‘We either talk here or down the local police station. Which do you prefer?’
‘Do you like walking?’ he asked.
‘Before arthritis,’ Wendy replied.
‘It’s the same with my leg. There’s a park not far from here. We could go there, grab a coffee, and you can ask me what you want.’
‘And you will tell me all I need to know?’
‘Yes.’
Victoria Sullivan returned and took a seat. All three drank their tea and spoke about the weather and the dog. It was evident that both were fond of the animal, even though it preferred to lie across Wendy’s feet.
‘We’re just going out for a while,’ George Sullivan said.
‘Wrap up warm. You don’t want to catch a cold.’ The reply from the dutiful wife.
‘Will you stay for tea, sergeant?’ Victoria Sullivan asked.
‘Thanks for the offer, but I need to get back to London.’
Chapter 28
Wendy pulled up the collar of her coat as she stepped from the heat of the Sullivans’ house into the bracing wind outside.
‘Global warming. Makes no sense to me,’ George Sullivan said. Wendy noticed he moved with a slight limp.
The park was well looked after. Apart from the ducks in the pond, close to where they had entered, there was little movement: a few hardy souls jogging, someone doing yoga, although Wendy did not understand why or how, and a few dog owners throwing Frisbees repeatedly.
George Sullivan seemed not to concern himself with the cold. Wendy realised that she could not conduct a comprehensive interview while her feet were cold and her hands were shaking.
‘There’s a nice café around the corner. We’ll go there,’ Sullivan said.
Wendy appreciated the gesture.
The café prided itself on home-made cakes. Wendy chose two for herself. Both of them ordered lattes.
‘What do you want to know?’
Wendy went through the procedure, gave him the caution about whatever you say…
‘I know the rigmarole. I worked with Army Intelligence back in the 50s. During the cold war, stationed in Berlin, listening in on Russian military communications.’
‘Do you understand the language?’
‘I did. My mother was Russian. Nowadays, I can just about understand the Russian news on the television. Anyway, you want to know about Bellevue Street.’
‘Yes. Do you mind if I record our conversation?’
‘I only hope my wife never finds out what I’m going to tell you.’
‘That’s not a guarantee I can give,’ Wendy said.
‘Whatever happens, I will tell you all I know.’
‘Thanks.’ Wendy ordered another latte. She still had the expense account, but it appeared likely that she would not be able to give it much exercise.
‘I was friends with Albert Grenfell. We had worked together in Berlin. He was a snob. I suppose you know that already.’
‘It’s been mentioned.’
‘We started meeting on a social basis. Not often, but whenever he was in London, he would call, and we would go out to a bar or a club.’
‘Disreputable?’
‘Albert knew with me that I would be discreet, and I was young, not yet married, although I was courting Victoria. Sowing a few wild oats seemed fine at the time.’
‘You said he was a snob.’
‘What was he doing with me, is that it?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Colonel in Army Intelligence counted for something. It was the cold war, spies and espionage were always in the news. My rank and my job gave me a certain allure. Today, they would say shades of James Bond, but to be honest, I spent most of my time in a room with another ten men listening to boring Russians speaking, and then writing endless reports which would have been filed within ten minutes of someone reading them.’
‘Albert Grenfell liked the ideas of spies and espionage?’
‘He portrayed this staid, conservative man, but underneath it, he wanted to be daring and dashing and naughty. With me, he could.’
‘You started going out to bawdy clubs?’
‘Not often. He was married, and his wife watched him like a hawk.’
‘You met her?’
‘With Victoria?’
‘Yes.’
‘We have been told that she was at the Richardsons’ party.’
‘She thought it was going to be a family gathering.’
‘It must have come as a shock.’
‘It came as a shock to me as well.’
‘Did Albert know beforehand?’
‘No, but with the Richardson sisters anything was possible.’
‘Are you saying that a family gathering turned into an orgy?’
‘Yes.’
Wendy, feeling hungry, ordered pasta; Sullivan ordered the same. The weather had turned bleaker outside, and it was raining heavily. George Sullivan phoned his wife to tell her he would be delayed. ‘She’s a terrible worrier,’ he said.
‘Does your wife know any of this?’
‘Nothing, and that’s the way I would prefer it to stay.’
‘You realise the importance of what you’re saying?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that withholding information could be seen as an offence?’
‘You had difficulty finding me?’ he said in reply.
‘Yes.’
‘Even after all these years, I am afforded some protection, some secrecy, some leniency as to my civic responsibilities.’
‘What does that mean?’ Wendy asked.
‘Once a spy, even if not James Bond or anything glamorous, always a spy.’
‘Does that mean if there was a court case, the truth could be suppressed?’
‘Not in the case of Garry Solomon, but otherwise it could be.’
Wendy realised that it was not a threat, merely a statement of fact. She pressed on, only stopping to eat some more pasta.
‘What changed with the family gathering?’ Wendy asked.
‘The younger sister.’
‘Mavis?’
‘Yes, that was her name. I can’t remember the other sister’s name.’
‘Gertrude.’
‘Yes, that’s it. We are all sitting there. I am engaged to Victoria, but she could not come. After so many years, I can’t remember why. Albert’s wife is
