‘I don’t mind about affairs, Charlie,’ she blurted.
He remained silent.
‘I’m just frightened it’ll go wrong, I suppose.’
‘Edith,’ protested Charlie, easily. ‘Don’t be silly. How could that happen?’
‘Love me, Charlie?’
‘You know I do.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
‘You’re the only man I see colours with, Charlie,’ she said, desperately. ‘I wish to Christ I’d never inherited the bloody money to build a barrier between us.’
‘Don’t be silly, Edith,’ he said. ‘There’s no barrier.’
The phone rang, a jagged sound.
‘That girl from the office,’ said Edith, accusingly, holding the receiver towards him.
‘Sorry to trouble you at home so late,’ said Janet, formally.
‘What is it?’ demanded Charlie, irritation obvious in his voice.
‘You were to go directly to Wormwood Scrubs tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sir Henry wants that cancelled. You’re to be at the office at nine o’clock. Sharp.’
Very military, mused Charlie; just like her godfather’s parade ground.
‘But that…’ began Charlie.
‘Nine o’clock,’ repeated the girl, peremptorily. ‘I’ve already informed the prison authorities you won’t be coming.’
‘Thank you,’ said Charlie, but the telephone had been replaced, destroying the sarcasm.
‘What is it?’ asked Edith, as he put down the telephone.
‘My meeting with Berenkov has been scrapped,’ reported Charlie. ‘I’ve got to see Sir Henry at 9.0 a.m.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked the woman, worriedly.
‘What I’ve argued for the past ten months,’ replied Charlie. ‘That you can’t run the service like an army cadet corps. I told you they’d need me.’
‘Don’t get too confident, will you, Charlie?’
‘You know me better than that.’
‘It’s just so bloody dangerous.’
‘It always has been,’ said Charlie, tritely.
(10)
It took Sir Henry Cuthbertson an hour to explain the operation upon which they had been engaged for the past four months, culminating in Harrison’s death and Snare’s capture.
Charlie sat relaxed in the enormous office, aware of Wilberforce’s eyes upon him, his face masked against any emotion. Several times the Director stopped during the account, but Charlie’s complete lack of response kept forcing him into further details.
‘That’s it,’ completed Cuthbertson, at last. The whole story.’
Still Charlie said nothing.
‘I was very wrong about you, Muffin,’ offered the Director, finally.
‘Really?’ prompted Charlie. Now I know how Gulliver felt among the little people of Lilliput, he fantasised. Edith’s warning of the previous night presented itself and he subdued the conceit. It
‘Your debriefing of Berenkov has been brilliant, absolutely brilliant. I’ve written a special memorandum to the Minister, telling him so.’
He must remember to question Janet about it, he thought. Cuthbertson was a lying sod.
‘Thank you,’ said Charlie.
‘And you were quite right about Berenkov having a contact at the research station at Portland. Naval intelligence got him a week ago.’
‘I’m glad,’ said Charlie. Berenkov would be upset at the cancelled visit, Charlie knew.
Silence descended in the room like a dust sheet in an empty house. Charlie gazed over Cuthbertson’s shoulder, watching the minute hand on Big Ben slowly descend towards the half-hour position. It would be the size of four men, he guessed; maybe even bigger. It would be a noisy job, cleaning it, he decided. How Wilberforce, with his irrational dislike, would be hating this interview, he thought.
Cuthbertson looked at Wilberforce and Wilberforce returned the stare.
‘I would like you to accept my apology,’ capitulated Cuthbertson.
‘I was to be demoted,’ reminded Charlie. He’d let Cuthbertson get away with nothing, he determined.
‘Another mistake,’ admitted the Director. ‘Of course there’s no question of that now.’
Because your balls are on a hook, completed Charlie, mentally.
‘And some expenses …?’ coaxed Charlie.
Cuthbertson stared directly at him. He really hates my guts, thought Charlie.
‘Already reinstated,’ promised Cuthbertson.
Another query to put to Janet, thought Charlie. Wilberforce shifted. Was it embarrassment for his superior or irritation? wondered Charlie.
‘I will accept that although they initially did well, I sent inexperienced men into the field on this latest operation,’ confessed Cuthbertson. He snapped his mouth shut after the sentence, like a man realising he was dribbling.
Never before in his life, Charlie knew, would Cuthbertson have been forced to make so many admissions of error. He would not be a man to forget such humiliation. His head pulled up, so that he was looking directly across his desk.
‘So we need your help, Charles.’
‘Charlie,’ corrected the operative.
‘What?’
‘Charlie,’ he repeated, unrelentingly. ‘My friends call me Charlie’
Cuthbertson swallowed. The man would have enjoyed standing on one of those elevated platforms, watching over the Wall the body of the man he believed to be me burning beside the Volkswagen, Charlie decided. What, he wondered, had happened to the girl called Gretel?
‘We need your help, Charlie,’ recited Cuthbertson, the words strained.
Charlie looked at him, allowing the surprise to show.
‘How?’ he asked.
Cuthbertson covered the exasperation by concentrating on the blank blotter before him. After several moments, he looked up again, under control.
‘I want you to establish the link with Kalenin and bring him across,’ announced the Director.
It was a mocking laugh from Charlie, an amazed refusal to accept the words he was hearing.
‘There is nothing – nothing at all – that is funny about what I’ve said,’ insisted Cuthbertson, taut-lipped.
Impulsively, Charlie stood up, pacing around his chair.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Nothing funny whatsoever …’
He stood behind the chair, hands resting on its high back, like a man at a lecture.
‘… It is just madness,’ completed Charlie. ‘Stark, raving madness …’
‘I don’t see …’ tried Wilberforce, but Charlie refused the interruption.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Please, just listen to me. A year ago we broke a European spy ring, headed in this country by Alexei Berenkov …’
‘For God’s sake, forget the bloody man Berenkov,’ erupted Cuthbertson, releasing his anger. ‘He’s got nothing
