Templewood stood up slowly, shaking his head as if in disbelief.
‘Billy, Billy,’ he said. ‘What are you trying to do? You’re doing the knight-errant bit, but there’s no one to protect. Only us. Is it Jennifer that’s bothering you? All right, so she’s made a big impression, but she’s no babe in the wood. Christ, man, a couple of minutes ago you were suggesting that she might be my partner in crime! Well that’s nonsense, there was no crime. But she’s certainly been my partner in other things, and very willing and enthusiastic too. Don’t get angry, please, Billy. You’ve no claim on her, don’t you see that?
Or is it Dora? Look, with me for a dad, she’ll get a better deal than she could have hoped for from that randy old fiddler with all his kinks and quirks. I like the kid, she likes me, you’ve seen it.
‘So who’re you protecting, Billy? Or who are you attacking, perhaps that’s more important. Is it me you’re after? Are you jealous perhaps? You’ve no right to be, Billy boy. What have I done to you?’
Now Goldsmith rose too and the two men faced each other, Goldsmith’s face twisted in such anger that Templewood uneasily backed away.
‘What have you done?’ he echoed. ‘You’ve made me a killer, that’s all.’
Templewood halted his retreat, raised his bushy eyebrows in amazement, then threw back his head and roared with laughter.
‘Billy, oh Billy! A killer. I’ve made you a killer! Oh no. You’ve forgotten where this all really started, haven’t you? Just for a moment, you’re really seeing yourself as the injured innocent! You’ve managed to forget Hebbel.’
I don’t care about Hebbel,’ said Goldsmith. ‘It doesn’t bother me. I’ll be glad to get it out of the way. It doesn’t bother me!’
But even to his own ears, his protestation had the stridency which accompanies lack of conviction.
‘Of course it bothers you,’ said Templewood, now quite back in the ascendancy. ‘It’s me it doesn’t bother. It never did really. But it bothers you. I’ve always known that; every year at the reunion, I’ve gone out of my way to make it keep on bothering you. It amused me and you never know when it might come in useful, knowing how to get to a man. Well, it’s come in useful, hasn’t it? So just think; you open your mouth and it won’t be just a case of Jennifer knowing you killed her husband and Dora knowing you killed her dad; they’ll both know, and everyone will know, that the reason Billy Goldsmith survived the dreadful deprivations and tortures of captivity was because he collaborated, and the reason he was so eager to rid the world of Hebbel, was that dear Nikolaus, if caught, would testify as damningly against Goldsmith as the other way around!’
There it was. The words had been spoken. The cause of his agitation of mind and spirit for nearly two decades had been given voice. It came as a cue, and he spoke the defence he had rehearsed in his mind unconsciously for all those years.
‘You led me into it. We told him nothing important. We knew nothing important. It was a survival technique, that was all.’
‘Of course it was. And we did survive. The other seven didn’t though, did they? Nor would we have done if that air attack hadn’t scattered that SS regiment. Then those bloody Frenchmen talked and got us elected as star witnesses. Now, I think we were justified, Billy boy. I’ll stand up and tell the world so. We’ll face them together, you and I, Billy boy. Then off to Acapulco till things quieten down.’ It’d be your word against mine,’ said Goldsmith, trying to collect himself. ‘Which would they believe, I wonder.’ ‘The worst. Who ever believes anything else? And it’s not just me, is it? Somewhere out there, dear old Nikolaus is lurking. You can never tell when he’ll be turned up, can you? This boy Wiesenthal in Vienna, he doesn’t go to sleep at night unless he’s caught at least two war criminals since breakfast. Well, if you want to forestall him, off you go and tell your story. If you want everyone in the country to think your name stinks, pick up the telephone. If you want everyone you’ve ever liked or respected to give you the fisheye, then start confessing. You confess for me, and I’ll confess for you.’
Templewood did not mean it, but he was offering Goldsmith a genuine temptation. A single act of atonement, a once-for-all confession and remittance, this was what most men desired. If it could be simple, clear-cut … but the original act had appeared simple and clear-cut, and so had so many choices, ill and good, made since then.
