up, stood aside to let him pass. The man’s sweaty face wore a contented expression. ‘Lovely bit of cunt,’ he said dreamily. ‘Lovely.’
David knocked on the door of the flat opposite. Natalia let him in. As usual, she wore an old shirt spotted with paint, no make-up, her hair untidy as ever. Normally she gave him her warm, knowing smile, but tonight she looked serious. ‘Come in,’ she said.
The big room was cold, smelling of paint. Another painting stood on the easel; tumbledown houses on a steep street, a big square castle in the distance. As in all Natalia’s townscapes, the people on the streets mostly had their faces cast down or turned away.
Jackson was standing by the fire. The big man looked anxious, his lips pressed tightly together. ‘Thanks for coming at such short notice,’ he said.
‘Please, sit down.’ Natalia gestured to the threadbare armchairs round the fire. Often her tone was like that, formally polite. Then her slight accent sounded German, but when she spoke with emotion it deepened and sounded different, the vowels flattening and lengthening. ‘Something’s come up,’ Jackson said, a little uneasily. ‘Something really rather important.’
David asked, ‘Are Geoff and Boardman not coming?’
‘Not tonight.’ His eyes were fixed on David’s.
David took a deep breath. ‘Have we been found out?’
Jackson shook his head. ‘No, no, don’t worry. This is nothing to do with the work of our cell. It’s something else, some information that has come down from people at the very top.’ David glanced at Natalia. She nodded seriously. ‘It concerns someone you knew at Oxford, actually,’ Jackson continued. ‘A man called Frank Muncaster. Does the name ring any bells?’
David frowned, puzzled. ‘Yes. Geoff knew him, too.’
Jackson looked surprised, then said to Natalia, ‘Of course, they were at the same college.’
She said, ‘They didn’t think of that.’
‘It could help us,’ Jackson said.
David had a memory of Frank, sitting with him and Geoff in an Oxford pub; his dark hair long and untidy as usual, his thin face anxious and strained, afraid of almost everyone. ‘What’s happened to him?’ he asked quietly.
Jackson said, ‘I understand you and Muncaster shared rooms at Oxford. You were his best friend.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Odd, shy. Afraid of people. I think he had a pretty rotten childhood. But he was a good chap, never did anyone any harm. And he used to think about things, he had interesting opinions if you let him talk.’
‘You were his protector, perhaps,’ Natalia prompted.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘We know he looked up to you.’
‘Did he?’
‘We think so.’
‘He hung round with Geoff and me, our group of friends. When we went into the Civil Service Frank stayed on at Oxford and did a PhD. He’s very bright.’ Jackson and Natalia were both listening intently. ‘We’ve rather lost touch in recent years. We used to exchange letters, but now it’s just Christmas cards.’ He looked at Natalia. ‘Is he dead?’ David asked suddenly.
‘No,’ she answered simply. ‘But he is in deep trouble.’
‘How?’
Jackson said, ‘Muncaster became a geologist, yes? Some sort of research job at Birmingham University.’
‘Yes. He could never have held down a teaching job.’
Jackson nodded. ‘His father died in the Great War, I understand, and he was brought up by his mother near London, with his elder brother. Both went to a boarding school in Scotland.’
‘You know a lot,’ David said.
‘We need to know more,’ Natalia said. ‘He needs our help.’
David took a deep breath. ‘Frank didn’t talk much about his childhood. But I know his mother was under the thumb of some spiritualist con artist.’
‘What about the older brother?’ Natalia asked.
‘I don’t think he and Frank got on. He went off to America some time in the thirties. He was a scientist, too.’ David frowned. ‘Frank avoided talking about himself. There was some accident at his school, his hand got badly smashed up, but he never said how. I think he had a bad time there. I think he was bullied.’
Jackson looked puzzled. ‘Lots of boys get bullied at public school.’
Natalia interrupted quietly, ‘One who could not fit. Poor boy.’
Jackson continued, ‘Frank Muncaster’s brother is also a scientist, a physicist. He became a US citizen and for the last ten years he’s held a senior position at a top California university. He does work connected with the American weapons programmes. I don’t know what, but something important.’ Jackson paused to let that sink in, then added, ‘Back in October, old Mrs Muncaster died, and brother Edgar came over for the funeral. Mrs Muncaster’s house is being sold, we know that. Edgar may have wanted the money. He’s recently divorced, in need of money for the – what do they call it there – alimony, and it seems he’s developed a serious drinking habit.’
‘Has this information come from America?’ David asked. ‘Are they involved?’
‘Contacts in their secret services are,’ Natalia answered. ‘Though we also have information from certain sources here.’
Jackson stood up, slowly began pacing the threadbare carpet. Through the wall came an ecstatic laugh from the prostitute’s latest customer. David wondered what it was like for Natalia, alone here at night, listening to that. Jackson made a moue of distaste, then said, ‘The Resistance has links with the Americans. Not that they like us, most of them, though we may find them more sympathetic under Adlai Stevenson. But they don’t like Nazi Europe, either, and we’re a useful channel. Sometimes we help them get people over to the States – like a couple of Jewish scientists they wanted recently.’ He took a deep breath. ‘A fortnight ago somebody very senior in their Secret Services contacted us. Apparently Edgar Muncaster was brought back to America last month with a broken arm. He had something to confess to them.’
‘Confess?’
‘Yes. While in England he’d visited his brother Frank in Birmingham. There was a heated argument.’
David shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine Frank getting into an argument with anyone.’
‘Perhaps he was afraid of what he might do if he ever lost control,’ Natalia said sadly.
Jackson shot her an irritated glance. ‘We don’t know what the argument was about,’ he continued, ‘and the Americans won’t say. Nor will Frank Muncaster. But the Americans think Edgar may have spilled some beans connected with their weapons research. Whatever it was, it was enough to send Frank Muncaster into such a state that he ended up putting his brother through a first-floor window.’
The idea of Frank attacking anyone still seemed extraordinary to David. All his life he had held himself under rigid control. What could have made Frank snap? And what was he getting into?
‘An accident we think, the window was rotten, but Edgar was lucky to get away with a broken arm. Frank, meanwhile, started smashing up his own flat and raving about the end of the world. The upshot was that he was taken away to a mental hospital outside Birmingham, which is where he is now.’ Jackson shook his head, as though such behaviour were beyond him.
Natalia said quietly, ‘The Americans consider it important that no-one here gets hold of information about Edgar’s work. Not in our government, nor the Germans. We believe Frank hasn’t talked, yet.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘We have a man in the mental hospital, on the staff.’
‘Good God.’
Jackson smiled. ‘Like all these places it’s very large, over a thousand patients. This man is one of our many sleepers, quietly doing a normal job until, one day, he can be used. A male nurse, an attendant as they call them. A good man, experienced.’
‘He is looking after Frank,’ Natalia added. ‘Taking care of him.’
‘What happened to Edgar?’
