The door closed behind Thain.
'Now then, David—sit down—' Sir Eustace indicated the central chair in front of his enormous desk.
Roche sat down.
There was a file on Sir Eustace's blotter, which he pushed forward into the sphere of influence within Roche's reach.
Roche made no attempt to pick up the file, let alone touch it, never mind open it. Instinct was in charge now, preventing him from breaking the taboos.
'We've got another David for you, in there,' said Sir Eustace.
'Audley,' said Colonel Clinton. 'David Audley.'
'David Longsdon Audley,' said St.John Latimer.
'We want him,' said Clinton.
Roche stared at him. 'He's one of theirs?'
'He's one of nobody's,' said Clinton. 'But we want him to work for us. And you are going to get him for us, Roche.'
II
'IT'LL TAKE ABOUT an hour, maybe,' said the mechanic.
Roche frowned. 'An hour?'
'I'm on the pumps as well, see . . .' The mechanic sized him up. 'And then I got to find the right parts.'
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'What parts?' Roche hadn't intended to argue the toss, but with what he'd most carefully done to the engine not an hour before, half an hour's work was a generous estimate, and no replacements were necessary. 'What parts?'
'Ah . . . well ...' The mechanic blinked uneasily. 'There's this bracket, for a start—' he reached into the engine and wrenched fiercely at something out of sight '—you didn't ought to go round with it like that, it'll let you down when you're miles from anywhere.' He shook his head. 'An' it's a fiddling old job, too . . . maybe three-quarters of an hour, say?'
Roche realised that he had miscalculated. He had concentrated on the necessary time element, but had not allowed for time being someone else's profit.
'You've got the parts?' he capitulated.
'Oh yes, sir.' The mechanic relaxed. 'It's only I dunno where to put my hand on 'em right off. But I've got 'em, don't you worry.'
'Hmm ...' Roche looked at his watch. 'It's simply that I've this important business engagement and I don't want to be too late. So if you can hurry it up as best you can . . .' He left the possibility of extra reward implicit in the plea.
'Half-hour, sir,' said the mechanic cheerfully, recognising a sucker. 'There ain't much traffic today, so it should be quiet on the pumps, with a bit of luck.'
'Can I use your phone?'
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' 'Elp yourself, sir. In the office—'
Roche dialled the number he'd been given, and a woman answered.
'Roche for Major Stocker ...' Stocker was new to him too.
They were all new to him, apart from Thain, who was unlikely to appear again. It was like making a fresh start, in a new job, as a new person . . . with a new personality which he could adjust according to need as he went along.
'Roche here, sir. The car they gave me has broken down—I'm phoning from a garage just outside Leatherhead—yes, sir, Leatherhead—' he didn't say which side, but even if the Major offered to come and collect him the distance was nicely calculated.
The Major didn't offer.
'The man says three-quarters of an hour, but I don't think it'll be as much, sir ... Yes, sir, I'll ginger him up—I'll be with you as soon as I can, sir.'
He didn't like the sound of the Major. But then he had never liked the sound of majors, who always seemed to exist in a limbo, either embittered with the failure of their hopes or hungry for the promotion almost within their grasp.
Still, that was a good job well done: he had his half-hour now, and a generous half-hour too, all correct and accounted for and accountable, and above all innocent. The rest depended on others, and on their correct observance of the routine.
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He sauntered across the forecourt towards the workshop feeling reassured, if not happy. It might all be routine, and the Comrades were always sticklers for routine. Yet the effort involved even in this routine, and the precautions they had taken in communicating with him, made him feel important, and more important than he had felt for years. And if the feeling was a secret one, like the rich man's pleasure in stolen masterpieces in his hidden gallery, then that was a small price to pay for the enjoyment of it.
The mechanic withdrew his head from the raised bonnet and bobbed encouragingly at him.
'Found the right bracket, sir—just the job!' He plunged his head back quickly, before Roche could question him or God could strike him down for bearing false witness against the British Motor Corporation.
Roche nodded uselessly at his back, and continued his aimless saunter, back on to the forecourt, slowly past the pumps, to the very edge of the highway.
