Short of Glory

by Alan Judd

  The headquarters was a few hundred yards away. The policeman guided her by the arm, forcing her to walk quickly. People who saw them looked hurriedly away, pretending not to notice. Sarah’s handbag knocked against her knees. Patrick felt angry, ridiculous and impotent. ‘Don’t worry, Sarah, nothing’s going to happen,’ he said, loudly enough for the policeman to hear. Neither responded.

  They went through the entrance he had used when visiting Jim Rissik to a room on the ground floor where four men, three black and one white, sat handcuffed on benches. A group of policemen stood smoking and talking in the middle of the room, at the far end of which was a reception desk and a door through which prisoners were taken. Several were led back through it and out into the corridor. All the police were smart and the one guarding the door had his boots and holster polished to a high gloss; the atmosphere, though, was of bureaucratic indifference, impersonal and slow. Sarah was put on the back bench and Patrick sat next to her. He put down all the shopping which he then had to move to make way for an escorted prisoner.

  The young policeman went forward to the reception desk and spoke quietly to the desk officer. They were joined by an older man and all three turned twice to look at Patrick. They seemed unsure and reluctant. Patrick decided to attempt to gain the initiative. He went to the counter and said that Sarah’s high blood pressure could be worsened by anything such as handcuffs that restricted her circulation. He did not know if this was true but neither did they and the handcuffs were removed.

  No one seemed to know what to do next. ‘If you want to hold me you’d better notify the British ambassador,’ Patrick said.

  The senior man shook his head. ‘We’re not holding you, sir. You are free to leave at any time. You came here by your own choice, as I understand.’

  ‘And what about my servant?’

  ‘In your case, would it not be more appropriate for us to inform the consul?’ asked the desk officer.

  Patrick wondered whether this was an ironic reference to Whelk but there was no trace of irony in the policeman’s tone or expression.

  ‘The consul is not here. I am the acting consul. Perhaps you’d like to tell Captain Rissik I’m here. He knows me. Tell him who you’ve arrested and tell him that her employer, who committed the same offence at the same time and in her company, is here too.’

  A telephone call was conducted in Lower African and shortly afterwards Jim appeared, his uniform buttoned and gleaming, his belt creaking faintly as he moved. His regular features were set and serious. He smiled briefly at Sarah, who did not respond, and indicated to Patrick to follow him to a side office. They both remained standing. Jim put his hands in his pockets and faced Patrick squarely.

  ‘He’s a young policeman, nervous and a bit keen. I can see it might annoy you, especially because it’s you and especially because it’s Sarah, but you shouldn’t have done it like that. Your own people would dislike it as much as we do. Your ambassador wouldn’t like to ruffle feathers following the minister’s visit and Clifford would go up the wall. But no matter, nothing’s going to happen; they’ll let her go.’ He spoke quickly and formally. His dark eyes were serious and impersonal.

  Patrick felt like a schoolboy being ticked off. His anger now seemed adolescent and self-indulgent. He could’ve done it differently and achieved the same result without the fuss. But still it was wrong. ‘I’m sorry about the trouble. All the same, it shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘It does, though. These things keep happening, you keep forgetting that.’

  ‘They wouldn’t if everyone protested.’

  ‘But they don’t. They don’t want to. You forget that too.’

  Patrick said nothing.

  Jim looked down at his polished toecaps. ‘Two other things have happened, three in a way. I wanted to talk to you anyway. First, your friend Rachel, whom you saw off yesterday.’ Seeing Patrick’s raised eyebrows he smiled slightly. ‘Well, we check everyone going in and out of that airport. Rachel’s been having a nice time in Kuweto with young Stanley. Did you know that? She’s been tape-recording him and his activist friends. That’s who they are, you know, that’s who he’s been seeing when he should’ve been safely back at school. People connected with that railway bomb the other day. Communists, infiltrators, terrorists, call them what you like. We don’t mind her taping them. She can get their propaganda line just as easily in London but she was useful to our anti-terrorist boys. She led them from one contact to another. That’s why we let her continue. They were quite upset when she left.’

