by Daniel Kemp
Chapter Seven: Pink Carnations
We were to have a rescheduled start after lunch. Judith had requested the change, stating her need to research something, leaving the subject unclear as she carried the photograph away with her. I was left alone beside the roaring fire that I had instructed Joseph to light, but suddenly I felt cold.
I remembered how I was shaking on that short walk from my car to that house in the quaint hamlet with the unpronounceable German name. The knock was unanswered, which I was thankful for, as I felt no words would leave my mouth as it was so dry. I was trying to hold my breath in the silent church in case I made a noise as I laid the sketch on the pews, and, again, as I tiptoed across the stone floor in my exit. Then the wait, and the return. It was as if everyone that Sunday was watching me. Trimble had said that if there was no reply, then to go back the following Sunday. I searched and searched, down on my hands and knees, but found zilch. I really didn't want to come back and face the same torment, but had no choice.
The next Sunday I think I was shaking more as the rain bouncing off my coat would testify. I suppose it was the mood that I was in that made that rain feel, and sound, like gunfire zipping through the air, targeting only me. There was no one else foolish enough to be out in such weather, which made me feel more conspicuous and vulnerable. I didn't know what to expect, a policeman or a gun; I was that paranoid. My mind was going over and over, thinking I had been set up. The first time they'd had a good look, and this time they know who to shoot. Anyway, I was a good boy-scout, and I got over it, and went in. I found it straight away the photograph, I mean. It was held up under the seat by sticky tape. Then my curiosity took over. I stayed for the service; I don't know why, it was not as though I would recognise anyone. It was just a show of bravado on my part I guess, plus I wanted to see who sat in that pew and had caused me all this mental anguish. The thought of punching him crossed my mind but it was left empty, just like the emptiness my anger had to endure.
I had never experienced nerves before as I did that day, even in Bosnia trying to keep a thankless peace. The other time I had seen action well, seen is not the right word, heard of would be more appropriate was in Afghanistan. There I had listened to others on field telephones, hearing their response to fear and danger, whilst I liaised with OIC's, Officers In Charge. I never once, on either tour of duty, saw a bullet fired. I never had the opportunity to test myself in tense situations or under hostile fire. In truth, I felt a fraud amongst brave, disciplined, men, and that is what led me to retire. I had been nervous before, however, and one specific time now came back to me. I was trying to forget that first drop-off by thinking of other things, when the phone call from my father came flooding back.
* * *
He had texted me his number and we spoke in depth of his findings. We communicated on Mondays or, if unable to do so, Thursday afternoons. My father was a systematic man, for whom the term 'habitual' was invented. 'Annie's' was only open on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursday mornings. The weekends from Friday to Sunday were, when my mother still graced this life, spent here amongst his material belongings, or in London with his lovers when the need for more covertness was unnecessary. Thursday afternoons and Monday were his. Mondays he would spend travelling and lunching at far flung restaurants he had read reviews of. He would then tour the surrounds on foot, weather permitting, visiting galleries or antique shops. He was selective in the areas he chose, of course, but generally he spent that day just amusing himself and, presumably, the other party to his life.
“Mondays are quiet in London, Harry. Good day to get out and about a bit. Go to Notting Hill…the good parts, mind you or the Borough and the City. The air is a bit cleaner on a Monday.”
Thursdays were his indulgent days: massage at the Dorchester, wet shave and hair trim at Truefitts and Hill, call in at Lobbs to see how the shoes were going, pick up a good new wine at Berry Bros, lunch at the Connaught, and even see a matinée, if one was showing that caught his eye, or hers.
The copies of the journals he sent me, the ones that had been unearthed in a previously unknown safe hidden in the concrete floor, did not make good reading. Against some numbered bonds that were lodged, amounting to £7.5 million, were the initials MA. Three bonds in all were removed from the bank; the first in June 1936, then November of the same year, and finally May 1937.
