by Alan Judd
‘How’s the job going?’ he asked.
‘All right.’
‘Only all right?’
‘No, really all right. Good. Harder work than before but more interesting.’
‘And what about this chap, this American’ – tiredness threatened to overwhelm him and he groped in vain for the name – ‘your boss.’
‘Max.’
‘Yes, Max. How do you get on with him?’
‘All right.’ She ate with relish, which pleased him. During the last month or two she had seemed listless.
‘Have you seen your friend Señor Finn recently?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I saw him today. He was eating something very like what we’re eating.’
‘Is he well?’
‘Flourishing, by the looks of him. Becoming more talkative. In fact, he told me something rather disturbing, if it’s true. I noticed his dog was tied up, which it never usually is, and asked why. He said they’re rounding up the strays in the city and shooting them.’
‘That’s right, it was on the news.’
‘Seems a bit extreme. There aren’t that many.’
‘Max says it’ll be the people next.’
William rested his knife and fork on the plate. ‘That’s what Señor Finn said. “Today the dogs, señor,” he said, “tomorrow the people.” ’
‘Max says communist countries often do it when they’re heading for a purge. It’s one of the first signs of clamp-down. He was in Peking when they did it there.’
‘But this isn’t a communist country.’
‘It’s becoming one, according to Max.’
William picked up his knife and fork. ‘Maybe.’
They continued talking over coffee. He told her in greater detail about the events at Maria’s and their aftermath, including his visit to Box and the embassy. He found he could mention Theresa without any spasm of guilt. This was partly because the whole thing – Theresa, Box, Carlos, the embassy, Maria’s – sounded so unreal when he talked about it. It was as if bits of his life didn’t connect with each other. Also, a recitation of events without an account of his own feelings contained nothing to feel guilty about. Sally seemed amused but not particularly curious.
Afterwards she mentioned the friend to whom she was writing – Jackie, who had remarried and had a baby. William had met Jackie – after several promptings he vaguely recalled a girl with curly brown hair who giggled – and the story of her first marriage was alternately funny and violent. It ended with her leaving her husband stuck in his car in a snowdrift. She married the brother of the man who gave her a lift home. Sally told the story, which William assumed had been sent to her in a novel-length letter, with a relish for detail he had not seen in her for some time. Her account of the baby made him wonder whether she now wanted one herself, though she always said she didn’t. He realised that Jackie was not the girl he was remembering but it was too late to say so.
She continued talking over the washing-up. It pleased him to hear her talk, no matter what about. Interest in something – anything – was better than the polite disinterest which had characterised their relations for some time now. When she talked she became animated and was more attractive. It reminded him of when he had first known her, a lively, confident girl whom he could not at first believe could ever be interested in him. But he had made her laugh and that had helped.
Before going to bed that night he made brief notes of what he wanted to tell Box. He wrote them as a series of one-word reminders on a piece of paper on which he had already made notes about the next paper-run forecast. He was very tired now, but content. Sally was in bed already and he thought that, despite his tiredness, they might make love that night; it would be the first time for many months. But she was already asleep.
Chapter 7
The envelope was brought to William in his office by one of the girls from the shop. It was plain white, with his name written in a rather flowery script. The girl said it must have been pushed through the letterbox in the night because it was amongst the other mail but there was no stamp. Afterwards he heard her giggling downstairs and wondered again why it was that encounters with him always provoked such giggles. Perhaps they giggled about the orange-seller. He was in his usual position. Could Ricardo be right about the man’s infatuation? Possibly, but it wasn’t incompatible with spying. William wondered which of the two girls might have captivated the man. He was never certain of being able to tell them apart.
He put aside the letter of intent from the Ministry of Information – it was a large order for certification of censorship forms – and opened the white envelope. It was dated the day before, with no address, and read:
Dear William, I should be grateful if you would deliver the goods you promised tomorrow night at eight-thirty. Please come by car. Do not use the front entrance nor either of the sides but come to the back where the garages and stables are. When they stop you at the gate, say that you are the interpreters who have come to interview the prisoners and ask for directions to the exercise yard. I will meet you there. C.
William had to quell his jealousy. He concentrated on an undramatic determination simply to do his duty by Britain and by Box. That at least should provide satisfaction, an opportunity to be loyal, useful, disinterested. It was necessary to see Box urgently.
He would have to use the telephone procedure Box had described at the hotel. After looking carefully at his watch and re-checking twice, he rang and asked for Mr Kronstadt. The extension was answered by a harsh, ‘Ja?’ William introduced himself in Spanish and said he could not after all see Mr Kronstadt at one o’clock that day. Could they arrange another time? Box replied in rapid German. William said he was sorry, he did not speak German. There was a pause and then Box replied in convincingly fractured Spanish, with a heavy Teutonic accent, that he did not understand – could William repeat his message? William did so and there was another pause.
‘You speak English?’ Box asked, with a foreign accent.
