Mitchell looked at him unbelievingly in the darkness.
‘Whereas along with me - ‘ Audley paused again.
It was true: he was being given the choice of hunting with the hunters or being thrown to the wolves.
‘The fact is, Paul, your country needs you - and the safest place for you happens to be the front line.’
The door of the bedroom opened wide. A large cardboard box - several large cardboard boxes - appeared in the opening, canted dangerously as the door was kicked shut, and were lowered to reveal Audley’s beaming face.
‘Your uniform, Captain Lefevre,’ he said.
God! He hadn’t dreamed it all.
6
MITCHELL LOOKED AT his new watch again.
‘It’s almost 11.15,’ he said.
Audley nodded.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here on time. Jack’s nothing if not punctual, and in fact he’s a great deal more than that. You mustn’t be deceived by appearances with Jack -people tend to be, and then he has them on the hip. I rather think he trades on it, not being at all what he looks like. He’s a very shrewd fellow, our Jack.’
It was a very expensive watch, the sort they advertised as not missing a second whether at the bottom of the sea or whirling about in space, he had recognised that at once when it had tumbled out of the manila envelope with the other things, the wallet and the identification card and banker’s card and the half-used cheque-book … and the letters from people he didn’t know, who probably didn’t even exist. There had even been a letter from a girl.
He had remarked on it -
‘This is a very fine watch, David.’
‘I’m glad you like it. A small token of our esteem.’
‘My own works perfectly well.’
‘But this is your own. The new you mustn’t have anything belonging to the old - it’s a standard precaution.’
That was more like it: a precaution rather than a token of esteem. And also a reminder.
Involuntarily he felt his upper lip, gingerly at first, and then with more confidence. It felt firm and it looked real - and now he was brushing the thing just as he had seen others do. He had always taken the action as a piece of affectation designed to call attention to what was there, but now he wondered if they weren’t simply reassuring themselves about its existence, as he was doing.
‘But he really is a soldier?’
‘Jack Butler?’
Audley looked up from his paperback.
‘Oh yes, and a good one too - we’re not all frauds. He won a very good Military Cross in Korea, and I believe he was a first-rate regimental officer. It says a lot for the army that they let us have him.’
He sounded more like a collector of rare objets d’art than a - but then Mitchell still wasn’t too sure who ‘us’ were. Apart from that comparison with the Service de Documentation Presidentielle, which obviously wasn’t what it sounded like anyway, he had disappeared in a cloud of vague generalities every time they had approached the subject.
‘And here he is - on time to the minute,’ observed Audley triumphantly. ‘We’ll leave my car here and let him do the drive, come on.’
As they crunched across the granite chippings which covered the surface of the lay-by towards the dark grey Rover Mitchell reflected that any event which delivered him from Audley’s driving couldn’t be all bad. It wasn’t so much that the big man drove dangerously - and at least he drove slowly - as that he gave the impression of someone who was determined to give only a quarter of his mind to a job which required at least half of it. Colonel Butler might not be brainier, whatever Audley claimed for him, but he was bound to be more competent in this.
For a moment he thought Butler must feel the same way and was simply waiting for them to join him, but as they approached the car the driver’s door clicked open. He could see at once and exactly what Audley had meant by appearances. In the Institute the day before the colonel had worn a countryman’s city suit and a look of even-tempered neutrality; now, in tweeds and deerstalker and with an expression of apoplectic anger on his face he resembled the very pattern of the Angry British Officer disguised thinly as a civilian.
‘Audrey, what the hell are you up to?’ he exploded.
‘Good morning. Jack,’ said Audley brightly. ‘Have you got the reports and the maps?’
‘Maps be damned!’ Butler stabbed a blunt finger towards Mitchell. ‘What the hell are you doing?’
Audley grinned.
‘This is Captain Paul Lefevre of the 15th Royal Tank Regiment, Jack.’
‘Lefever - ?’ Butler gagged on the next word.