The next time those MA initials appeared was in August 1946, and for varying values. More were removed at sporadic intervals, until they ceased on the 14th of April 1970. The largest amount went missing in September 1956: four Bonds totalling £66 million. From 1946 to 1956 the scale of withdrawals, compared to the total sum, was meagre: about £20 million, or two million a year. Then, in '56, two other initials were joined to MA…RD, and £186.5 million went missing in the following years and were never returned, nor were the recipients names recorded.
As far as Elliot's suspicions over a Soviet Union connection, they seemed to be borne out by a scribble in the margin of that 1936 ledger. 2397 Baskov. District 19. Leningrad.
* * *
“No news from London, I'm afraid. Been on to both us and the Branch. No one's been into the men in blue and put their hands up and said 'It's a fair cop, governor,' I'm sorry to say.”
My family oriented analysis had been stopped dead in its tracks by Judith's all-singing, all-dancing return.
“You can remove your rear end from my chair, as well. At least it will be warmed up when I get mine in there. By the by, Harry, did you know that both my great grandfather and grandfather knew your great one, Maudlin Paterson?”
I feigned disinterest and ignorance as I vacated the toasting spit, and resumed my allotted position.
“Yes…now, there's a coincidence, don't you think?” She waited for an answer, as I waited for her continuance. As nothing was forthcoming, I broke the stilted silence first.
“I suppose so. Small world, eh?”
“Getting smaller by the day, Harry. Want to know how they all knew each other? Well, I'm going to tell you, even if you don't want to hear it. Edwin that's the great one on my side of the trilogy, was a year older than your Maudlin, and a year apart at Eton and Cambridge, where I doubt they knew of each other. They went their separate ways after schooling, with my Edwin ending up in the Foreign Office straight from the age of 26. That was in 1917. Over the years he worked his way up the ladder, aided by his title, as is the way of things, ending up quite big. He was also aided by the outbreak of the disagreement between us, the good side, and that bad lot lead by Herr Hitler and his gang of testosterone driven murdering thugs. Lord Edwin Davenport was His Majesty's Ambassador in Vienna, that hotbed of Machiavellian spies.
For three years before his appointment, and for the entire time that he was there, and that was until 1945, he regularly received requests from Lord Maudlin to forward on letters addressed to an Andrea Isadora Mafalda Cortez in Leningrad in the USSR. Your own M got himself a nickname; Pinky, he was called thereafter, in the corridors of the FO. Don't look so worried, H. He was never considered a spy. Not many I've heard of thought he sent the Kremlin our Crown Jewels through the diplomatic bag,” she laughed in an insulting way. “My grandfather followed precisely Edwin's steps early in his passage of life, signing on for the FO at the same age of 26 in 1947, and regularly confirmed, to the continuing interest of his father, that Pinky was still active.
At this time, Edwin headed up section X1, the anti-Soviet section of the then SIS but, can you believe this, not one of them, or any of the minions working the wires under them, bothered to ask Pinky what he was up to! By around 1956, three years after Stalin's death, communications were relaxed between East and West, and Maudlin no longer had the need of diplomatic channels. Whether he persevered in his correspondence I can only speculate on and, I guess, so could those in 'The Office' at that time.” She leaned closer to the fire and rubbed her hands together, as if to say, 'I've got you; haven't I.'
“Would you like to comment on what I've just said, Ha
rry, or did you know about all these carrying-ons of GG Maudlin and didn't want to play with the rest of us?” She adopted the seductive, accusing, smile that I was becoming used to.
So, no one knew what went on after 1956, but it must have been substantial; otherwise why had Judith mentioned all of this, and why had so much money vanished after that date?
“Nothing I can say, other than I admire your knowledge. As I said, I knew very little of Maudlin and no one in my family has ever spoken of it. Perhaps it's innocent. Maybe he played chess by post with an old friend.”
“Yes, that could well be it,” she said, sitting back in her chair and almost laughing. “I admire your optimism, Harry, in all your shades of life, but I doubt that you're that naive,” she declared after some seconds, never altering the stare from those green eyes at me. Then, without delay, she continued. “Okay. Let's get back to business, and I'll stop all my show boating about our connections. Tell me of your second trip into the field, and Trimble's instructions. Did he phone as before, or use a different method? Take me for the walk, H and, please; do it slowly.”