William repeated his message in English. Box replied in his best German-accented English that it was okay, they would arrange another time when William was not so busy.
One o’clock in the message meant twelve o’clock. Saying they could not meet that day meant they must. The meeting-place was a newsagent that sold foreign papers within walking distance of William’s office. It was on a busy junction near the main post office and opposite the national bank, a venerable and grave institution, magnificent in decay. There were a few tables on the pavement at which people sat reading papers and drinking coffee.
There was no sign of anyone serving when William arrived. There was no sign of Box. William searched for a while and found a Daily Telegraph more recent than the last he had received. The front-page news of the unfavourable balance of trade, a health service financial scandal and a survey of geographical ignorance was at once familiar and distant. He could guess how much it all seemed to matter in England, at least for the day. Here, people sat, read, drank coffee and talked in the sun. Economies, politics, even so-called communist takeovers were relegated to their proper places. He turned to the sports pages and read about the outstanding New Zealand touring team.
It was not like Box to be late. Men with clipped moustaches and polished shoes tended to be punctual. William glanced across at the massive studded wooden doors of the bank. They looked about eighteen feet high. He remembered again that he had once seen Theresa slip out through the similarly high doors of the treasury. Perhaps they had been the bank doors, after all. What could she have been doing in either? He felt another spasm of anger and jealousy, then thought of her set expression in the car and the flat tone in which she had asked if he disliked her. Whatever she was doing, she didn’t like it and didn’t do it for herself. He felt warmly towards her, a feeling as dominant as the spasm of a moment before.
The great doors began to close. It was approaching lunchtime and closing when most people would wish it open was one of the ways in which the national b
ank maintained its dignity. Just before the doors met with grim finality Box slipped through them and crossed the road.
He stood next to William, looking through the magazines on the rack. William was not to acknowledge him first; Box would speak when he judged it safe to do so. William continued reading about the cricket.
Box picked up a copy of Der Spiegel. ‘Anything important?’ he asked out of the corner of his mouth.
‘Quite important.’
‘Can you tell me here or do we need to discuss?’
‘We should discuss.’
‘Right. I’ve recce’d a place. Let me go first and you follow about twenty yards behind.’
‘Señor?’
The new voice startled them both. The proprietor held out his hands towards Box. ‘I hope you will not forget to pay, señor,’ he said in Spanish.
‘Pardon?’
The proprietor turned to William. ‘You are with him, señor?’
‘No, no, he’s a foreigner.’
‘You too.’
‘Yes, but he’s German – I think, judging by the paper.’
‘But you speak to him. I see you.’
‘He speak – spoke to me. He asked me something.’
‘Señor.’ The proprietor was an old man with a sour expression. He leaned across his counter. ‘Listen, señor. I don’t care what you are, I don’t care what you do with each other. It is your business. But I tell you this: in this country there are many people who do not like people like you, who do not like men like you. They beat you up. Sometimes they kill you. If you are wise you will prefer women. Now you must pay for the magazine. If someone has a paper for more than one minute, he pays. It is a rule.’
Box was still pretending to read Der Spiegel. ‘He wants you to pay for it,’ William said in English.
‘Why? I’m not buying it.’
‘You’ve been reading it for more than one minute. It’s the rule here, he says.’
‘I’m not sure the company will wear this. Foreign papers are four times their proper price.’
‘I bought mine.’
‘That’s all right. I can claim yours for you. Not sure about mine, that’s all.’ Box paid. ‘Not that I’m mean.’
‘No.’
‘Twenty yards, remember.’
Box left the shop with the magazine under his arm. William followed, watched by the proprietor. They walked towards the dock area and then after about ten minutes back again to the same street. With a glance behind to check that William was still following, Box entered a small restaurant next to a ladies’ dress shop. As William reached the restaurant door it opened and Box stepped smartly out. The door shut behind him.
‘Closed for lunch,’ he whispered.
‘It is a restaurant, isn’t it?’
‘Course it is. I recce’d it the other evening. Now they say they’re always closed for lunch. It’s not possible.’
‘It must be one that opens only for dinner. Some do. Yes, look – there’s a notice in the window.’
‘I’ll swear it wasn’t there before.’
‘Where now, then?’
‘Let me think.’ They stood staring at the underwear in the window of the dress shop. They were still within sight of the newsagent. ‘I don’t think we should do this for very long,’ said William.
‘D’you know any other places?’
‘One or two.’
‘All right. You lead. I’ll follow.’
‘Mightn’t we just as well walk together now?’
‘Rather we didn’t. Might look odd. You never know what people are thinking.’
Maria’s seemed a sensible choice. It was not far, it was unlikely to be crowded during the day, it was particularly unlikely that the president and his entourage would be there again, there were rooms enough for quiet conversation and there was a good chance that he would bump into Theresa, whom he had to contact anyway. His being seen with Box shouldn’t matter since he could always explain him as a client.
