For the Good of the State

‘Loud and clear ’ All that remained was for Jaggard to explain what was actually happening, which required such precision. ‘And Panin?’

But Jaggard was looking past him, at whatever he could see through his rain-distorted lenses.

Tom turned, although he already knew what he would see.

‘Make your farewells to Miss Groot,’ said Jaggard. ‘There’s a car down the bottom of the lane with a man in it who’ll tell you about Panin—or why we think he’s here, anyway. His name is Harvey—

Garrod Harvey.’

In this downpour it would have been unreasonable to expect the young policeman to keep Willy in polite conversation. Short of physical restraint he could hardly have restrained her, and even as it was her hair was plastered close to her head.

‘You can keep the man and the car for the time being. He’ll explain who he is, but he can pass as your driver. Miss Groot can take your car. I’ll give you time to collect your gear from the hotel.’ Jaggard’s voice came from behind him. ‘Go and say goodbye to her— now.’

Tom had already raised his hand. There were too many questions still unasked, but an order was an order. But —

‘Harvey will tell you what to do, in the car.’ Jaggard filled the essential gap in his knowledge. ‘ Go on, man—’

Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Tom launched himself up the rampart, his feet slipping and sliding in the grass. Equivocally unequivocal orders was right! he thought.

It all depended on Harvey, whoever Harvey was—

‘Willy! I’m sorry, darling—’ She looked even wetter than he felt, with her shirt outlining her shape agonizingly ‘—I’m sorry!’

‘Duty calls—huh?’ Her lip drooped on one side.

Her understanding only made it worse. ‘It does. But I’ll call you myself as soon as I can. This may not take long.’

‘And then more mottes and more baileys? ’ She adjusted her unhappiness with an effort. ‘I can’t wait—’ The effort produced a grin ‘—at least it probably won’t be raining on you back in the Lebanon, I guess.’

Tom blinked the rain out of his eyes. ‘I should be so lucky!’ In front of Jaggard all he could do was touch her wet shoulder. ‘Take the car—I’ll call you soon as possible. Maybe this evening, maybe not. Okay?’ The thought of this evening without her was loss and desolation. ‘Goodbye, my love—’

‘Goodbye, my love—’ She echoed him ‘—take good care, Tom.’

He slipped and slid back, down past Jaggard and through the open gateway. There was a car far down the lane, already facing outwards, on to the main road. But, of course, they always turned round for a quick getaway, like adulterers parked in secluded driveways. That was the rule.

So it all depended on Harvey now—

Before the high hedge cut him off he turned back towards her: she was standing just as he had left her, on the edge of old Ranulf’s Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State rampart, like a statue.

Take good care, Tom, he thought.

2

The journey’s last hour, after he had divested himself of Harvey at a convenient railway station, was curiously disquieting, even a little frightening.

If there was one thing Tom prided himself on, it was the ability to concentrate his mind on what was important, to the exclusion of all minor matters, however gratifying and pleasurable. But now, when… after all Henry Jaggard had said (and not said), and with what Garrod Harvey had added… when that concentration should have been on Panin, Nikolai Andrievich and Audley, David Longsdon, and the web of circumstances which hypothetically bound them together… but now— now— he was faced with a damned, bloody mutiny of his thoughts against the direct and legitimate orders of his mind,

It wasn’t even as if they were merely wandering away into the countryside on either side of them, alerted by sign-posts which pointed towards early Norman castles known to him, or even to places adjacent to such castles— Aldingboume, Arundel, Bramber, Cadburn… Ashley, Barley Pound, Basing, Bishops’ Waltham, Castle Redvers— the counties’ roll-call came to him automatically and geographically as he drove westwards, as it did all the time, Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State wherever he was, whatever he was doing elsewhere— Alton Charley, Eccleshall, Litchfield… Ascot Doilly, Ascot Earl, Bampton, Banbury— it would have been the same in Staffordshire or Oxfordshire; and he had walked them all anyway, or nearly; and even if an odd name had registered it would still only have been in passing and a minor matter; because (as he had already thought about old Ranulf’s almost forgotten motte only this morning) what had outlasted eight or nine centuries’ decay would still be there waiting for him another day, another time.

But Willy wouldn ‘t—

He shook his head at another approaching sign-post— Branding 4—

he didn’t want to go to Branding—

Or Willy might not be, anyway—

Then he caught sight of the place-names on the other arm of the sign-post: Upper Horley 5… Steeple Horley 6?!

And, by God, Steeple Horley was Audley, David Longsdon— and he’d hardly even thought of Audley since he’d deposited the wretched Harvey on that damp station forecourt, protesting only half-heartedly that this wasn’t what Mr Jaggard had intended. But at that moment it had been exactly what Sir Thomas Arkenshaw had intended, Tom had thought with obstinate satisfaction at the time. Because he wasn’t going to turn up at Steeple Horley, to beard Audley in his den, with a driver who quite obviously wasn’t a driver (in both conversation and