'Hell's bells, Adrian. Have you any idea how much I admired you? Any idea at all? Your talent? You used to come into the changing-room sometimes dressed as Oscar Wilde or Noel Coward or whoever and stride up and down like a prince. You used to make me feel so small. All the things you can do. My mother thinks I'm a bore. I used to wish I could be you. I fantasised being you. I would lie awake at night imagining what it would be like to have your tall body and your smile, your wit and words. And of course I loved you. I didn't libb you or lobb you or lubb you or labb you, I loved you.'
'Oh lord,' sighed Adrian. 'If I find a way of expressing adequately now what I am thinking and feeling you will take it to be a piece of verbal dexterity and the latest in a long line of verbal malversations. You see! I can't even say 'deceit'. I have to say 'verbal malversations'. Everyone's honest but me. So perhaps I should just whine and moan wordlessly.'
Adrian opened the window and howled into Great Court like a demented muezzin, taking the performance so far as to produce real tears. When he turned to face back into the room Hugo was laughing.
'What they call keening, I believe,' said Adrian.
'Well, there's always the cliche,' Hugo said, extending his hand. 'We can be just good friends now.'
'Here's looking at you, kid.'
'Here's looking at you, kid.'
'We'll always have Paris.'
'We'll always have Paris.'
Adrian raised his mug of wine. 'Here's death to the past.'
'Death to the past.'
A Tweed, a Shapeless Green Needlecord Jacket and an Eau de Nil Chanel Suit sat in conference in the Savile Club Sand Pit.
'I'm very much afraid that someone in St Matthew's is not to be trusted.'
'Garth, you think?'' asked the Shapeless Green Needlecord.
'Garth is much as he was in your day, Humphrey. Maddening, sour, truculent and asper. Not a natural player, I feel. Not a concealer. It is also very unlikely that he would have been introduced at this late stage.'
'Have you heard from Bela?' the Chanel Suit wanted to know.
'Not a whisper. He knows that the Budapest network have him under the tightest possible surveillance. Pearce is playing for very high stakes this time.'
'Don't I know it!' said the Eau de Nil Suit. 'My bag burst in the middle of Waitrose's yesterday.'
The others giggled like schoolchildren.
'Oh dear me,' said the Tweed. 'However did you explain it?'
'I didn't. I just fled, leaving my shopping behind. I don't know if I can ever show my face in there again.'
They drank tea in companionable silence.
'Who then?' asked the Needlecord suddenly. 'If not Garth?'
The Tweed made a suggestion.
'Donald, no!'protested the Eau de Nil Suit.
The Tweed shrugged apologetically.
'What a howling shit.'
'Well, perhaps his insertion into play may turn out to be rather a useful development.'
'I don't see how.'
'He's plasticine.'
'Outdated you mean?'
'Not Pleistocene, Humphrey. Plasticine. We had all considered him as a possible player for the future, had we not? We know what a shifty little soul he is. Much better to have him as an enemy than as a friend. This is all turning out to be much more fun and much more complex than I had anticipated. The plot thickens like finest Devon cream.'
'If Pearce is going to play dirty like this, Donald, shouldn't we do the same?'
'Humphrey's right, you know,' said the Chanel Suit. lWhy don't I ask Nancy and Simon if they can't lend a hand?'
'Tug of loyalties?' the Tweed wondered. 7 mean Simon works for Pearce, after all.'
'I like to hope,' said the Eau de Nil Chanel Suit, 'that Simon's real loyalties go deeper than that.'
'Very well then. Recruit them and familiarise them with the ground rules. Stefan is due in England soon. He will have news from and of Bela. You know, this is all highly satisfactory.'
'It's not going to get out of control is it?' asked the Needlecord. 'I'm not sure I like the introduction of killing. Pearce cannot bear to be beaten, you know.'