“He wrote this time. It was January 2006 and I was still bedding down in Mortsel and before you ask, I was not in a permanent relationship, nor was anyone there when I opened the letter, nor did I leave it around for someone to read. I opened it in my office at work, and shredded it. There were no other women that I was involved with, that I have not given you the names of already. On the back of the photograph was a date and a place, where I was to go and meet the face on the front.” I was a little tense and it did not go unnoticed.
“All right, Harry. I sense aggression somewhere there, where has that come from? Don't be ashamed of your past. Without a history we won't know how to avoid making the same mistakes in our future. I'm referring to your promiscuous behaviour…nothing else, no hidden innuendoes I assure you.”
“I've never thought of you as the insinuating type, Judith. I'll just carry on and ignore the connotations about my personal life. I was going on a delegation to Canada to present the companies credentials to the regulating bodies in Vancouver, and to start the bidding to open several plants there. I assumed that she was working for ADM international, an American competitor of ours, who, along with two other companies from Japan, were also present. In the photograph she was about 29 years of age, five foot seven in height, long black hair, good figure.
All in all, a foxy glamorous-looking girl, and as you would well expect…I was looking forward to making her acquaintance. Her name was Katherine Friedal, and I was to introduce myself as me. He gave me no cover name, and I was surprised by that. I thought by now that, having run the gauntlet once, so to speak, I warranted cover this time. I texted him on the number that he had given me as a contact, and the message I got back only confirmed what he had already written. “Introduce yourself as Lord Paterson. That will be the name on the delegates list, it cannot be avoided.” I complained about it when I got back.”
Judith was alternating between both her books, but had not interrupted her writing, nor looked likely to. I watched her delicate fingers as her left hand drove that pen across the pages making many underlines or crossing-throughs, sometimes circling motions in a heavy hand as if to emphasis something already written. I carried on with my recollections.
“Industrial espionage was, and still is, rife in my line. An attractive women in the same business was especially dangerous, as she would understand any technical jargon that might be blurted out in the heat of the moment.”
She gave me one of the inquisitive stares that usually followed her idiosyncratic, 'Hmm' one where her lips pouted, eyes widened, and she tilted her head to one side.
“That's novel pillow talk, Harry…chemical formulae? I'm all aghast at what you get up to in bed with your conquests!”
The compulsion to respond to her irony with a 'come and see' was strong, yet there was another impulse that restrained me more forcefully. A feeling of wanting to be liked by this women. Not in a sexual way, not really well, that's what I told myself, but more in a respected, companionable way. It led me to lie: “Gorgeous, she was, but there was no way on this earth that I was going to get hooked up in any arrangement with her, and that you can take as gospel and verse!” I had my fingers crossed as I told it, and wished strangely that it was true.
“We met on that first evening, there was a reception held in a municipal building of some description. I'm not sure what it was called now, or the Department we were dealing with. I just tagged along with the others. Anyway, I helped myself to a drink and approached her. She was surrounded by other admiring men and obviously enjoying all the compliments they must have been showering her with. Me, being the irrepressible confident soul that I am, I figuratively dived into the ruck, and went searching for the ball.
“Hello…Katherine, isn't it? The manager sent me over to ask you to leave; your absolute beauty, charm and radiance is making every other woman in the room look so terribly ugly. I'm Lord Harry Paterson, and if you would like to take my arm I'd be delighted to escort you anywhere else you'd like to go.”
“You cad you, fancy pulling rank like that! That's some line, I've just got to say. Did she faint? I know I would have from embarrassment! Did you get away with it?” I had Judith's visual attention this time, as she almost fell out of her fireside chair.
“It's not original. I'd heard it somewhere and it was, honestly, the first time I'd used it.”
“Well, you're not using it on me, Harry Paterson. How did it work on Kathy…a quick KO, or did you die from a slow death?”