  Patrick half sat on the desk and folded his arms. He watched Jim’s face, which was softer now and more thoughtful.

  ‘Of course, this is none of my business. I’m not in the anti-terrorist squad and I shouldn’t be telling you. I’m doing it to help you because there are people in this building who think you’re a real bad guy whereas I think you’re – well, you’re no worse than me, only different.’ He smiled and stepped closer. Patrick remained leaning against the desk. ‘The point is, it’s one thing your harbouring commie agitators and kidnap investigators, or even keeping anti-state literature on your premises – that’s what’s in Rachel’s boxes, but we don’t mind that, we’ll pick up the stuff and the people who’ll come to collect it in time – but it’s another thing when it comes to Stanley. I know you let him stay at your place and I know you tried to help him return home but take my advice and don’t have any more to do with him. He’s in trouble now, too far in for you to help. Keep him away.’

  They stared at each other. Patrick did not know what to say. He was not frightened but his heart beat faster. It would take some time to digest this new perspective on himself and his activities. He was already wondering what to say to Sarah. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know. As I said, it’s not my department.’ Still with his hands in his pockets, Jim walked over to the window and looked out. ‘Stanley and anti-state literature, that’s two of the three. Guess the third.’

  Patrick was about to say Joanna but Jim continued quickly. ‘Whelk, dear old Arthur. We know where he is. He’s in Sin City.’ He turned and grinned.

  Patrick relaxed. ‘What’s he doing there?’

  ‘Don’t know. Go and see for yourself. We’ve got no authority, you must know that. It’s outside our law. That’s why he’s up there, I reckon.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I suggest you go up this weekend. Strike while the iron’s hot. But I wouldn’t want our mutual friend to be upset by not having her trip to the coast. Specially not after I’ve fixed the plane for you.’

  The sarcasm was new. It sounded forced and unnatural. Patrick stood. ‘Thanks for everything.’

  ‘Don’t thank me.’ Jim spoke the words slowly and very clearly. ‘For two pins I’d knock your teeth down your throat.’ He remained by the window, his face paler and his features hard. His dark eyes stared unflinchingly but his concentration seemed to be inward. ‘It’s not that I don’t like you,’ he continued. ‘It’s just that I would like to hurt you. I would like to break your hands.’

  Patrick said nothing.

  Jim shrugged and moved away from the window. ‘You don’t give much away, do you? I hope you’re being nice to her.’

  ‘I try to be.’

  Jim put his hand heavily on Patrick’s shoulder. ‘You’d better be.’

  Sarah seemed unable to understand that she had been released. ‘I have never been in no trouble before, massa,’ she repeated. ‘I am very sorry.’

  After a while he gave up trying to reassure her and said, ‘Sarah, we must find Stanley. He may be in trouble.’

  She nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, yes, always in trouble, that one.’

  ‘But really in trouble, Sarah. I think the police are looking for him. We must find him and send him home.’

  ‘Massa, how can we find him when we do not know where he is?’

  ‘He is in Kuweto.’

  ‘But Kuweto is very big and I don’t know those people ther
e.’

  ‘We could go and look for him.’

  She said nothing to this suggestion. Kuweto was bigger than Battenburg. ‘Before, he always come back even when it is longer than this. When he come I take him home.’

  Patrick was not content with doing nothing even when there was nothing to be done. Eventually he thought of something he could do. Rachel would not be back in London immediately, since she was to stop in Nairobi; he would ring when she returned and ask how she had kept in touch with Stanley.

  He saw the ambassador at the residence. He was watching cricket on the television. ‘You weren’t a blue or anything?’

  Patrick remembered Sir Wilfrid’s misconception as to which university he’d been to. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Play for your college?’

  ‘No, I didn’t play cricket.’

  ‘Funny. Something about you reminds me of college sport.’

  Patrick had still not found a way to return the tie. Perhaps Sir Wilfrid knew and was being ironic. He nearly confessed.

  ‘What did you play?’ continued Sir Wilfrid.