‘Spelt “Lefevre” but pronounced “Lefever”,’ added Audley helpfully. ‘A good French Huguenot name anglicised by three hundred years of English speaking - since the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, to be precise. In the year 1685 - ‘
‘Damn the year!’ Butler spluttered. ‘You’re up to your old tricks - you can’t do it. Not again.’
‘I can and I will - and I have,’ said Audley. ‘And I don’t think you’re in any position to quibble. Jack. Not with your record.’
Butler’s eyes flashed. ‘That was - ‘
‘Different?’ Audley pounced on the momentary hesitation. ‘Necessary, I would have said. And it’s necessary now - necessity has once more been the mother of invention. I have invented Captain Lefevre.’
There was something like pain as well as anger in Butler’s eyes now, as though he could see a defeat ahead which was being inflicted on him by a dirty trick.
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Audley stared at Mitchell for an instant, then turned back to Butler. “Where’s the village of Mametz, Captain Lefevre?’
‘East of Albert, and just east of Fricourt.’
‘Who took it on July ist, 1916?’
‘The ist South StaHbrds and the list Manchesters.’
‘What division were they?’
‘The 7th.’
‘What corps?’
‘XV - Fifth Army.’
Audley paused.
‘Who took Vaux-le-Petit on July i4th?’
‘The West Mercians.’
‘All right!’ Butler barked. ‘You’ve got yourself a Somme expert. But there are books on the Somme.’
‘I haven’t finished. Who owns Vaux-le-Petit Wood?’
‘Monsieur Pierre Ducrot.’
‘And Sabot Wood?’
‘Madam Grenier, who lives in Bapaume. Number 14, Rue Palikao.’
‘There are directories too,’ Butler snapped.
‘But not walking ones.’
‘Tchah!’ Butler turned to Mitchell. ‘Man - do you know what you’re letting yourself in for? Apart from wearing the Queen’s uniform, which you’ve no right to?’
‘I still haven’t finished,’ said Audley, his voice suddenly taking on authority. ‘Why do you think I arranged to meet you here - because I like the open air?’
Butler glowered briefly at Mitchell, then switched his attention back to Audley.
‘I assumed you’d tell me in your own good time.’
‘And so I will. Or perhaps I’d better let Captain Lefevre tell you. Go on, Paul.’
Mitchell cleared his throat nervously. Yesterday, at their first meeting, he liked Butler better than Audley. His feelings about the big civilian were still equivocal, but he felt too far committed to the action plan to withdraw now. In any case, Audley was obviously the top man, and by the contents of this morning’s fancy dress boxes, a man who could get things done quickly.
He pointed down the hill.
‘That’s Elthingham, Colonel.’
Butler’s gaze followed the finger towards the huddle of houses in the valley, set in its chequer-board of fields and woodland. In the clear stillness of the morning the smoke from a dozen chimneys rose peacefully above the roofs: Elthingham was like a picture postcard of an English village.
‘Yes?’ Butler growled.
Mitchell forced himself to look directly into the hostile
face. It wasn’t his health and well-being that Butler was worried about, he sensed, but his ability to look after himself. He was being tested.
‘I saw Charles Emerson twice last week, once on Tuesday, the day after he came back from France, and then yesterday. On Wednesday he went to see someone in Elthingham.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know. Colonel. And I don’t know why, either. But what I do remember is that he was excited about it.’
‘How - excited?’
Butler sounded as though he somewhat disapproved of excitement in a sober scholar whose enthusiasm ought to be tempered by gravity.
‘I don’t mean he was dancing up and down. But he said it was a pity he’d had to come back from France on Monday - he had a lecture to give at the Staff College on Tuesday evening - because he’d stumbled on a very interesting thing which he was following up.’
‘Something in France?’
‘Yes. But he said it did at least give him a chance to check it up at this end before he went back.’
‘He planned to go back to France again?’
Mitchell nodded.
‘Because of what he’d just learnt?’
‘Yes, I gathered that was why.’
