Macleod looked annoyed by this. “Don’t cause me any more trouble, will you, boys.” It was not a question.
Field felt caged in the office, so, after lunch, he resolved to return to Katya’s house.
He tried to get out of the station the back way. He walked through the canteen and the kitchen and emerged into a small side alley by the rubbish bins. He could see no sign of anyone, so stepped out into the street. He kept close to the wall and ducked under the steam that was pouring from an open kitchen window.
He had only walked ten yards when he saw them leaning against the wall at the far end of the alley: two on each side of the street. They straightened and Field stopped. For a moment he felt like testing them out, the adrenaline pumping through him, but his instincts told him the risk of inadvertently leading them to Katya’s house was too great. He turned back. There was no choice but to sit by the phone and wait.
That night Lu’s men were still out front, but Granger shoved Field roughly into the back of his Chevrolet and then turned to check that they were not being followed.
Granger had dismissed Macleod’s suggestion that they would need an escort.
The house was close to Penelope and Geoffrey’s, just behind the Bund, and of similar design and size, with a veranda and high-ceilinged, airy rooms. “Good man, Field,” Granger said as he guided him into the hall. “You can lose your jacket. Wu!”
Granger went on through to the back while his number one boy took Field’s jacket and revolver, then sprayed his ankles awkwardly with paraffin.
“Many bites . . . buzz . . .”
Field smiled. The man had not a single tooth, so “buzz” sounded like his father breaking wind. He paused, gathering himself.
Caroline Granger rose swiftly as he came onto the veranda at the back, offering her hand. She wore a simple, short black dress with a gold and diamond necklace, her dark hair shiny and her smile warm. “We meet properly at last.” She turned. “You know Penelope Donaldson.”
“We’re related,” Penelope said without standing. “I’m his auntie.”
Penelope was also dressed in black. She looked at him as he sat down, dark eyes resting upon his face. He tried to smile back.
“Some champagne, Richard?” Granger held a bottle in one hand, a glass in the other.
Field hesitated.
“Hesitation means consent.” He poured the glass and handed it to him.
Field took out his cigarettes and offered them around, but Granger shook his head and reached for his own as he sat on the wicker sofa beside his wife.
“I’ve been getting a hard time,” Granger said, leaning back in his chair and placing both feet on the glass table in front of him. “The ladies here believe their kind are in the process of proving themselves our equals in some ways, and our superiors in most.”
“That woman who is planning to swim the Channel,” Caroline explained. Patrick doesn’t believe she’ll be able to do it and certainly does not find it a cause for celebration.”
“I’d like to see her bloody dance.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Penelope asked.
“That she’s probably not very feminine,” Caroline went on. “Patrick likes his women strapped to the bed.”
Penelope giggled.
Field took a sip of the champagne and a drag of his cigarette. He looked out, through the smoke, across the startlingly green lawn. They were surrounded by bigger buildings, but the garden felt private; the city was a distant hum above the noise of the gas lights.
The doorbell rang and Granger stood to go to the front door. Penelope stared at him as they heard Charles Lewis and Geoffrey in the hallway.
“The lovely Mrs. Granger,” Lewis greeted his hostess as he came onto the veranda. “What a pleasure. Dickie . . . how nice.” Field stood and Lewis gripped his hand hard, his manner icily polite, his glare piercing. He stared at Field for a moment, then moved along to Penelope. “Here’s my girl . . .” He kissed her, too warmly.
Geoffrey came through the door. “Evening, nephew,” he said, his face split by a smile of genuine warmth. Field felt a stab of guilt in his belly. “Sorry we’re late. The Empire Day preparations are killing me, and then Charlie and I were yapping in the club about the cricket.”
They shook hands. Geoffrey kissed first his wife and then Caroline. He sat on the wicker sofa beside Penelope. Granger opened another bottle of champagne and poured both men a glass, before refilling the others, ignoring Field’s gesture of refusal.
“We almost got mown down outside,” Geoffrey said. “Some moron absolutely hammering along.”
“Drunk,” Lewis said.
“You know they have white lines in the middle of the road in England now, and even lights—red and green to slow everyone down.”
“Traffic lights,” Lewis added.
“Yes. That’s what we need.”
Granger returned to his seat and put his feet back on the glass table. “Breaches of traffic protocol are,” he said, “the very least of our problems.”
They were silent for a moment. Field wondered whether they all knew about the interview with Lewis. Granger lit another cigarette.
“They’ve still got these bloody strikes in England,” Geoffrey said.
