‘I expect so. Why?’
‘I want to take some measurements, and make a few drawings.’
Some of it had been true after all. But after that I wasn’t going to turn my back on him in a hurry.
I dragged a chair into the shade, out of the breezes, and opened Moby-Dick again. Soon my mind was filled by a sailor’s church, and a pulpit shaped like a whaler . . . and a man scared by the sea and his own shadow. From time to time Warboys would come into sight on a tower, or in a window, with a notebook and a surveyor’s tape measure in his hand. If he looked my way he would wave. When he came down to me his forehead was glowing with the sun it had been exposed to, and his shirt was sweat stained.
‘Can you imagine labouring to build this damned place? First they had to get the stone up here to build it – none of it was local – and then they had to assemble it.’
‘If they’d had trades unions then they would never have got it built.’
‘That, Charlie, is an interesting observation . . . I’m not sure I like the implications.’
‘Want a beer?’
‘Yes, please. Then we can kick off for Kyrenia, and be there before nightfall.’
‘Who have you got lined up for me there?’
‘No one. After this lunchtime it’s exactly what I said – castles and sketchpads.’
I fetched a couple of bottles of Watney’s from the back of the truck. They were warm, but some British beers are better like that. We clinked bottles and toasted each other.
‘About your pal Adonis—?’
Warboys shook his head.
‘Shall we leave it for an hour or two, Charlie? It will give us both time to mull it over. Talk after supper. That OK?’
I nodded.
‘Where are we going to stay?’
‘Surprise.’
I don’t like surprises. I’ve probably told you that before.
He took it easier down the narrow road from the castle. We passed no one going in the other direction.
I asked him, ‘What happened to all the hairies that were around?’
‘Gone home for their teas. They were just the insurance policies.’
‘Come again?’
‘The lorryload behind us was there to make sure nothing happened to you and me. The ones up at the castle were there to make sure we didn’t grab Adonis. If anything untoward had happened today there would have been a bloodbath, but neither side wanted that.’
‘The priest is an EOKA man then?’
‘Good Lord, no! That would be against his principles. He doesn’t take many vows, your Greek, but those he does, he keeps. Adonis is a liaison officer – a go-between and a fixer. A peacemaker when he gets the opportunity. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was like that at school – I had to stop the other boys bullying him.’
‘He’s a fixer and liaison officer like you?’
He paused before replying. I could sense him weighing up how much to tell me. We had just reached the place where we joined the road over the Kyrenia range. As we pulled away he said, ‘That’s only one of the things I do. You know sometimes I play a more practical part.’
‘Would you be offended if I showed no curiosity about that at all?’
He laughed before he said anything. Short and puffy sounds.
‘No, Charlie. I might be rather chuffed. Fancy a fish supper tonight? There’s a safe café down at the harbour.’ I might have been wrong, but I’d say his voice was tinged with relief.
‘Fish and chips?’
‘Not quite.’
‘OK.’
‘I was in France just after it fell in early ’45,’ I told him. ‘My driver was an old hand, and had been around the block a few times. Although I was travelling with a major, and by then they’d made me an officer, this private soldier was actually in charge to all practical purposes – he was the only one of us three who knew how to keep us all alive.’
‘I’ve met men like that. Is he still around?’
‘Yes, Les is one of my best friends.’
We were sitting at the rear of a small diner with our backs against the wall. There were tables outside under the stars, but Tony had chosen cover.
‘I sense this conversation is going somewhere . . .’ he said.
‘We ate at cafés and restaurants as we moved through France and Belgium. Things were just getting going again. The point is that although the places were meant to be safe, they weren’t – all sorts of gangsters were settling scores with each other – and Les always made us sit just like this. At the back, with our backs to the wall. He watched everyone who came in.’
‘That’s why you’re still here?’
‘I think so. I once asked him who’d taught him that, and he replied William Butler Hickok. The only time he sat with his back to the door someone put a bullet in it.’
‘I know that story as well. Wild Bill’s killer was a gambler named Jack McCall, I think – wonderful the things you remember. What was your point?’
‘Only that you seem to know what you’re doing – and I’m rather pleased about that.’
‘Charming compliment. Thanks, old son.’ We raised glasses, and toasted each other in a rather curious thin red wine. ‘Now what was it you wanted to ask me?’
‘Your pal Adonis claimed that EOKA was asked to bury me. Is he likely to be correct?’
‘Yes. He’s usually well-informed.’
‘It would still be useful to know who asked them.’
‘Mm . . .’ He raised the wine glass to the light, and squinted at it. ‘Anyone wanted to kill you before?’
‘Hundreds of Jerries in ’44, I suppose, but that was different . . . I was dropping bombs on them then.’
‘And since?’
‘More than my fair share. I had a run-in with some Israelis in 1953, and I annoyed a couple of Americans some months ago. A woman shot me in Turkey a few years ago. Your man CB warned me