“She took my arm, of course. Who wouldn't have, apart from you?”
“Cut to the quick, H. Don't feed me the images from the bedroom mirror, I'm hot enough already from the heat of this fire. What did she say?”
“I suppose you mean apart from the obvious…that I was fantastic, an Adonis, things like that.”
“Shame omnipotence can't turn back time. Even the gods must suffer from slowing metabolism. The seams are showing on the costume, Harry, you're only just about holding it together!”
I didn't feel the need to reply, so I carried on. “She said: He will meet you in Moscow on the sixth of September, it is all arranged.” She also slipped something into my jacket pocket as I brushed against her, through the crowd at the bar, to get two more glasses of champagne. I have it here.”
I laid the stiff blue envelope on the table and pushed it towards Judith, who opened it. Inside was a Visa card, the numbers corresponding with an account at the Impexbank of Russia. The account was in my name and had been opened one month before this Canadian meeting, but not by me. There was 250,000 roubles in it, about £5,000. More than enough for the two nights that someone had reserved for me at the National Hotel, opposite the Kremlin. Attached to the Hotel confirmation form was a leaflet promoting the Michel Jarre concert to be held on the evening of the sixth, celebrating the 850th anniversary of the founding of Moscow. There was a seating plan, centred on the performance stage. I was in row D1, seat number 101 an aisle seat, which I was thankful for, as I could stretch out my invalided knee.”
Judith was busy penning into her book, when she asked, “Did she work in the same business as you suspected?”
“No, she said she worked for CNN and was there covering the negotiations for her news channel. The release of the reserves of trapped oil would be big news, apparently, not just for the economy, but for the tree-huggers that I love so much.”
Still not looking at me, she asked, “So, you had no worries about discussing your work when you bedded her, then?”
“I'm getting a mite peeved at your questions into my private sexual affairs, Judith, and I can't see the relevance, but I'll answer it; of course I did!” My chivalrous intentions were goaded too far, and was not capable of continuing in this role of gallantry.
“Thought so…you do run to form, H, don't you? Where did you meet Trimble when you made your complaint, and what was his reaction?”
“
We met in the back of a London cab. I'd taken the cab from the rank outside the Terminal at Heathrow, ostensibly to Eton Square, asking the driver to pick someone up on the way. Trimble, collar turned up, and wearing a tartan cap was in the Grenadier Pub, down a cul-de-sac off Belgrave Square. I had asked the driver to turn in. We waited a few minutes, glad handing outside the front but watching for followers, and when none appeared I paid the driver off. We walked through the front door of the pub into a courtyard at the rear, then out into Knightsbridge, catching another cab to Crockfords, in Curzon Street. As to my complaint, all he said was that I was in no danger, and to stop worrying.”
“Did that soothe your troubled mind?”
“That was all I got, so it had to…I had no other option.”
“Did he mention the photo at all?” she asked.
“Said he had a copy on file. He never mentioned the name though, of the file, that is.”
“Did she give you anything else, Harry like a card, or the means of getting in touch?”
“Yes, got it right here close to my heart.” I patted my breast pocket, then added, “Do you want it? Are you a bit jealous, Judith?”
“Hmm…no, Harry, but I'll take a copy of the details that is, if you can part with it for a few seconds without passing out on me. Did you ever phone old Kathy, Harry, out of office hours, as it were?”
“Now who's being insecure, Judith? I didn't. I just knew that someday the two of us would meet, and I didn't want her memory to jeopardise our mutual regard for one another.”
“Did you and Peter have a profitable evening, gaming at Crockfords, or did you come close to losing the Estate?”
“I don't gamble Judith. I like sure things; only certainties.”
Abruptly the conversation finished as Judith's mind was transfixed elsewhere.
* * *
“Right, now that's out of the way, it's time for me to change. I'm out tonight, old thing, something prearranged I just can't get out off. No, you can take that silly look off your face, it is official business. I'll be back in the wee small hours and I promise not to disturb you if you trust me with a key, or is it a swipe card you use to get into this fortress? Will you miss me?”
