he saw that in my face, for he immediately added, ‘Or almost anyone.’

  ‘Yes, almost anyone.’

  ‘Daphne is astonishing too,’ said Dicky, delivering this accolade with distinctly less emphasis. ‘Creative, artistic.’

  ‘And hard-working,’ I said.

  He was less sure of that. ‘Well, yes, I suppose she is.’

  ‘Daphne was in good form the other night,’ I said. ‘Did I thank you for dinner?’

  ‘Gloria wrote.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘I only wish I could give Daphne the sort of support and encouragement she needs,’ said Dicky. ‘But she lives on a mountain top.’ He looked at me. I nodded. He said, ‘Artists are all like that: creative people. They live in harmony with nature. But it’s not so easy for those around them.’

  ‘Oh, really? What form does this take? In Daphne’s case, I mean?’

  ‘She’s only truly happy when she’s painting. She told me that. She has to have time to herself. She spends hours up in her studio. I encourage her, of course. It’s the least I can do for her.’

  ‘You won’t find Tessa needs any time to herself,’ I said.

  He smiled nervously. ‘No. Tessa is like me: very much a social animal.’

  ‘May I ask why you are going to Berlin?’

  ‘Why we are going,’ Dicky corrected me. ‘You’ll have to come along, Bernard. No matter what reservations you may nurture about my peccadilloes…No, no.’ He raised a hand as if warding off my interjections but in fact I had not moved. ‘No, I understand your reservations. Far be it from me to persuade any man to do something against his conscience. You know how I feel about that kind of thing.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was against my conscience.’