Spy Story

The professor was used to flamboyant hectoring. He smiled and continued calmly. 'The common language of the two Germanys is not a lubricant but an irritant. Most of the East-West tensions are simply extended, amplified versions of purely parochial arguments. Reunification is inevitable — lie back and enjoy it.'

'Never,' said Flynn. 'A reunited Germany that moved closer to the West would make the Russians very nervous. If Germany moved closer to the East they'd make us nervous. If, and this is more likely, Germany decided to play man in the middle, the worst days of the cold war could be remembered with nostalgia.'

The Russians have made up their minds,' said Toliver. 'The Americans don't care. There's not much chance for anyone else. The mere fact that the Russians have agreed to talk in Copenhagen shows how keen they are.'

'Why?' asked Flynn. 'Why are they so keen?'

'Come along, George,' Ferdy coaxed, and everyone turned to look at Dawlish.

'My goodness,' said the elderly grey-haired man, who had so far said so little. 'Old codgers like me are not privy to such secrets.'

'But you were in Bonn last week and Warsaw the month before,' said Ferdy. 'What are they saying?'

'Being there and being told anything are two different matters,' he said.

'A diplomatic offensive,' said Toliver, availing himself of Dawlish's reluctance to explain. 'A small group of Russian whizz-kids have pushed these proposals. If the unification goes through it will be such a triumph for that faction that they'll assume command of Russian foreign policy.'

'Surely it should have been debated,' said Ferdy.

'The Germans have debated it,' said Eichelberger. 'They want it. Is it right that foreigners should interfere?'

'You can't trust the Germans,' said Toliver. 'Let them all get together and they'll be electing another Hitler, mark my words.'

'We've got to trust someone,' said Professor Allenby, without going further to remind Toliver that in the space of five minutes he'd condemned the Americans, the Russians, the Germans — East and West — and the Japanese. But the taunt was obvious to the men present, and there was a long silence during which Ferdy opened his boxes of cigars and passed them down the table with a maximum of displacement activity.

I resisted and passed them to Schlegel. He took one. He rolled it in his fingers and listened to its sound. Only when he had everyone's attention did he bite the end off it. He lit it with a match that he struck with one hand, using his thumbnail. He fixed me with his beady eyes. 'Big snafu at the Table today, after you left. Did you hear?'

'Port for anyone who'd like some,' said Ferdy nervously.

'My informant said jackpot,' I replied.

'A host's prerogative,' said Schlegel. He inhaled, nodded and blew a perfect smoke ring. 'No time now to pull the back off and probe the balance spring.'

Toliver waved away Schlegel's cigar smoke and with measured care sipped enough of the Pauillac to commit its flavour to memory. 'I'm glad there are still some people who serve a Bordeaux with game,' he said. He finished his wine, then took the port decanter and poured himself some. 'What kind of a meal can I expect if I visit your Studies Centre? Does your influence obtain there, Foxwell?' He touched his wavy hair and moved it a fraction off his forehead.

'You needn't worry about the food,' said Schlegel. 'We don't run tours.'

Toliver's knuckles whitened as he grasped the neck of the decanter. 'I'm not exactly a tourist,' he said. '.An official visit… on behalf of the House.'

'No tourists, no journalists, no free-loaders,' said Schlegel 'My new policy.'

'Mustn't bite the hand that feeds you,' said Toliver. Dawlish watched the exchange. Gently he took the port decanter from Toliver's clenched hand, and passed it to Eichelberger.

'I'm not quite sure I understand your duties at the Studies Centre,' said Dr Eichelberger to Ferdy. He took the decanter, poured himself some port and passed it.

'War Games,' said Ferdy. He was relieved to deflect the collision course of Toliver and Schlegel. 'I usually do the Russian Navy side of it.'

'That's funny,' said Toliver, 'You don't look Russian.' He looked round and then laughed heartily with every one of his perfect white teeth.

'But what does he do?' Eichelberger asked Schlegel.

'He introduces the element of human fallibility,' said Schlegel.

'And very important, too,' said Eichelberger, and nodded seriously.

'The nuclear submarine,' said young Professor Allenby, 'is the most perfect symbol of imperialistic aggression. It is designed solely for long-range use to distant countries and can only destroy the civilian populations of large cities.'

He fixed me with his bright eyes. 'I agree,' I said, 'and the Russians have more of them than the.American, British and French fleets combined.'

'Nonsense,' said the professor.

'A palpable hit,' said Mr Flynn.

'What's more,' said Schlegel, poking a finger at Allenby, 'Your goddamn red buddies are building at a rate of one a week, have been for years, and show no sign of slowing construction.'

'My goodness,' said Flynn, 'the seas must be filled with the awful things.'

'They are,' said Schlegel.

'It's probably time we joined the ladies,' said Ferdy, dreading an argument among his guests.

Dawlish stood up politely and so did I, but Schlegel and his new-found enemy, Professor Allenby, didn't give tip so easily. 'A typical example of propaganda from the rearmament lobby,' said Allenby. 'Isn't it obvious that the Russians need more submarines: their coastline is incredibly long and they need naval forces for their land-locked seas.'

'Then what the hell are they doing all over the Med, the Atlantic, the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean?'

'Just showing the flag,' said Allenby.

'Oh, pardon me,' said Schlegel. 'I thought only crypto-fascist reactionary imperialists did that.'

'I don't know why you Yanks should be so frightened of the Russians,' said Allenby. He smiled.

'You Brits should be a little more frightened of them, if you ask me,' said Schlegel. 'You depend upon imports just in order to eat. Hitler came into the war with twenty-seven long-range submarines. He sank enough of your merchant shipping to make it touch and go whether you could continue the war. Today, with a Royal Navy no longer visible to the naked eye, the Russian Navy has about four hundred subs, many of them nukes. Maybe they are just for showing the flag, Prof, but you want to start asking yourself where they are planning to run it up.'

'I think we really should join the ladies,' said Ferdy.

Coffee was sewed in the drawing-room. It was a fine room; tapestries, placed to absorb stray sounds, made its acoustics as good as any recital room. There were a dozen delicate gilt chairs placed equidistant upon the pale green Afghan carpet. The Bechstein grand piano had been stripped of family photos and cut flowers, and placed under the huge painting of Ferdy's grandfather's favourite horse.

The pianist was a handsome youth with an evening shirt even frillier than those currently de rigueur at Oxford, and his tie was bright red and droopy. He found every note of one of the Beethoven Opus 10 Sonatas, and held many of them for exactly the right duration.

Coffee was kept: hot in a large silver samovar — O.K., don't tell me, but it was Ferdy's samovar — and thimble-sized demi-tasses were positioned alongside it. Dawlish held his; cigar in one hand and the coffee cup and saucer in the other. He nodded his thanks as I operated the coffee tap for him.

I held up the jug of hot milk and raised an. eyebrow.

'Worcester,' said Dawlish, 'late eighteenth century, and damned nice too.'

The old idiot knew that I was asking him if he wanted milk, but he was right. Holding a hundred pounds- worth of antiques in your hand to pour hot milk was part of the: miracle of the Foxwells' lifestyle.

'Mozart next,' said Dawlish. He was wearing an old-fashioned dinner suit with a high wing collar and a stiff- fronted shirt. It was difficult to know if it was an heirloom or whether he had them made like that.