Dominion

mustn’t do that from home, since this number was probably already tapped. He shouldn’t even have rung Irene. He remembered the miniature camera and the copy of the key to the secret room were upstairs. He went and got them, then put on his hat and went out again. There was a telephone box outside Kenton Station. He would try the contact number again from there. He might even meet Sarah coming back.

But he didn’t see her. He went into the phone box, rang the number again and this time a male voice answered at once. The pips went and he pressed the button, relief flooding through him. He said quickly, ‘This is Fitzgerald, David Fitzgerald. The police have come to the office, about a document I misfiled. Two of them, one’s a German—’

The man seemed to know who David was and asked sharply, ‘Where are you?’ It was a young voice, with a strong Cockney accent.

‘In a phone box near my home. In Kenton. A colleague told me the police were with my boss, so I left the office at once. The janitor tried to stop me but I got out.’

‘Shit.’

‘I tried to phone you from near the Office over an hour ago, but there was no answer.’

‘I had to go out, I was only ten minutes. I shouldn’t have – hell! Why did you go home?’ The voice was loud, suddenly accusing.

‘I was worried about my wife. She’s not home, I don’t know where she is.’

‘Is your house all right? Any sign anyone’s been there?’

‘No. I waited, I thought she’d gone to the shops.’ David took a deep breath. ‘What do I do? I was told if anything happened you’d protect my wife.’

The voice became quieter, almost soothing. ‘Okay. We need to get you somewhere safe. Go to the safe house, now. We’ll send someone up to Kenton, to watch the house and pick up your wife when she gets back.’

‘And Geoff. Geoff Drax—’

‘We’ll phone him, and the others in your cell. I’ll arrange it all now. But you have to get yourself to your safe house. At once.’

David took a deep breath. ‘All right. I’m at the tube station now.’

‘Good. The Underground’s the safest way to travel. We’ve got your home address, we’ll send someone in a car to wait at your house for your wife.’

‘I’m on my way.’

David left the telephone box and stood uncertainly in the station entrance. A woman looked at him curiously. He tried to pull himself together. He thought, how do I know they’re telling the truth, that they’ll really send someone for Sarah? But he had to trust them now, there was no-one and nothing else. He understood suddenly how much of him, all this time, had remained anchored to the world he had been brought up in and longed, deep inside, to believe still existed: Britain, his country, dull and self-absorbed, ironic even about its own prejudices. But that Britain was gone, had instead turned into a place where an authoritarian government in league with Fascist thugs thrived on nationalist dreams of Empire, on scapegoats and enemies. And he was now, irrevocably, an enemy.

Chapter Thirty-One

AFTER DAVID LEFT FOR WORK ON Friday, Sarah, alone in the house, couldn’t settle. She still didn’t believe his denials about Carol; surely if he had nothing to hide he would have explained, been open, but instead he had drawn himself in even more and so, in response, had she. That morning she was due to begin chasing up the toyshops, ensuring they were making up the toy parcels for the unemployed, but she couldn’t face it. She hadn’t opened her case with the files in it since Tottenham Court Road.

She went and sat in the lounge, trying to read her Woman’s Own which had been delivered that morning. It was cold but she couldn’t be bothered to lay the fire. She felt restless all over, she couldn’t settle. She had a desperate urge to do something, anything. She went into the hall and took the telephone directory from its rack. She remembered, from meeting Carol at the last office social, that she lived with her mother somewhere in North London. She found the entry almost at once: Bennett, Mrs D and Miss C, 17 Lovelock Road, Highgate. That had to be her. She thought, she’ll be at work now. I’ll go round there, I’ll go this evening, I’ll deal with this once and for all. And in the meantime she had to get out of the house.

She fetched her hat and coat and went to the door. Opening it, she stopped dead for a second, thinking, if I do this, it really could be the end for me and David. She stood still, clutching the door handle. She considered telephoning Irene, but she knew her sister would try to talk her round. I can’t go on like this, she thought, I’ll go mad.

Sarah went out, closing the door firmly, and walked up the road, deciding to catch the tube into town, try to find something that might distract her. It was very cold under the leaden sky. She had a vague idea of going to visit the Tower of London, but when the tube reached Tottenham Court Road, on an impulse she got out. She had to see the scene of those deaths and shootings again, as though somehow that might help her understand the horrible madness she felt was all around her.

But at the scene of the riot it was as though nothing had happened. Cars and buses drove down the street as usual, over the spot where Mrs Templeman had died. The streets were full of women Christmas shopping – all the shop windows were full of coloured paper chains and little Christmas trees in pots. She stopped in front of one of the big stores, realizing it was one that was helping with the toy appeal. A big wooden dummy in a Santa Claus outfit stood in the window, with painted red cheeks and a white false beard. A woman in a fake-fur coat, a grizzling child holding each hand, almost barged into her, and snapped, ‘Would you please look where you’re going?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah said, but the woman ignored her and passed on. Sarah thought how the shoppers all looked cross and anxious. It was what Christmas did to people, perhaps it always had but she had never really noticed before. Charlie had loved the tree they had bought for his last Christmas, decorated with tiny coloured bulbs. They said Christmas was for children but really it was supposed to be about celebrating the birth of Jesus, who would later sacrifice himself. She remembered her desperate prayer in Westminster Abbey. Since then things had only got worse.

Sarah went into the shop, to get out of the cold as much as anything. The big vestibule was filled with toys. They were much more expensive than when she had last bought presents for Charlie three years before. She passed a display of dolls’ houses. On the opposite side of the aisle were boxes of tin soldiers, A treat for every boy. There was a display of the soldiers arranged as for battle on a papier-mache field. There were German soldiers in smart grey painted uniforms and coalscuttle helmets, with minute swastika armbands. On the other side of the hill stood a small group of Russians in dull green, little rips and tears painted on their uniforms.

‘Mrs Fitzgerald?’ The voice at her elbow made her jump, as any little thing seemed to these days. She turned and saw a small, thin man in his late fifties, with sparse grey hair and kindly eyes; she recognized the manager of the store, who had attended a couple of committee meetings at Friends House.

‘Mr Fielding, hello.’ She extended a gloved hand.

‘I’m sorry if I startled you.’

‘I was in a bit of a brown study.’

‘Looking for Christmas presents?’

‘I might get something for my nephews. Everything seems terribly expensive these days.’

He nodded sadly. ‘It’s a shame. I often see people going round the store then walking out again empty- handed, looking disappointed.’

‘It’s very good of your shop to help with our work.’

‘We like to do what we can for those who can’t afford anything. It’s all on track with your order, by the way, it will be delivered to Friends House on time.’ He sighed. ‘If only there weren’t all these terrorist attacks and strikes, that’s what’s stopping the country getting back on its feet. I hear the railwaymen are coming out now.’

Sarah could have argued but she didn’t have the heart. And Mr Fielding was a decent, generous man. She said, ‘It’s very cold out, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. If it goes on like this we might get a white Christmas.’ He paused a moment, then said, ‘I was sorry to hear about poor Mrs Templeman. I couldn’t get to the funeral, but we sent some flowers.’

‘I saw them. That was kind.’

‘A sudden heart attack, I believe. Well, there are worse ways to go.’ He looked sad for a moment, and Sarah