Southampton, and across the channel to France?
He mustn’t hesitate. Gower was expecting an answer, an easy and natural response to a very simple question.
“Yes I am,” he said with slight grimace as he sank into the other chair and realized how exhausted he was. “Haven’t walked that far in a while.”
“Eight or nine miles?” Gower raised his eyebrows. He set the wine down on the table near Pitt’s hand. “Did you have any luncheon?” He resumed his own seat, looking at Pitt curiously.
“Bread and cheese, and a good wine,” Pitt answered. “I’m not sure red is the thing with cheese, but it was very agreeable. It wasn’t Stilton,” he added, in case Gower should think him ignorant of gentlemen’s habit of taking port with Stilton. They were sitting with wine, like friends, and talking about etiquette, as if no one were dead and they were on the same side. He must be careful never to allow the absurdity of it to blind him to its lethal reality.
“Worth the walk?” Gower inquired. There was no edge to his voice; his lean brown hand holding the glass was perfectly steady.
“Yes,” Pitt said. “Yes it was. He confirmed what I suspected. It seems Frobisher is a poseur. He has talked about radical social reform for years, but still lives in more or less luxury himself. He gives to the occasional charity, but then so do most people of means. Talking about action seems to be his way of shocking people, gaining a degree of attention for himself while remaining perfectly comfortable.”
“And Wrexham?” Gower asked.
There was a moment’s silence in the room. Somewhere outside a dog was barking, and much farther away someone sang a bawdy song and there was a bellow of laughter. Pitt knew it was vulgar because the intonation of the words was the same in any language.
“Obviously a different matter,” Pitt replied. “We know that for ourselves, unfortunately. What he is doing here I have no idea. I hadn’t thought he knew we were after him, but perhaps I was wrong in that.” He let the suggestion hang in the air.
“We were careful,” Gower said, as if turning the idea over in his mind. “But why stay here with Frobisher if all he is doing is trying to escape from us? Why not go on to Paris, or anywhere?” He put down his glass and faced Pitt. “At best he’s a revolutionary, at worst an anarchist wanting to destroy all order and replace it with chaos.” There was stinging contempt in his voice. If it was false then he belonged on the stage.
Pitt rethought his plan. “Perhaps he’s waiting here for someone, and he feels safe enough not to care about us?” he suggested.
“Or whoever’s coming is so important he has to take the risk?” Gower countered.
“Exactly.” Pitt settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “But we could wait a long time for that, or possibly fail to recognize it when it happens. I think we need a great deal more information.”
“French police?” Gower said doubtfully. He moved his position also, but to one less comfortable, as if any moment he might stand up again.
Pitt forced himself not to copy him. He must appear totally relaxed.
“Their interests might not be the same as ours,” Gower went on. “Do you trust them, sir? In fact, do you really want to tell them what we know about Wrexham, and why we’re here?” His expression was anxious, bordering on critical, as if it were only his junior rank that held him from stronger comment.
Pitt made himself smile. “No I don’t,” he answered. “To all your questions. We have no idea what they know, and no way of checking anything they may tell us. And of course our interests may very well not be the same. But most of all, as you say, I don’t want them to know who we are.”
Gower blinked. “So what are you suggesting, sir?”
Now was the only chance Pitt was going to have. He wanted to stand up, to have the advantage of balance, even of weight, if Gower moved suddenly. He had to stiffen his muscles and then deliberately relax to prevent himself from doing it. Carefully he slid a little farther down in the seat, stretching his legs as if they were tired— which was not difficult after his eight-mile walk. Thank heaven he had good boots, although they looked dusty and scuffed now.
“I’ll go back to London and see what they have at Lisson Grove,” he answered. “They may have much more detailed information they haven’t given us. You stay here and watch Frobisher and Wrexham. I know that will be more difficult on your own, but I haven’t seen them do anything after dark other than entertain a little.” He wanted to add more, to explain, but it would cause suspicion. He was Gower’s superior. He did not have to justify himself. To do so would be to break the pattern, and if Gower was clever that in itself would alarm him.
“Yes, sir, if you think that’s best. When will you be back? Shall I keep the room on here for you?” Gower asked.
“Yes—please. I don’t suppose I’ll be more than a couple of days, maybe three. I feel we’re working in the dark at the moment.”
“Right, sir. Fancy a spot of dinner now? I found a new cafe today. Has the best mussel soup you’ve ever tasted.”
“Good idea.” Pitt rose to his feet a little stiffly. “I’ll leave first ferry in the morning.”
THE FOLLOWING DAY WAS misty and a lot cooler. Pitt deliberately chose the first crossing to avoid having to breakfast with Gower. He was afraid in the affected casualness of it he might try too hard, and make some slip so small Gower picked it up—while Pitt had no idea anything had changed.
Or had Gower suspected something already? Did he know, even as Pitt walked down to the harbor along ancient, now-familiar streets, that the pretense was over? He had a desperate instinct to swing around and see if anyone were following him. Would he pick out Gower’s fair head, taller than the average, and know it was he? Or might he already have changed his appearance and be yards away, and Pitt had no idea?
But his allies, Frobisher’s men, or Wrexham’s, could be anyone: the hold man in the fisherman’s jersey lounging in a doorway taking his first cigarette of the day; the man on the bicycle bumping over the cobbles; even the young woman with the laundry. Why suppose that Gower himself would follow him? Why suppose that he had noticed anything different at all? The new realization loomed gigantic to him, filling his mind, driving out almost everything else. But how self-centered to suppose that Gower had nothing more urgent to consume his thoughts! Perhaps Pitt
