'How do any of these things happen?' I said.
'Ah, you're right there,' he said. He took of [his hat and scratched his head.
'Looked bad, eh?' I said.
'All drawn up — knees against his chest.'
'Conscious?'
'I was right down the end of the street. I saw them putting him in. They had to open both doors to get him through.'
'What was it: Ambulance Service?'
'No, a fancy job — painted cream with lettering and a red cross.'
'If only I knew where they'd taken him,' I said. 'This lady is a doctor, you see.'
He smiled at Marjorie and was glad to rest a moment. He put a boot on the crate, plucking at his trouser leg to reveal a section of yellow sock and some hairy leg. He took out a cigarette case, selected one and lit it with a gold lighter. He nodded his head as he thought about the ambulance. 'It came right past me,' he admitted. 'A clinic, it was.'
'The rest of them went with him, I suppose?'
'No, in a bloomin' great Bentley.'
'Did they!'
'A Bentley Model T. That's like the Rolls Silver Shadow, except for the Bentley radiator. Nice job. Green, it was.'
'You don't miss much, do you.'
'I made one, didn't I? Plastic — two hundred separate parts-took me months. It's on the tele, you should see it: my missus is afraid to dust it.'
'Green?'
'Front offside wing bent to buggery. A recent shunt, not even rusted.'
'And the ambulance was from a clinic?'
'It's gone right out of my mind. Sorry, Doctor,' he said to Marjorie. He touched the peak of his cap, 'I've got a terrible memory these
'Yes,' I said. 'I suppose they can afford a private place.'
'Oh, yes,' said the milkman. 'Little goldmine, that place is.'
'I'd better run,' Marjorie said to me.
'No one here today,' I said.
'No, well they don't do lunches,' said the milkman. He picked up two crates of empty milk bottles and staggered away.
'How did you know about the ambulance?' Marjorie asked me,
'Ah,' I said, feeling rather clever.
'But who was it?' insisted Marjorie. 'What happened here?'
'A Russian admiral with kidney trouble,' I said.
Marjorie became angry. She stepped out into the road and hailed a cab. It stopped with a squeal of brakes. She opened the door and got in. 'The incredible amount of trouble you will go to to avoid a serious talk! It's sick, Patrick! Can't you see that?'
The cab pulled away before I could answer.
I waited on the pavement, watching the milkman as he staggered under the weight of more crates of milk. Sometimes he put them down and caught his breath for a moment. He was a quick-witted, energetic fellow, whom any dairy would be well advised to employ, but milkmen who lavish hand-made crocodile boots upon themselves do not wear them on their rounds, especially when the boots are new and unbroken. Footwear is always the difficulty in a hasty change of dress but the gold lighter was pure carelessness. It was obvious that The Terrine was staked out, but as the bogus milkman moved down the street I wondered why he should have told me so much, unless a course of action had already been prepared for me.
I crossed the street to an upturned crate from which an old man was selling newspapers. I looked at the crate with its placard on the front, and the tin tray of loose change. I wondered if by kicking it over I might damage a few hundred pounds-worth of two-way radio. Oh yes, The Terrine was staked out all right, and they weren't bothering about the subtleties,
'The latest,' I said automatically. It started to rain again and he pulled a plastic sheet over his papers, 'Sports edition?'
'I'm not sure I can tell the difference,' I said, but I took the early news, and for a few moments stood there reading it.
The woman leading the Russian delegation to the German reunification talks was fast becoming a cult figure in the West. Women's Liberation supported her nomination for chairman above any claim by British, French or American male delegates. Her brief appearance on TV news was helping the media to sell this otherwise dull conference to a public who didn't give a damn about Germany's eastern border. Now here was Katerina Remoziva in a three-column photo on the front page. She was a thin elderly spinster with an engaging smile, her hair in a bun, her hand raised in a gesture somewhere between workers' solidarity and papal blessing.
The caption said, 'For Madame Katerina Remoziva, the Copenhagen talks; represent repayment for six years behind-the-scenes work, and nearly a hundred semi-official meetings. Next Monday we begin to tell the story of this amazing woman and her hopes for permanent European peace and prosperity.'
Nice work, comrades, a propaganda triumph in the making. It was raining faster now and I put the paper over my head.
Chapter Fifteen
Global commitment negative: A game with global commitment negative is restricted to the military forces on the board. Global commitment positive: A game in which either or both sides will be reinforced by land sea or air forces from other theatres of war. E.g. during a Northern Fleet war game Soviet naval units might be reinforced by elements of Baltic Fleet or Polish naval units. NB — Such introduced elements can be larger than the sum of forces available at game opening.
If you measure power and success by the time taken to move in comfort to or from a city centre — and many use that criterion — then the next couple of hours was the pace-setter by which all London's tycoons and politicians must measure themselves.
The police car stopped outside The Terrine at one forty-five. 'Mr Armstrong?' He was a man of about forty. His coat was unbuttoned and revealed a police uniform that had been tailored to put the top button high. His shirt was white linen, its collar fastened with a gold pin. Whoever he was3 he didn't have to line up on parade each morning and be checked by the station sergeant. The driver also was wearing a civilian coat, and only his blue shirt and black tie suggested that he was a constable.
'Perhaps,' I said. I held the newspaper over me to keep the rain off.
'Colonel Schegel's compliments, and we are to take you to Battersea. There is a helicopter waiting to connect with the airport.' He didn't get out of the car.
'Do you come with a book of instructions?'
'I beg your pardon, sir?'
'Why would I want to go to London, airport… Why would anyone?'
'It's something to do with this restaurant, sir,' he said. 'It's a Special Branch matter. I was just the neatest available spare bod.'
'And if I don't want to go with you?'
'The helicopter has been there an hour, sir. It must be urgent.' He looked up at the sky. The rain continued.