The house was open but quiet. A few people were drinking in the bar, a couple of girls sat on the big sofa in the hall, there were smells of food and the murmur of voices. Someone tinkled intermittently on a piano.
Box stopped at the coat-stand in the hall. ‘What is this place?’
‘It’s Maria’s, the tango club – the one I told you about.’ William waited for protests on security grounds, but none came.
Box looked about him. ‘Quite nice. Where do they tango?’
‘In a room farther in. I don’t think they’re doing it now but we can have a look later. Should we get a drink and sit down? There are some armchairs through here.’
The figure sliding into vision from his left was, he realised too late, El Lizard. There was the usual horizontal projection of the neck and, on the end of it, the usual expression of concentrated gloom.
‘Buenas días, Señor Wooding. I am delighted to see you back so soon. I must apologise for the incident the other night. I hope you were not too inconvenienced?’
‘Not at all. I should apologise for my part.’ William wondered how the man knew who he was.
‘Some people do not know how to behave.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Señor Wooding . . .’ El Lizard’s voice reached greater depths and his neck veered to the left and downwards like a lop-sided crane jib. ‘I knew your predecessor, Señor Wicks.’
‘Ah yes, I think I knew that.’
‘We used to have an arrangement regarding certain materials.’
‘I’m afraid they’re not in stock any more.’
‘So I understand. But if you were short of . . . originals’ – there was the slightest widening of El Lizard’s lips – ‘I could possibly help you out from my staff. Some of them would pose quite well. It would also provide them with business during the slack periods.’
‘That’s very good of you but the company policy has changed, I’m afraid.’ William used to wish he could stop apologising whenever he refused anyone anything but now, having accepted it as an ineradicable habit, he made the most of it. ‘Very, very sorry about that.’
El Lizard held up one long hand. ‘Por favor, for favor, Señor Wooding, you are very kind. I can help you to a drink?’
William asked Box what he would like, but before Box could reply El Lizard said in good English that he had everything available. He had never been caught out on drink.
‘A Guinness, please,’ said Box.
‘Certainly, señor. Draught or bottled?’
‘Draught, if you have it.’ Box’s eyes flickered about the hall. ‘And a private room, if you have one.’
Comprehension did not so much spread across El Lizard’s face as settle like a stone into the bottom of a pond. He nodded gravely. ‘Of course, señores, my apologies for keeping you waiting.’
He turned to the two girls on the sofa. ‘These two are ready now, but we can quickly get others if you prefer.’
‘I think my friend meant lunch,’ said William in Spanish.
The dining room was near the room where the band had played. It was shabby and comfortable with an open fire and a white fluffy cat curled up on one of the tables. From the dance room the piano still tinkled amidst talk.
‘I like this place,’ said Box.
‘Yes, it’s cosy.’
‘I say,’ Box rested his folded arms on the table and leaned forward. ‘Those two girls on the sofa – were they on offer?’
‘Yes.’
Tears filled Box’s colourless eyes. ‘Not a bad little aperitif, eh?’ He compressed his thin lips and closed his eyes as laughter shook him. He took off his glasses and dabbed at the tears with his large white handkerchief. ‘In fact, if I weren’t a married man . . .’ He was shaken again by suppressed laughter.
‘You are married, are you?’
‘Very. There’s a Mrs Box in Bletchley.’
‘Children?’
‘Sadly not. Doesn’t seem to have been possible. You any?’
�
�No.’
‘Early days, I suppose?’
‘I suppose.’
An elderly waiter poured unasked from a bottle of red wine and left them a bowl of bread. Four men came in and sat at one of the other tables.
‘They could be surveillance,’ Box said quietly. ‘Sensible if we look away from them when we’re talking.’ He turned sideways in his chair towards the wall. ‘You shouldn’t have addressed me in English in the hall there.’
‘I didn’t. It was the owner. You replied in English. You ordered a Guinness.’
‘You’re right. And it hasn’t come. My punishment for not replying in German. Wall, please.’ Box waited until William was facing the wall. ‘Grateful if you’d pick me up on any little slips I make. I’ll do the same for you.’
William told him about the visit to the factory, about Ricardo’s identification of him and all his predecessors as British spies and about the president’s command to bring Theresa that night. Box sat without expression for some time after William had finished: He clenched and unclenched his hands, then half turned to the wall.
‘You’ve been blown, no doubt about that. People often get the right answer for the wrong reason. On the other hand, it sounds as if it’s almost an open secret. No one minds. At least, not yet. The factory business sounds nasty, though. Party representative and all that. The beast is beginning to show itself. Wait till London hears. Make these embassy people look pretty silly. Now this chappie of yours – Ricardo – is he all right?’
‘His heart’s probably in the right place.’
‘Bit of an unguided missile, eh? Works well under supervision, that sort of chap? Knew a lot of them in the Army. But tonight’s the urgent thing. The president wants his way with your lady-friend. Obviously, you must be there, to talk to him.’
