McLachlan detached himself from the bar. "I'll stand you lunch, Polly. Just this once."
"Or you can lunch with me, Miss Epton," said Butler quickly. "We've—hmm—still quite a lot to discuss, remember."
"You can't afford it, Dan. And thanks, Colonel Butler, but I'd rather eat at home—I've got the rest of the afternoon off."
"In fact you can both come back with me and eat pounds of rabbit food. And I'll make you both omelettes
—it'll do you good."
McLachlan looked uncertainly at Butler. Then he shrugged. "I suppose we could do worse," he said ungallantly.
Butler drummed impatiently on the top of the coin box and watched McLachlan through the grimy glass of the phone box. It had been a stroke of luck to find an unvandalised telephone complete with directory, but then the switchboard at King's had at first obstinately refused to concede that anything could be more important than the Master's untroubled enjoyment of his lunch, and in the end had moved only after the direst threats Butler could summon from his imagination.
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"Colonel Butler?"
The prim voice did not appear to have room in it for irritation.
"I'm sorry to have to disturb you again so soon, Sir Geoffrey."
"Once more, not at all, Colonel. You are on duty and I don't doubt it is necessary—salus populi suprema est lex— and I am becoming accustomed to disturbance, anyway. I trust Miss Epton kept her appointment?"
"She did. But we met another of your—ah—students. A fair-haired young fellow named McLachlan. Do you know him?"
"Yes, I do." There was no hesitation in the reply. "Daniel McLachlan. A scholar of the college in his third year—he takes schools this summer. A mere formality in his case, though."
"A formality?"
"Short of some unforeseen abberration, yes—he's very bright indeed. One of the three best brains we have in college at this moment. The other two are chemists."
The primness was momentarily accentuated, as though chemistry was some form of physical handicap.
"He was a friend of Neil Smith's."
"Indeed?"
"You didn't know?"
"They weren't in the same year." The Master shrugged at him down the line. "Smith was a gregarious fellow, of course. But their politics were poles apart."
"McLachlan's a Tory, you mean? I had the impression he was a Rhodesian liberal."
"He doesn't love apartheid, that's true. But he's a politically cautious young man. I think that is because he has been provisionally accepted by the Civil Service, and he's very ambitious. Very ambitious. In fact he should go far, unless . . ." Sir Geoffrey trailed off.
It was easy to see in which direction that "unless" pointed.
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"Unless he found something in his pocket that he hadn't put there himself?" Butler completed the sentence.
"Y—es. That's about the size of it. A prime target, McLachlan might be. I had my doubts about letting him go to Castleshields this vacation."
"What's wrong with Castleshields?"
"Nothing I can put my finger on. Except that Smith was there, of course. But I'm uneasy about it. And young McLachlan doesn't need any polishing, in any case."
"But you're letting him go."
"He has no home in England, and no relatives over here. Castleshields is probably safer than London, in any case."
"He doesn't sound the sort of man to get involved in trouble."
"He isn't. He's ambitious, as I've said—he has a remarkably pragmatic mind for one so young. He knows what he wants and he's not inclined to make artificial difficulties for himself. But then in some ways he's more experienced than the usual run of undergraduates—and I fancy he may not be so conservative when he reaches a position of power."
"In what respect is he more experienced?"
"As you've discovered—he lived in Rhodesia for some years. Left shortly after UDI, with which he very decidedly doesn't agree, so I gather. His father is still there and there's no great love lost between them, which is to young McLachlan's credit."
"You know the father?"
"I was instrumental in having him sent down from the college just after the war—for invincible idleness, among other things. Fortunately the son doesn't in the least take after the father. In fact I'd esteem it a favour if you could keep an eye on him, just in case. He's very much worth protecting."
Well, maybe. But maybe if the brighter-than-bright Daniel McLachlan needed to be wet-nursed, then he wasn't fit to be one of tomorrow's bosses. No one had ever protected Butler from the working of natural selection, that was for sure. Except that this whole business was a glorified wet-nursing operation.
Butler chewed his lip. There was something funny about that: he didn't see Audley as a wet-nurse. On the other hand it could be that Audley was simply doing a favour for his influential university friends.
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With Audley there was usually a personal angle somewhere.
A sharp tapping on the window glass of the phone box roused him. McLachlan was gesturing wordlessly towards a decrepit-looking Volkswagen at the road's edge. So now there was no time to even consider that unanswerable question about him: how far can he be trusted ? And no time, damn it, to pursue the status of Castleshields House either.
"Thank you, Master." But those questions could be answered by the Department's researchers, anyway.
"I'll try not to bother you again."
"It is no bother—I shall be in your debt if you can resolve this business, Colonel Butler. Just make sure no harm comes to McLachlan." The dry voice paused. "My next meal commences at 7.30, incidentally . . ."
McLachlan was holding the door of the Volkswagen open for him.
"If you'd care to sit in the back, sir—it's no more uncomfortable than the front, but a lot less dangerous.
I'm used to Polly's driving, but she'd have you through the windscreen the first time she noticed any obstacle in her way."
Butler hunched himself up and stepped gingerly into the little car. What room there was was further reduced by the quantity of objects already stowed within, ranging from an immense sheepskin jacket to a bulging box of groceries.
"Daniel McLachlan, that's a rotten slander!" Polly Epton's spirit had obviously recharged itself. "I have never hit anything in my life. I can't understand why you've become so nervous all of a sudden."
"Nothing sudden about it," replied McLachlan, contorting himself into the front seat. "It's the number of things you've almost hit that frightens me. You can sink a ship with near-misses, you know."
"Oh—bosh!"
"Not bosh. You drive too fast, that's all—hold on, sir!"
The force of gravity pressed Butler back as the little car took off. There was something odd about the suspension, but there was evidently nothing wrong with the engine that howled just behind the small of his back. Wedged between the sheepskin coat and the groceries, with mud-flecked windows on each side of him, he felt blind and powerless. All he could see was McLachlan's powerful shoulders and the coarse, tight curls at the back of the neck—the young man's fairness was the variety that often went with fierce ginger whiskers.
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He levered himself forward, grasping the front seats, and peered at the road ahead. It was hard to gauge the car's speed, but he had the impression that McLachlan hadn't exaggerated much.
"Where are we going?"
"Polly's got a cottage at Millford. Not far, thank God!"
"From Millford Steeple to Carfax Tower
The Devil can run in half an hour"
Polly recited in a broad Oxfordshire accent. "There used to be a famous running race on May Day.
That's as the crow flies. It won't take us half the time."
"More's the pity," said McLachlan nervously. "For heaven's sake, Polly—cool it a bit."
"Hah—hmm !" Butler growled. The nervousness was catching. "No need to hurry, Miss Epton. Tell me about Castleshields House."