  ‘Football.’

  ‘Which ball?’

  ‘The round one.’ Patrick went on to tell him what had happened during the afternoon. He did not like talking about it. He felt he did not come out of it well and that Sir Wilfrid would probably disapprove. But the news about Whelk had to be explained in full.

  Sir Wilfrid sucked noisily on an empty pipe. ‘Well, whether they knew all along where Arthur was or whether they’ve really only just discovered makes no difference. I must say I’m delighted he’s alive and in one piece – assuming there’s nothing your friend forgot to tell you. The important thing now is to make contact with him and find out why it is they want him, since they’re not disposed to tell us. Of course, it may simply be that he only thinks they want him but there must be some reason for that. My guess is that there’s nothing definite. Anyway, it’s clear that you must go up and see him and you must go as soon as possible – tomorrow or the day after. That’s the long weekend, isn’t it? You’d nothing planned, I hope? Pity. Still, you can see the coast at any time. Sin City is by all accounts a bizarre place and I shall be interested to hear what you think of it. What poor Arthur finds to do up there I can’t imagine. You should plan on spending a night or two but whatever you do don’t do anything that could be interpreted as diplomatic recognition. To all outsiders this must be a strictly private and unofficial visit. In fact, I think it’s best that no one else in the embassy even knows you’re going. Not even Clifford. Just go.’

  Sir Wilfrid filled his pipe whilst Patrick sat in silent desolation. Joanna had staked a lot on their weekend at the coast. He could not think how to explain unless by lying and saying he had to be embassy duty officer. He did not want to lie to her. ‘One thing I will say, Patrick,’ continued Sir Wilfrid, shaking his match out, ‘is that your escapade with Sarah today was sailing a bit close to the wind. I understand your feelings and applaud your motives but you must not take advantage of your representative position. It’s a responsibility as well as a privilege and it can work only as long as it is not abused. What you did could have caused trouble and we don’t want that. Remember we’re still dependent upon their co-operation to get Whelk back, as well as to keep young Chatsworth out of gaol. In fact, I think it would be an idea to take Chatsworth with you. Often useful to have a steady hand on the tiller and it was after all what we paid him to come here for. But I must stress – absolute confidentiality.’

  He pointed his pipe at Patrick to emphasise the point but his expression was kindly. Patrick nodded agreement. There was no point now in voicing doubts as to Chatsworth’s reliability and judgement. He was in any case preoccupied with what to tell Joanna.

  Sir Wilfrid saw him to the door. ‘So what did you do in the summer?’ Patrick did not at first understand. ‘If not cricket, you know – what did you play?’

  Patrick recalled one or two hours spent on the Reading municipal putting green but that wouldn’t do. He had played tennis at home when his family lived for a year near some courts.

  ‘A bit of tennis.’

  Sir Wilfrid nodded.

  ‘Now and again,’ Patrick added hastily. ‘Were you a cricket blue, sir?’

  Sir Wilfrid took the pipe from his mouth. ‘Lord, no. Couldn’t bat a ball to save my life. Never played. Just assumed everyone else did, that’s all – you know, young chaps like yourself. No, I’m just a listener and a watcher, I’m afraid.’

  Chatsworth was pleased with the news. ‘Good. Always wanted to go there. ’Course, they may be having us on about Whelk – just trying to get us up there so that they can help us out of the country and not let us back in. Have to keep our eyes peeled. Anyway, should be fun, Whelk or no Whelk. Might even get the chance to do what I didn’t do with Rachel. Restock the old male pride.’

  Patrick did not believe there was any trick. He could see no point in one. ‘The condition is that no one should know why we’re going.’

  ‘No problem about that. Everyone knows people go to Sin City for gambling and sex. They won’t look for other explanations. Probably wouldn’t believe them anyway. Which reminds me – I may have to touch you for a bit more of the ready. Trust you’re keeping a book.’

  Joanna was out when he rang that evening. He wanted to tell her in person but it was more important she should know soon. In the end he had to leave a message with Beauty. He made her repeat it three times in case she forgot to add that he would go round the next day to explain.

