‘It’ll be a Home Office pathologist, it won’t be the first time they’ve faked something.’
‘Mr Templeman said the funeral’s next week. I want to go.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Would you like me to come too?’ he asked.
‘Why? You never met her. To make sure I don’t say anything stupid?’
David closed his eyes. ‘No. To support you.’
Sarah sighed. ‘I’m sorry; I just – yes, please come.’
‘Listen, this means they’re going to cover it up, but they’ll still be looking into what happened. We have to go on taking care.’
‘I know. When will you be home?’
‘I’ll try to get away a bit early.’
‘Do.’ She paused, then said, ‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Yes, it’s hard.’
He walked back to the office, huddled in his coat. Carol was in the lift, along with other people returning from lunch, the tip of her thin nose red with cold. She smiled brightly, ‘Hello, David. Putrid weather, isn’t it?’
It was hard to speak cheerily, conversationally. ‘Dreadful. Hope this fog doesn’t last.’
‘They say it won’t.’
They got out on the second floor. Carol looked at him with concern. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Bit of a cold, I think.’
She smiled. ‘You look a bit peaky, if you don’t mind me saying.’
He wondered what Carol thought about the deportations. She was a kind woman, but you never knew; perfectly decent people could turn out to condone terrible things.
‘I hope you’re better in time for Friday,’ she said.
‘Friday?’
‘The concert. Bartok, at St Mary’s.’
‘Ah, yes, of course, I’m sure I’ll be better by then.’ He had forgotten.
‘There’s one at the Queen’s Hall, on the ninth of December. Beethoven’s Fifth. I know it’s a bit of a trek over there, but if we asked for an extra half-hour at lunchtime . . .’
‘I’ll see.’ He turned away, aware of her hurt look at his curtness.
A little after three there was a peremptory knock on his door, and Hubbold came in. He sat down, took out his little silver snuff box. ‘I’ve just been with the Permanent Secretary,’ he said abruptly. ‘This business with the Jews will put the cat among the pigeons. The Canadians and Aussies will be up in arms at this week’s High Commissioners’ meeting. Our line will be that this is for their own protection as well as ours. Handle the issue with kid gloves, that’s the word from on high. Thank God the agenda’s gone out, they’ll have to bring it up under Any Other Business.’ He stared at David, the eyes behind those thick lenses impossible to read as usual, but there was a note of challenge in his voice, as though to emphasize this was just a piece of business like any other.
‘Yes, sir. I see.’ David kept his voice neutral.
‘Thanks for fixing up that meeting between the SS and the South Africans, by the way.’
‘I think the South Africans are going across to Senate House on Wednesday.’
Hubbold nodded. ‘Good. I expect they’ll tell the Germans their problem is that they were never able to disarm the Russians. They never let the blacks anywhere near a gun.’
‘Yes,’ David agreed. ‘It’s all about who has the guns.’
Hubbold nodded slowly. All at once he looked uneasy, embarrassed. David wondered whether he, too, had been shocked by yesterday’s events, was going to say something unplanned. But instead he said, ‘There’s a problem with one of our files. One of the secret files I’m cleared for. The Canadian one. I found a document that didn’t belong there, to do with South African military assistance to Kenya. It was in the wrong file.’
David thought, I put it there, the Sunday before last, when Hubbold came down to Registry. He stared at his superior. Hubbold said, ‘You had that file for last week’s meeting. Did you notice whether the Kenya paper was there?’
‘No. It wasn’t one I needed to consult.’ He managed to speak steadily. ‘I remember it though, it’s a few weeks old, isn’t it?’ To his relief, Hubbold just nodded his white head thoughtfully.
‘Yes, it would have passed through a number of hands. I’m checking with the people in this department who had it. But I haven’t come up with anything. Ten to one that girl of Dabb’s misfiled it.’ He frowned. ‘But I don’t see how the Kenya file would have got into her possession. It’s restricted, but not top secret. You’re friendly with her, aren’t you?’ he added.
‘Quite friendly.’ David’s heart thudded in his chest so hard he feared Hubbold might hear it.
‘D’you think she’s up to the job? You know how scatty women can be.’
‘I’ve no reason to think not.’
Hubbold seemed to slump a little in his chair. ‘I’ll have to tell the Permanent Secretary. There’ll be an investigation. He’ll keep it internal, he won’t want those MI5 clowns clumping around in here.’ He shook his head. David thought, he’s frightened this will be a black mark before he retires. Hubbold stood up, smiled ruefully. ‘Well, thank you. Obviously, keep this between ourselves.’ He went out.
David sat staring at the door for a moment, then reached for a cigarette. This could get serious. For the first time he had been careless. He felt danger closing all around. And Carol, what about Carol? Was he going to end up taking her to the bottom, too?
He got an interdepartmental messenger to take a note to Geoff. Could he meet him after work for a drink, outside the office at five? A reply came back, yes, certainly.
When he left the building the fog was quite thick, cars and buses moving at a crawl, the office workers crowding out of their buildings, then quickly disappearing into the murk. He waited on the steps of the Dominions Office, and after a minute Geoff appeared, pipe in mouth, dressed like David in dark coat and bowler hat, looking tired and, as he always did, somehow rumpled. ‘Let’s take a turn around Trafalgar Square,’ David said. ‘I’ve got some news.’
Geoff looked at him. ‘So have I.’
They walked up Whitehall, moving slowly along with the crowd. David thought of the Jews, all those trapped, frightened people, crammed together somewhere while London commuters went home as usual. In the distance the chimes of Big Ben sounded.
In Trafalgar Square the traffic was almost at a standstill. A newsvendor on the corner called out, ‘
Geoff said, ‘Let’s see if we can get across into the square. It’s a bit quieter there.’ An old man passed them, hunched over, coughing in the sharp tang of the fog: a dreadful hacking noise.
They crossed the road with care, choosing a point where the traffic had come to a halt. They passed in front of a stationary bus, the engine rattling. Passengers stared wearily out of the condensation-smeared windows. A small boy in a school cap stuck his tongue out at them cheekily.
There were few people on the big concrete island in the centre of Trafalgar Square. Nelson’s Column was virtually invisible. They began walking round the broad circle of pavement, beside the crawling traffic. Geoff said, ‘There’s some bad news from Ben Hall at the mental hospital.’
‘About Frank?’
‘Yes. We had word this afternoon that – well, he’s tried to hang himself.’
David stopped. ‘Oh, God.’
‘He didn’t succeed. He tried to use a picture hook in a wall, but it wouldn’t take his weight.’ Geoff sighed. ‘Let’s keep walking. Frank’s been taken to a room where he can’t harm himself. A padded cell and a straitjacket, I’m afraid.’ Geoff’s face twisted with distaste.
‘Poor bloody Frank.’ David took a deep breath. ‘What happens now?’
‘Frank’s going to have to be got out. They want us both involved. They’re looking at the practicalities. It could mean another trip to Birmingham, David, at very short notice.’
‘Jesus.’ David looked at his friend. ‘Listen, I’ve a problem.’ He told Geoff about the paper he had misfiled. ‘Hubbold’s going to have to set an investigation in train.’
‘Is there anything to lead them directly to you?’
‘No. Several people have had the file. But we’ll all be questioned. When they don’t get an answer they’ll bring the security people in. Hubbold doesn’t want that, but they’re bound to do it before too long.’
