The Bear's Tears

had never occurred to him before, and yet it now seemed crucial to the whole business. If he had been—? 'Was he a gentle man?' he asked suddenly, unable to contain the question.

'Mr Castleford? Yes — considerate, kind, appreciative. Charming, of course, ambitious, full of energy… but he would never ride roughshod over anyone… a real gentleman, of the old school. Class, of course — breeding will out, as they say.'

The woman seemed to have changed once more, to have revealed unexpected origins and prejudices. She looked up to Castleford, always had done. She was a snob on his behalf, even now. Yet, she made the man seem like Margaret.

What if he had been? How could he have been the kind of man Aubrey could have ignored, or accepted? He would have been the kind of man to awaken jealousies, to have created in Aubrey, perhaps, the dark side of a triangle? Massinger felt breathless with the quick thoughts as they crowded in on him, lay on his chest like weights. He sipped more coffee.

'So — you think he might have been murdered by Kenneth Aubrey?' Massinger asked heavily.

'I most certainly do,' she answered vehemently. 'Please tell your wife I'm convinced of it. If the knowledge will do her any good. It must be very distressing for her.'

'It is, yes.' He looked up. 'But why would he have done it?'

She was silent for a long time, and then she sighed. 'I might as well admit it,' she said. 'You've no doubt guessed for yourself. I was in love with Robert Castleford. Deeply in love. I was thirty, attractive and efficient. But —'

'He thought of you as someone who worked for him?'

She nodded. A lock of grey hair fell across her forehead where the face powder was visible in the furrows of her brow.

'Yes,' she admitted reluctantly. 'He never noticed me — in that way. Her, yes, but not me.'

'You mean—?'

'Yes. That German woman on the make. Securing her future. She moved fairly rapidly from Aubrey to Mr Castleford — after all, he could do more for her, couldn't he?' Her face was again wizened with malice. Thirty-seven years later, she had no intention of forgiving Clara Elsenreith.

'I see. She was Castleford's mistress, then. You're certain of that? After she had known Aubrey?' Miss Dawson nodded. The lock of hair bobbed vehemently. Her small body was pinched in, hunched with anger, with forever unpurged jealousy. Beware the green-eyed monster…

Yet he could understand it, sense the power of that emotion. He had known it in high school, even in college. He did not imagine he had grown out of it like a species of acne; rather, he had had no cause. But, if someone took Margaret…?

'You're certain?' he asked again. 'Certain she was…?'

Miss Dawson nodded once more. 'Yes,' she repeated, tight-lipped. 'Yes. He — he told me about her, about her coming to him.'

'Told you?'

Miss Dawson's cheeks flushed. She looked down. 'I was eavesdropping. I overheard — he was telling one of his colleagues, a grubby-minded little man who asked him straight out… he told him. Told him he'd taken that woman away from Aubrey, even…' She did not continue. After a while, she said: 'I dropped something in the next room. After that, the door was closed and their voices were lower. I didn't hear anything else.'

Massinger inhaled. The noise sounded like a windy groan. He studied Miss Dawson's face. He had found the utterly unexpected in a place he had entered with closed eyes, looking for nothing. No more than a stop on an easy journey of deception. He was drawn towards believing Miss Dawson's evidence, even discounting her jealousy, her admiration for Castleford, her dislike for Aubrey and the woman. She had overheard. Castleford had stolen the woman from Aubrey.

'Aubrey was angry?'

'There was a blazing quarrel a few days later. I didn't hear what it was about, but I was told there were threats. Mr Castleford seemed very upset, very worried, during the rest of the day — for days afterwards.' She swallowed. 'Until the time he disappeared, in fact.'

'Aubrey threatened him?'

'Yes.'

'Because of the woman?' His voice was urgent. He could not avoid adding: 'This is very important to me.'

'What else could it have been? Mr Castleford was very, very worried.'

Massinger finished his coffee. He felt he must leave, must have time to think. He stood up unceremoniously.

'Thank you for your time,' he said. 'Thank you for the coffee. I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

'Have I helped?' she asked.

'I — don't know,' he admitted. 'Perhaps you have. Well, goodbye, Miss Dawson— no, don't worry, I'll see myself out. Once again, thank you.'

The woman watched him turn away and exit from the kitchen. She listened and, when the front door shut firmly behind him, her body twitched slightly at the noise. She continued to listen, as if for whispers in the air, and nodded when she heard a car start then accelerate away from the cottage.

She sighed, and unbuttoned her cardigan. She untaped the tiny microphone from her waist, and unwound its lead. She smiled as she looked at it and, before laying it on the table, she said: 'I hope that was satisfactory? I'm sure he now seriously doubts Aubrey's innocence.'

* * *

Sir Andrew Babbington shunted the folded sheaf of German morning newspapers to one side of his desk. Eldon watched the firm, satisfied expression on his superior's features. Most of the German nationals had taken up the story of Gunther Guillaume and 1974 from the previous day's Sunday Times and had treated it fully, speculatively, and with unanimous though veiled accusation of Aubrey for his part in the Guillaume scandal. As Eldon had firmly believed, since Teardrop first broke, Aubrey was the mole in British Intelligence who had tried to warn the East German double agent of his impending arrest. There hadn't been smoke without fire.

'Nothing new, I'm afraid,' Babbington commented. 'However, it's of minor importance.'

'Sir?'

'1974 — not our main concern, Eldon.'

'With respect, sir — I really think we should go after it. Full cooperation of the BfV…?' Babbington was already shaking his head. Eldon kept his features expressionless, immobile. On his thighs, his knuckles whitened. Damn it, Babbington simply couldn't see it!

'I don't think so, Eldon. What we might happen to dig up wouldn't be worth the effort, in all probability. No, let's go with what we have, as they say. The last two years, Aubrey's period of real activity. And, for my personal satisfaction and for the sake of Robert Castleford's ghost — find that damned woman who was involved with both of them in Berlin!'

'I would have thought she wasn't our main concern, Sir Andrew,' Eldon observed without inflection.

Babbington studied his features, his nostrils closing and dilating with suppressed anger. 'No?' he enquired lightly.

'What can she know?'

'Who murdered Robert Castleford, for example?' The sarcasm was evident. Babbington looked immediately at his watch. 'I have to see the Foreign Secretary at eleven.' Eldon could see a masked smile lifting the corners of Babbington's mouth. Also present at that meeting would be Sir William Guest as Chairman of JIC and the Home Secretary. That small group of men would ratify the establishment of the new Security and Intelligence Directorate and confirm Babbington as its first Director-General. Babbington was less than an hour from absolute secret power.

Eldon felt no envy for the man; merely a thankfulness that SIS would at last be under the aegis of the security service and no longer a maverick organisation; in future, its work would be properly supervised. And Eldon felt profoundly grateful that they had uncovered Teardrop — Aubrey. The damage he had been able to do was not irreversible, not conclusive in all probability. It might take a year or two, but they would