Templewood broke into his train of thought once more.
‘I think you’ll see things right, Billy. You’re more like me than you care to imagine. Don’t worry about these two girls. They’ll have a good life with me. I’ll be your prototype dad, strict but kind. And Jennifer’ll need never worry about me fishing in someone else’s pond. I’m too fly to get caught! Meanwhile, you’ll go on to bigger and better things. We can be useful to each other, Billy boy. Me in business, you in public life.’
Goldsmith smiled humourlessly.
‘That’s a weak lever you’re applying, Tempy. There’s no way for me to get selected after my performance on Saturday. Christ knows how I got into the last three.’
Templewood roared with laughter.
‘Why, Billy, if that’s all that’s bothering you, relax. You’ve got powerful friends.’
‘What do you mean?’
Templewood reached over for Munro’s case and patted it affectionately.
‘I got hold of this on Thursday evening. (That’s when I found Munro dead, poor fellow.) I did a quick study of it and, well, as you can imagine it was very interesting stuff. Worth hanging on to. Now I remembered what you said about the Selection Board, I don’t forget old friends, and I chatted with a couple of people on Friday …’
‘Who, for God’s sake?’ demanded Goldsmith.
‘Well, ‘there’s a nice old boy called Edmunds, for one …’
‘Edmunds! You mean Edmunds is mixed up in this J. T. Hardy’s business?’
Templewood tapped his nose significantly.
‘We just had a chat. I explained I was likely very soon to be a man of some importance at J. T. Hardy’s and hoped his policy of co-operation with the company would continue. He was very interested. I mentioned your name as a personal friend of mine, just in passing. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘But the police … Christ! No wonder that old hypocrite was interested in what Vickers had been saying.’
‘The police have been whistling in the dark. You gave them a tune to have a go at for a while, but it’s over the hills and far away now. So, what do you say, Billy? I wouldn’t be surprised if Edmunds weren’t trying to get hold of you at this very moment. How about a future full of mutual goodwill and co-operation? Comrades once and comrades ever!’
They sat and looked at each other for a long twenty seconds. Then Goldsmith turned his gaze aside and peered into the fireplace. The house was quite still. No outside noise penetrated into this room and neither of its occupants moved.
Greenmansion would be Templewood’s, thought Goldsmith. And all that belonged in it. J. T. Hardy’s would be Templewood’s too and all that belonged there. He would be a man of widespread and various properties. And Templewood’s properties would be kept in good repair, there was no doubt of that.
It would be easy to destroy him now. No, he corrected himself; not all that easy, and destroy was the wrong word. Destruction was not a sudden thing, though it might seem like it. Destruction could take ten, twenty years. A lifetime perhaps. And something might still be left intact.
‘Have you made up your mind, Billy boy?’ asked Templewood in a kind voice.
Before he could reply, the door opened and Jennifer entered with a tray.
‘I’ve made some coffee,’ she said.
He watched her placing it on the table, her delicately-boned head bowed low, while Templewood stood beside her looking down with a benevolent smile on his face.
‘We’ve just been talking about the future,’ he said. ‘Bill here’s hoping to get into Parliament.’
‘Is he?’
She looked
at him with a mild interest. At least some of her former distaste seemed to have evaporated. Perhaps Templewood had sent out some signal of approval. She would be a good wife for the public occasion. And for the private, now he would never know.
‘I’ve just been listening to a radio programme,’ she continued. ‘They all seem to think it will be Butler. And a general election in the spring. What do you think, Mr Goldsmith?’
Me, I know nothing, he thought. I know nothing about this woman, or her dead husband, or what Templewood is thinking, or how Munro died. All I know is what I am.
‘They’re all wrong, my love,’ interjected Templewood. ‘It’ll be Home.’
‘Who?’ she said.
‘The noble lord. I know how their minds work. And they’ll hang on till next September, October even. You wait and see. What say you, Billy? Soon enough, I think. You’ll be well established as the candidate by then, and autumn’s always been a good time for you.’