  He half expected Joanna to ring the next morning but she didn’t. He went round as soon as he could and Beauty answered the door. Joanna was in her bedroom packing.

  She wore her white jeans and had her hair tied back. He felt her anger as he entered the room. Her features had a cold sculptured firmness and her movements were quick and decisive. She glanced up and immediately looked away. Beauty did not linger.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘If you can’t go you can’t go.’ She continued to pack.

  ‘Are you going anyway?’

  ‘Someone ought to. The pilot could have gone down this morning otherwise. He delayed specially for us. And my friends there have not gone away for the weekend, specially for us.’

  He stood awkwardly by the door. ‘It’s something I have to do for work. I’m not supposed to say what it is now, though I hope I shall be able to next week. I know it sounds inadequate but there’s nothing I can do.’

  She carefully folded a tartan skirt, then threw a blue bikini on top of it. He watched in growing despair. ‘Jim was telling me that Stanley’s on the run in Kuweto and is getting into trouble. I was at the police station with Sarah yesterday. And Rachel left a whole lot of illegal literature in my garage.’ He did not know why he said that.

  ‘I thought you would have approved of all that.’

  ‘I’m worried for Sarah’s sake.’

  She pushed her suitcase closed, opened it again, threw in a tin of talcum powder, then closed it by kneeling on it. Her way of ignoring him and her brisk movements made him want her.

  ‘Let me give you a lift to the airport.’

  ‘I’m taking my car. I’ll leave it there.’

  She went into Belinda’s room and spoke to her.

  ‘Are you taking Belinda?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He put his hand on her. ‘Look, I know it’s horrible but I can’t do anything about it.’

  ‘And if you could tell me you would – right?’

  ‘Right.’

  She sat down at her dressing-table, unpinned and repinned her hair.

  ‘I only heard about this thing I’ve got to do when I was with Sarah yesterday.’

  ‘Sod Sarah,’ she said quietly. She looked at him in the mirror, her hands raised to the back of her head. ‘Yes, that’s what I said. When it comes to helping some poor black you seem to have unlimited time and concern. It’s fortunate that all this important work you can’t talk about doesn’t
get in the way of that.’

  He sat on the bed. ‘It’s nothing to do with it. Anyway, you help people. You helped Beauty when she was arrested and you helped Deuteronomy.’

  She tugged at her hair. ‘I’m sorry if my sympathies don’t seem to match yours any more. Perhaps they never did. I suppose you’d like me to go around saying we ought not to keep the blacks out of our lives. But it so happens we do and so do you in your country. There are fifty million Bangladeshis who would come and live in Britain if you didn’t lock them out. You’re lucky. We feel just the same only you’ve got the advantage of distance so no one notices. They could all have come if you hadn’t changed your laws to stop them. Now you come here and preach about it.’

  ‘What has that to do with anything between us?’

  ‘It has to do with everything between us.’

  ‘But why now? Why are you suddenly—’

  She put both hands on the dressing-table and leant forward slightly, her shoulders hunched as if she were trying to hold the table down. ‘Because if I don’t argue about something with you I shall scream,’ she said quietly. ‘Please go.’

  When Patrick got home that evening Chatsworth said, ‘“In-due-course” rang just after you’d left this morning.’

  ‘I’ve seen her.’ He did not want to talk.

  Chatsworth did, though. During dinner he spoke about the number of times he’d had to invent stories to conceal whatever he was doing. ‘In my line of business, I mean. You get so used to it after a while that wherever you go you automatically dream up some reason for being there apart from the real one, even if you’re innocent. Teaches you to think on your feet which is often handy, like with “in-due-course” today.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, she rang wanting to know why you couldn’t go away with her this weekend. Put me on the spot, bearing in mind what you’d said about the need for secrecy.’

  Patrick put down his knife and fork. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Did the decent thing by you. Took it on myself. Said I wanted to bugger off to Sin City for a bit of variety and you’d kindly offered to take me.’