‘But you didn’t ask him?’ Butler made this lack of curiosity sound a mortal sin.
‘Well - the whole thing only came up incidentally to what we were talking about –
‘ ‘Which was the Hindenburg Line, I take it,’ said Butler drily, ‘and not the Somme. Go on, Mitchell.’
Mitchell swallowed. Butler had put it bluntly but accurately. And yet somehow unfairly all the same.
‘Professor Emerson was advising me … he was getting me some American maps - their 27th and 30th Divisions were attached to our Fourth Army in 1918 - and we were going to study them together on Wednesday. That’s what we’d arranged to do, anyway. But he asked me if we could put that off because he wanted to go and see a man in Elthingham in connection with this thing he’d found out - ‘
‘The very interesting thing?’
‘Yes.’
It dawned belatedly on Mitchell that he was being interrogated rather than allowed to tell his own story. Where Audley’s tactics over the same ground the night before had been to let him run on, encouraging him to speak his thoughts aloud, Butler evidently favoured continuous harassment.
‘I didn’t ask him about it because I was more concerned with my own work - and because if he’d been ready to tell me he would have done so without my asking. We agreed to meet yesterday morning instead.’
Butler pounced.
‘And he evidently wasn’t ready to tell you about it then either. So maybe it wasn’t very interesting any more?’
‘You can make that assumption if you like, Colonel,’ said Mitchell tartly. ‘I think it would be the wrong one, but you’re welcome to make it.’
‘What would the right one be, then?’
‘Charles Emerson never went off at half-cock. If he said something was interesting - or very interesting - then that’s what it was.’
‘And therefore still is,’ interposed Audley mildly. ‘Well, Jack - are you satisfied?’
Butler gave Mitchell a final lingering look, his lips slightly parted now where they had been pressed together before.
‘Does he know the score?’ he snapped.
‘He knows Emerson was killed.’
‘Does he understand what that means?’
‘If you mean do I know someone wants to kill me too, Colonel Butler,’ cut in Mitchell, ‘I’ve already been given a demonstration, you know.’
‘And that didn’t frighten you?’
‘It scared the hell out of me, frankly.’
The lips parted another quarter of an inch.
‘Well that’s something, I suppose. And you think a khaki uniform will put them off next time?’
‘Oh, come on. Jack,’ said Audley. ‘They think he’s dead, or they will when the newspaper announces he’s missing. You knew he was alive - but did you recognise him straight off? Did you?’
Audley was trading on that half minute they had walked across the lay-by, before the Rover’s door had burst open.
‘You think a uniform and a hair-cut and a blond rinse and a bloody stupid little moustache will do the trick?’
‘Why not? Christ, Jack - I think he looks perfect! ‘
Butler took a step back, scanning Mitchell up and down appraisingly.
‘Hmm … If I didn’t know you so well, Audley, I might have taken longer spotting him, it’s true. I must admit the moustache looks lifelike …’
‘And you’re trained to look carefully. As far as we know they’ve only seen him close up once, and that was in artificial light at night - even then they had to make sure by asking him who he was.’
‘You brought in Perman to handle his appearance?’
‘Naturally. He said the haircut and the fair hair would alter the shape of his head - take your beret off, Paul - see, Jack? And the moustache broadens his face. Add the uniform and you’ve got a different person altogether - a soldier.’
Butler scowled.
‘That’s the trouble: a soldier is what you haven’t got. That’s what gave him away just now - he doesn’t march, he doesn’t walk - he slouches like a pregnant washerwoman on a wet Monday. My God, man - you may not be an infantryman, but you’re meant to be an officer in the Royal Tank Regiment, and that means you can’t drag yourself around on all fours. Stick your chest out. Get your shoulders back and pull in your stomach. A uniform doesn’t make a soldier: it’s the man inside the uniform who is the soldier. At the moment you’re just so much stuffing.’
Mitchell drew a deep breath, his cheeks burning.