I can’t do it, thought Goldsmith. I must speak now.
Templewood picked up his coffee-cup.
‘Here’s to the future,’ he said.
And holding the cup high before him, he waited for the others to join in the toast.
Part Two
1970
CHAPTER I
‘AND IN CONCLUSION,’ said the speaker, ‘if the last six years have shown nothing else, they have surely proved that it is possible for a Labour government and the world of business and commerce to work hand in hand for the mutual benefit of the people and the nation.’
He sat down to applause that was polite rather than enthusiastic, though to his finely tuned ear it sounded rather more prolonged than the reception given to his speech on the same occasion the previous year.
‘Fine speech, Minister,’ puffed a cigar-clouded face to his left, while the gross figure to his right applauded by beating one hand on the table in order that the other could keep his brandy almost constantly at his lips.
Bastards, thought Goldsmith as he nodded in reply. They can afford to make a bit more noise now they think they’ll be rid of us in a six month.
Afterwards as he chatted to his luncheon hosts, concealing his impatience at the time it was taking for his car to arrive, he heard a familiar voice and someone touched his ‘arm.
‘Minister, how are you?’ said Templewood with a large grin. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
Goldsmith looked at him blankly for a second.
‘Templewood. J. T. Hardy’s,’ murmured a helpful aide. ‘Lunching with you tomorrow.’
‘Of course. Mr Templewood, how do you do?’
They shook hands.
‘The Minister’s car’s here,’ said a distant voice.
As he walked down the stairs, he found Templewood had contrived to be at his elbow.
‘You’re a cagey one,’ he muttered admiringly.
‘It’s necessary,’ smiled Goldsmith.
‘See you tomorrow.’
The official car swept smoothly into the stream of traffic and bore him sedately towards Westminster. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly four p.m. He groaned.
His aide smiled sympathetically.
‘The more insignificant the occasion, the longer the luncheon,’ he said knowingly.
‘And the more minor the main guest?’ added Goldsmith ironically.
‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ said the other, unperturbed.
‘That’s good.’
He looked at his watch again.
‘Something special you’re late for, sir?’
‘No. Not really. Just some of the electorate on a day trip. I promised them a guided tour, then tea. Starting at three.’
‘With a bit of luck, they may not have waited.’
But of course they had.
‘Liz, Mrs Sewell. Sorry I’m late, but I had to listen to myself making a speech.’
‘That’s all right, Bill. We needed a sit down. Mam’s half killed me, dragging me round the shops.’
The passing years hadn’t changed Liz much. She was a bit solider now, her face was a little more lined, but she looked as healthy and energetic as ever and her hair poured mockingly out of the tight bun in which she had attempted to restrain it.
‘How’s Jeff?’ Goldsmith asked.
‘Oh, he’s fine. Sends his regards.’
Later while Liz had gone wandering off in search of a loo, he asked her mother, ‘How is she?’
‘Drop the hushed concern, Bill,’ said Mrs Sewell, lighting her ninth or tenth cigarette. ‘She’s fine. Not that that little creep can give her what you could. He’s a bystander, that one. I always said it. Hell, he brings me a cup of tea in the mornings just so he can have a peek at my tits.’
Goldsmith laughed. Strangely, one result of his final break with Liz and her marriage two years later to Malleson had been a much easier relationship with her mother.
‘You’re still living with them then.’
‘Too true,’ she said firmly. ‘None of this I’ll be no bother, just put me in a home cant for me. I’m too old to change my ways.’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Goldsmith with the certainty of the uninvolved.
‘There hasn’t been all that much change here since the Red Army marched in either,’ said Mrs Sewell, eyeing him with a touch of malice.
‘No. Less than we hoped,’ he answered glumly. ‘Not to worry. I dare say we’ll soon be marching out again.’
Mrs Sewell looked alarmed.
‘For Christ’s sake, don’t let our Liz hear you talk like that. I don’t know what’s happening down here, but up in Yorkshire the revolution’s still just round the corner. I mean the kind of revolution that’ll have everybody reading the Guardian instead of the Sun.’
