Charlie’s Apprentice

‘So do I,’ said Snow, wishing at once that he hadn’t: it made it seem as if he were unsure and he wasn’t, not at all.

Nineteen

They met again at The Spaniards, so Charlie Muffin guessed she lived somewhere in the Swiss Cottage or Hampstead area. As before he got there first, managing one drink ahead of her arrival. She was shiny-faced again. The top, over the same jeans, was all-enveloping but a different colour, tonight a subdued brown. Charlie hadn’t ordered for her, in case she wanted something different, but again she chose beer. He waited until the second drink before suggesting dinner again. She accepted after a token hesitation.

Charlie let the conversation drift for a while before saying: ‘Surprised I haven’t heard by now from the stony Miss Elder.’ He decided, too late, that it was a clumsy effort but the other toss-and-catch conversation was becoming a pain in the ass.

Her reply was interesting. ‘Do you think she’s stony?’

‘Rocklike,’ he insisted. Exaggerating, he said: ‘She frightens the shit out of me.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true,’ persisted Charlie. ‘Miss Elder is the original ball-breaker. No humanity. No feeling.’

‘You’re wrong.’

What the hell did that mean? ‘I don’t think I am,’ he said, inviting the contradiction.

‘Professionally, maybe. She can be very kind, otherwise.’

That hadn’t come out as well as he’d wanted. ‘Well hidden,’ he said, still encouraging a contrary argument.

‘She’s definitely very controlled,’ agreed the girl.

Still not good enough, judged Charlie, signalling for more drinks. ‘She was hard-assed towards me. Take it or leave it ultimatum: except that I couldn’t leave it. The other choice was to be a caretaker.’

The idea amused Julia. She sniggered and said: ‘I don’t really see you as a caretaker.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Charlie. ‘So here I am, stuck.’

‘Maybe things will change, in time.’

A pointer, from some inner-circle knowledge! seized Charlie. Or a casual, meaningless remark? Pressing the exchange, he said: ‘I’d certainly like to think so.’

‘What’s so important, about being actively operational?’

‘It’s what I know how to do.’

‘You seem to have adjusted well enough to the new role.’

That had to be an indication. But then she’d already intimated he’d done well with John Gower. Very briefly – contravening his own prohibitions on personal involvement – Charlie thought of the young and eager entrant, hoping that whatever assignment Gower was given would work out all right. Charlie was the first, with his Teflon-edged cynicism, to acknowledge it was impossible to generalize, but he tried to convince himself that it should do: Gower had learned a lot, even if everything he’d tried to teach the man hadn’t been absorbed to the point of it being reflexive. He said: ‘It might be nice, to be told.’

‘Come on!’ erupted Julia, in mock sneer. ‘Ten out of ten for Mr Muffin!’

Too clumsy again, conceded Charlie, irritated. ‘It will be necessary for me to be officially told by her, or by Miller, that it’s going as they want.’

‘That will only come from the practical successes of people you train. Or lack of success,’ the girl pointed out. ‘And if it doesn’t work out as she wants, you’ll know about it soon enough!’

Back on track, decided Charlie, relieved. ‘Hard taskmaster, even though you think she’s got a lot of hidden feelings?’

‘The hardest, professionally.’

The opening beckoned, a chasm of opportunity. ‘That why Miller brought her across with him? Sure of her professional ability?’

Julia Robb stood looking directly at him in the crowded bar. Pointedly refusing the response, she said: ‘I liked the place where we ate last time.’

Intentionally Charlie did not speak until they reached the restaurant in Heath Street. Julia didn’t try to break the silence, either. Charlie ordered a bottle of wine rather than an aperitif, and deep fried eggplant to pick at, while they decided what properly to eat. Without looking at her, he said finally: ‘You didn’t answer my question, in the pub.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she agreed.

‘She’s not married,’ insisted Charlie. ‘He is, though. Wife’s got an hereditary title. And a stud-farm and racing stables. Lives out of London.’

‘Really?’ Julia sounded indifferent, the menu before her.

‘It’s all listed in Who’s Who.’ So was a Regent’s Park address he intended to visit.

Julia put the menu down on to the table: the plastic covering made a slapping sound. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight after all. Thanks anyway …’

‘Don’t go!’ said Charlie, urgently.

‘I think I should.’

‘I’m sorry. Really. I mean it.’

‘I thought we had an understanding.’

‘We have.’

‘You seem to have forgotten it. Again.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.

‘I don’t want it always to be an interrogation. We’re not at the department now, not that it would make any difference anyway. I won’t answer your questions. Not any of them.’

‘I don’t think you have to,’ said Charlie, meaning it.

‘I didn’t say anything!’ Her reaction unsettled him. Her face broke and momentarily he thought she was going to cry.

‘You didn’t!’ Lying, he said: ‘I haven’t inferred anything.’

‘It’s their business. No one else’s.’

‘Sure.’ So obvious was her distress that although he’d spent so much of the evening trying to guide the conversation in this direction Charlie now wanted to get away from it. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Honestly. It won’t happen again. I promise.’

Julia smiled, faintly and with difficulty. ‘Who said there’s going to be an again?’

‘I deserved that,’ accepted Charlie. A blown situation, he decided. He supposed he’d learned what he set out to discover, but he really hadn’t intended to bring her close to tears. Her near breakdown intrigued him. He definitely couldn’t pursue it now.

‘Maybe you deserve something more,’ she said.

Charlie frowned, confused. ‘You’re losing me.’

‘I don’t think I’m being very fair. In fact I know I’m not being fair.’

‘I’m still lost.’

‘I’m married,’ blurted Julia. At once she corrected herself. ‘Was married. Not any more.’

‘So?’ queried Charlie. If she wanted to unburden herself, it was all right with him.

Julia stared down into her glass, appearing unable to meet his look. ‘I enjoyed the last time. And tonight …’ She looked up briefly, smiling. ‘Most of it, that is. But I don’t want it to go beyond … get difficult … lead to your expecting something that can’t happen …’ She stopped, the smile hopeful now. ‘Do you know what I’m saying?’

Forced to speak finally, Charlie said: ‘Some of it. Not all.’

‘His name was …’ She smiled, apologetically. ‘…is, Andrew: I still can’t get the tenses right. Andrew …’ Babbling now, wanting to get the explanation out of the way, she said: ‘He’s a finance lawyer: specializes in