“At least it’s not just us,” Granger said.
“Bolshevism is never going to take hold in England,” Lewis said. “Not a chance, you mark my words. It’s a nonissue.”
“They’re still on strike,” Geoffrey said.
“The English worker’s too damned sensible.”
“The war hasn’t helped.”
“The war hasn’t helped anything,” Lewis went on. “But if they weren’t so obsessed with their own problems— the government, I’m talking about—then they might pull their heads out of their backsides for long enough to get a glimpse of what we’re actually up against here.”
“They do know,” Geoffrey said.
“No they don’t. They’ve no idea. You might as well call this the battle for Western civilization, because that’s what it is.”
“That’s a bit melodramatic, Charlie,” Penelope said.
“No it’s not. We don’t fly under the flag of the colony and they never let us forget it, but that makes our struggle all the more important.”
“You sound like a politician,” Penelope said. “When you go home, you can stand for Parliament.”
“Who says I’m going to go home?”
“What, never?”
“What is there to home? A long, fruitless struggle to find a decent bloody servant.”
“But you’re so young, Charlie,” Caroline said.
“America beckons, if anywhere. I’d like to hear Louis in concert—now, that’s something that would be worth a journey. Are we going to have some music, Patrick?”
Granger stubbed out his cigarette and put down his glass. He disappeared inside but left the doors open, so that the sound of Louis Armstrong’s band soon filled the veranda.
“Keeping you up, old man . . .” Granger was at Field’s shoulder. He ruffled his hair with a throaty laugh. “Fine rugby player, girls,” he said approvingly, pointing at Field’s head. “Strength, ability, speed, aggression, tactical awareness.”
He was looking at Caroline and she nodded. “You’ll go far,” she said. “One day Patrick will start deciding promotions and pay according to what happens off the pitch.” She looked up at him, smiling. “Though, of course, if he becomes commissioner, he will have to change.”
“If,” Geoffrey said quietly. “There’s no ‘if’ about it.”
“We cannot have that bloody Scot,” Lewis said. “Not under any circumstances.”
“What do you think, Richard?” Granger asked.
Field frowned. “About what?”
“This is a time for testing loyalties, don’t you think?”
Field nodded. “Yes.”
They were all staring at him.
“The commissioner formally announced today he is to retire,” Geoffrey said.
There was another silence.
“I think,” Lewis said, “that the police force is the ethical arbiter of a city, don’t you?”
Field stared at Granger, then at Lewis, whose eyes were fixed upon him, his face taut. Geoffrey was smiling at Field encouragingly. “I think,” Field said slowly, “that a police force reflects the ethics of the city but does not necessarily generate them.”
“Well said, Richard,” Geoffrey inserted. “Well said indeed.”
A Chinese servant appeared at the door and Granger stood. “Dinner, I believe.”
The women left the room first, followed by Granger and Geoffrey. Field was last, and as he came toward the door, Lewis suddenly spun around in front of him. “All right, Richard?”
Field didn’t answer.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you and your American friend need to be very careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hear rumors, old man.”
Field waited for him to go on.
“Take my word for it: be careful when you are out and about.”
Field felt the tension and aggression in his back and neck.
“I’m warning, not threatening.”
“You’re always warning.”