They laughed together as Liz returned. Her mother rose.
‘I’ll try my luck,’ she said. ‘It’s a kind of contact with the great.’
They watched her move away.
‘Remarkable woman,’ observed Goldsmith.
‘You used to think she was a pain in the arse.’
Opinions change,’ he said.
‘So do arses. You happy, Bill?’
‘I think so.’
‘You’ve done well for yourself.’
He shrugged.
‘I just happened to be handy during the last shuffle. Next time trumps might change and I’ll be out.’
‘No,’ she contradicted him vigorously. ‘Anyway, let’s change the subject. When we see you at home, all we ever talk about is politics. How’s your love life?’
‘So so,’ he answered vaguely. ‘There’s not much time.’
“Get on! One of the big shots at work reckoned he saw you with some smart young dolly-bird last time he was in town.’
‘Up for t’ Cup?’ said Goldsmith with a smile. ‘It was probably the Japanese Ambassador in a bad light.’
He glanced at his watch.
‘Visiting time up already?’ asked Liz.
‘I’m afraid so. It’s my fault for being late. Still, I’ll be up the weekend after next, so I’ll see you and Jeff then. How’s old Edmunds by the way? This last attack sounded a bad one.’
Oh Bill, I forgot all about it, it’s been such a rush. But he’s dead. We got the news just as we were leaving for the train this morning. I’m sure they’ll have rung your office since.’
‘Ay, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘It’ll be waiting in my In-tray. It should be in the other, properly speaking. Well, so the old bastard’s gone! That’ll mean I’ll be up earlier than I thought. I’ll be looked for at the funeral.’
‘Bill!’ Liz protested. ‘Is that all it means to you, another trip? He had his faults, I know, but he did a lot for the town in his time. And he was a good friend to you on the Selection Board.’
‘Yes, yes. You’re right there,’ said Goldsmith reflectively. ‘He certainly was.’
It was after ten o’clock when he got back to his flat that night. As he parked his car, a figure rose from a semi-recumbent position i
n a nearby Mercedes and wound down the window.
He walked over to her.
‘It’s worse than being married to a shift-worker,’ she yawned.
‘The difference is, Sandra,’ he answered, ‘you’re not married and you get paid for waiting time. Come on up.’
Six years had touched Sandra Phillips even less than it had Liz. Her exact age was still a mystery to him. Their relationship was a good, solid, business one which suited him very well, though he still remembered with a sensuous nostalgia the free introductory offer he had sampled in the twenty-four hours following his arrival on her doorstep with the Munro tapes in his hand.
‘Why can’t you either be on time, or come to my place, or let me have a key to yours?’
‘Security,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, security?’ she asked indignantly.
‘I mean Special Branch have got their gear set up at my place tonight and I’ve sold all the tickets. We can’t disappoint them.’
The phone was ringing as he entered.
‘Goldsmith,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ said the caller. ‘Sorry to trouble you, sir, but I just wondered if you’d heard the sad news about Mr Edmunds.’
‘Yes, yes. I had. I’m very distressed. He was a good man.’
‘He’ll be very much missed,’ said the caller. ‘Hard to replace.’
‘It’ll need thought.’
‘It will. Well, sorry to have troubled you. Good night.’
‘Good night.’
So, he thought as he replaced the receiver, Templewood was worried. Good. It was nice to think of Templewood being worried.
‘I suppose it’s an advantage in a way,’ said Sandra as she undressed.
‘What is?’
‘Specializing in security-minded politicians. Everything’s so marvellously discreet. Though it can go too far. After poor old Profumo, you’d have thought that every time they had an erection a red light flashed on at Scotland Yard. But now, they are just very careful. Mind, you’re the carefullest of all. That’s why you stick to me and me alone, I think. Safety in lack of numbers.’
‘I’ve never cared for orgies. It’s one of the disadvantages of not having a public-school education. I hope you pick nice discreet girls for my colleagues?’
A Very Good Hater Page 18
