'Hold on, David! I know practically nothing about him - and absolutely nothing about Sir Peter Barrie. So don't press the button yet.'
'You don't? Well, the presence of General Razzak should tell you something.' He scratched his head. "There don't seem to be any buttons - just this one marked "Emergency". It must be controlled from the desk, by that woman.' He took a step back towards the doors, but they started to close and he was forced to retreat.
The lift began to move, and Elizabeth began to panic.
Audley grinned at her. 'She nearly got me. She was just waiting for that, I'll bet! Not that I blame her… You were saying - ?'
Mustn't panic. 'Where is that emergency button, David?'
'Just here - the red button - Christ, Elizabeth - !' , The lift stopped.
'For God's sake woman! What did you do that for?' exclaimed Audley.
'Because I have an emergency, David. I know practically nothing about Squadron Leader Thomas - whom I must not call "Squadron Leader" - except that he was shot down on June 6th, 1944, and rescued by the late Major Thaddeus E. Parker on June 7th.' Elizabeth decided that she would hold on to the Deputy-Director's other revelations for the time being.
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Somewhere in the distance there was a bell ringing. Presumably it was an emergency bell.
'And I know nothing at all about Sir Peter Barrie, whom I am about to meet.' She faced him. 'And that is my emergency.'
He stared at her for a moment. Then his mouth opened.
" Executive floor lift?' The voice came out of a small speaker alongside the red button. ' You have a problem? Please speak into this receiver, alongside the emergency stop.'
Elizabeth pressed her bag tightly over the speaker. 'Solve my problem, David.'
He stared at her for another, much longer moment. 'I don't think you have any problem at all, young woman.' He shook his head. 'The problem is all mine.'
The speaker mumbled again, muffled by her bag.
'All right, Elizabeth - I give you best.' The shake became a nod. 'We vetted both of them, back in 1958. And cleared them both - Peter Barrie was a wronged man, and a victim… old Haddock was also a wronged man. But also a philanderer. It was a cross between a Feydeau comedy - or a Whitehall farce, or maybe a "Carry On" film - and a James Bond novel. Everyone got egg on their faces.'
'What about Major Parker?'
Audley shook his head. 'What about him?'
'He was on the list too.'
His face hardened. 'You know what list you're talking about?'
Audley was usually so friendly that when he wasn't he was at once rather frightening. 'Mr Latimer has cleared me for it, David.'
'Oh, he has, has he?' She could almost feel the heat under his look. 'Well, we haven't the time - and this isn't the place - for Mr Oliver St John Latimer's list. And you can lean on your red button until hell freezes over, Miss Loftus.'
Elizabeth summoned her last reserves. 'So what is Sir Peter Barrie's connection with - with Thomas - '
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That's easy. He was Thomas's best friend, or near enough, back in '58. Until Barrie shopped him.' He relaxed slightly. 'So I thought you should begin with him. But I wouldn't advise you to delay him any longer. He's a busy man, as that woman said.'
She lowered her bag. 'Hullo? Hullo? Who is that?'
' Executive floor lift?' The voice seemed relieved. ' Please speak into the receiver, alongside the emergency stop - the red buttonr
'The red button?' She made herself sound flustered. And when she thought about David Audley and Sir Peter Barrie that wasn't too difficult. 'I think I pressed the button by mistake - the lift just stopped.'
Audley leaned forward. 'She pressed the red button by mistake,' he repeated grimly. 'So what do we do now?'
'You have a problem, caller?'
Audley gave Elizabeth an old-fashioned look. 'Our only problem is that the lift has stopped.'
'Please press the red button again, caller. The lift will proceed.'
Audley continued to look at her as he pressed the button. 'Don't bother to apologize. I'd hate that.'
Thirty years with Father, who had been a fully paid-up life member of the Never Apologize Society, had at least inured her to that weakness. 'I wasn't going to.'
He relaxed, and became almost his old self again. I'm glad to hear it. I am seldom wrong, but it's always good to have one's judgment vindicated by events.'
To the extent that he had recommended her recruitment, she was his invention. But if he was reminding her of that he still had a lot to learn, in spite of his seniority and experience, she decided as the lift-doors opened.
'Dr Audley - Madam.' A Mrs Harlin-class battle-cruiser was waiting for them in what must be Xenophon's Holy of Holies. 'I'm so sorry about the lift, Dr Audley.' She gave Elizabeth a tripod-masted look. 'Sir Peter will see you now.' She indicated their route, through another of Xenophon's exotic jungles. Except that those couldn't be real flowers surely, could they?
'Shall I lead the way?
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'By all means.' Audley bowed slightly to Elizabeth as the woman moved ahead. 'After you, Miss Loftus,' he murmured.
'Thank you, Dr Audley.'
'And God help us - ' As she passed him she heard the rest of his murmur ' - Peter Barrie and David Audley, both.'
5
Elizabeth looked about her in surprise.
'Home from home, maybe?' Audley had been looking round too. And he was also surprised.
That was just about exactly right, thought Elizabeth. Or, anyway, it didn't look like a Xenophon room: no company symbol, no green-and-gold colour scheme, no expensive furniture - and, above all, no vegetation, apart from a spindly Busy Lizzy plant on the window-sill. The books in the shelves were mostly paperbacks, and many of them looked as though they had been well-read. In fact, the whole place looked lived-in, as nowhere else in the great tower had been, or ever could be. It was like a suburban flat - almost tatty, even.
Audley picked up the paperback which lay on the coffee-table, with a slip of paper in it marking the reader's place.
'Henry Williamson - A Fox Under My Cloak.' He made a thoughtful face. 'Paul would approve of that. Ypres 1915, is it, this one?'
'Among other places.'
Elizabeth turned towards the voice.
'I've only just discovered him properly. I thought he was merely the author of Tarka the Otter, who ruined himself by backing the fascists in the thirties. It makes me ashamed, how ill-read and ill-informed I am. Hullo again, David Audley.'
He was as tall as David, but thin, almost gaunt, where David was proportionately big. He dummy2
reminded her slightly of pictures she had seen of George Orwell.
'And hullo again, Peter Barrie.' Audley replaced the book where he had found it, taking care to keep the marker in position. 'Though, in the circumstances, that hardly seems adequate, after all these years - don't you think?' He bent down and adjusted the book.
'1958 - was that a good year for claret?'
Sir Peter shook his head. 'I don't think I bought much wine that year. I was in somewhat straitened circumstances - remember?'
There was something between them which was too big to be communicated except in small talk. So that was why Audley had been… the way he had been, perhaps? 'So you were. Although you wouldn't have bought any '58 in '58, anyway. I bought some '49 in that year. It cost me a fortune - I should have bought it before and kept it longer. One so often does things too late. My wife's into early English water-colours at the moment.' He shook his head sadly. 'Far too late.'
Sir Peter was looking at her. 'Introduce me, David.' Audley gave her a vaguely apologetic look. 'There! I've done it again - or not done it.' He turned the look back to Sir Peter. 'I got bawled out by General Razzak in your front office not five minutes ago for just the same thing - would you believe it?'