‘That’s better. Now salute me - go on, salute me. I’m a colonel and you can’t wave at me as though I’m your girlfriend - salute me!’
It had been the first thing Mitchell had done in the privacy of his room at the hotel when Audley had left him alone: he had stood in front of the full length mirror and had saluted himself. Longest way up, shortest way down - he remembered the formula. It had looked gratifyingly military at the time. And it hadn’t looked like anyone he’d ever met.
‘Good God!’ exclaimed Butler. ‘Where did you learn to salute?’
‘I used to play soldiers in the Cambridge University OTC, Colonel Butler,’ he answered with insulting politeness. ‘I’ve also played Raleigh in the college production of Journey’s End and Carrington in the Godsey Players’ version of Carrington VC. I’m a real veteran.’
Butler gave him a hard look.
‘For your sake I hope you’re half as good as you think you are.’
‘I hope so too.’
‘Sir. As of this moment you call me “sir” in public when you’re in uniform. And when you’re in mufti you call me “Jack”. I take it your Christian name is still the same?’
‘I’ve been left that, yes.’
‘Sir .’
‘SIR.’
‘And whose bright idea was “Lefevre”?’
‘Mine,’ said Audley. ‘It’s his second name and his mother’s maiden name, so he’s not likely to ignore it … But if you’ve finished the drill lesson I suggest we get down to business. I want to hear those reports.’
‘And then?’
‘We have an appointment down there with a Mr Hutchinson.’
Butler looked at Mitchell. ‘The man Emerson visited?’
Mitchell discovered that it was impossible to shrug while holding his shoulders back, the reflex instinct to do so producing only an awkward twitch. ‘He may be, but I’d guess he’s more likely to be the wrong generation.’
‘Sir.’
Damn it!
‘Sir.’
Audley shook his head with a sign of irritation.
‘Come on then. We haven’t got all day.’
Butler returned the look of irritation with one of disdain.
‘The reports are in the car.’
‘What do they s
ay - in brief? I’ll read them later.’
Butler looked at him in silence for a moment, as though undecided as to whether to resist the demand. Then he sighed.
‘Ollivier’s officially on leave. There’s a deputy in his chair at the moment, by name Georges Duveau.’
‘SDP?’
Butler flicked a glance at Mitchell.
‘We rather think so, yes. Ollivier’s not in his flat, nor in his cottage in the Dordogne. But his car’s gone.’
‘Have you tried the Somme area?’
‘That’s where the pay-off is. Our men say there’s a security readiness alert in four northern departments - Somme, Aisne, Pas-de-Calais and Nord. The Gendarmerie are thicker on the ground in the countryside than usual, there’s a rumour that there’s a Brigade Mobile squad in Amiens and one of our chaps spotted three old plainclothes friends of his from the Surveillance du Territoire killing time in Arras.’
‘But no Ted Ollivier?’
Butler shook his head.
‘No. But they’re definitely watching the Channel traffic and the Belgian frontier more carefully too. Nothing too obvious, but they’re there right enough. Sir Frederick says you were correct: there’s something big happening, that’s what it adds up to.’
‘But he doesn’t know what?’
‘He doesn’t. And he’d like to know how you produced your early warning too.’
‘You can tell him my thumbs pricked. Has there been any untoward event in those four departments - say in the last week?’
‘Yes. There was a car blown up in Amiens on Tuesday. Officially it was an electrical fault leading to a fire and a petrol explosion, that’s what the local newspaper reported. But the unofficial word is that it was an explosion first, then a fire.’
‘Yes?’
‘That’s all. The police were on the spot very quickly indeed -too quickly, you might say. So no one really knows for certain what happened.’
‘Hmm …’ Audley stared thoughtfully down at the village. ‘And on the home front?’
Butler nodded at Mitchell.
‘Your mother’s cleaning woman, Mrs Johnson, she says an insurance salesman called yesterday while your mother was out. He asked some leading questions about you. I gather she gave him a number of useful answers, including the time of your train from London.’
Other Paths to Glory Page 6
