'And their wives.' Mr Willis nodded agreement. 'And their sisters.'
Audley nodded. 'Their colleagues' sisters. And the wives' sisters.'
Elizabeth remembered the fair Delphi, Haddock Thomas's best friend's girl. 'And their fiancees?'
'Them too,' agreed Audley. 'And you too, tomorrow. All grist to his mill, if it wore a skirt.
He had a lot of love in him, as I recall.'
'He enjoyed the occasional tipple, too. As I recall. And probably still does.' The old man smiled reminiscently at his daisies, and then turned the smile to her. 'There comes a time, my dear young lady, when one's… ah, one's attraction … to - to, not for… the fair sex declines. But I have never yet been rejected by the cork in a bottle - at least, not now that there are these mechanical openers which require no strength.'
'So, you see, Elizabeth - ' Audley abandoned the daisies ' - not a saint, the Haddock.'
'Just very careful,' agreed Mr Willis. 'Not to say judicious, in his sinning.'
They were playing with her. 'And a lover of the Classics, as well as an incomparable teacher. He loved to teach.'
'That above all - ' The old man turned to Audley ' - David?'
'You think so?' Audley considered the proposition seriously for a moment. 'I think… when I took him to the cleaners, and then hung him out to dry, back in '58… whatever was to his hand at the time, that was what he loved best. He was just a natural-born great lover, I'd say.'
'But not a traitor, David.' The old man wasn't smiling.
'No evidence, Willy. Not then - so probably not now. But then, with the very good ones…
the very good ones, Willy - not just the clever ones, or the lucky ones - the ones we've missed, because we missed something - or someone has missed something… because the very good ones are the ones Elizabeth and I are after… with them, Willy, evidence doesn't really come into it. With the very good ones, we don't have to say "yes" or "no", but just
"maybe".' He had flicked glances between them as he spoke, but now he was back with the old man. 'And if "maybe", then we have to take a closer look at your Gavin, to see just what dummy2
sort of high-tech contracts - and contacts, too - he's into, which the Russians would also like to be into. And then maybe - it's a great word, "maybe" - we'll just tip the word, so as he won't make his first million before he's thirty-one. Or his tenth million before he's thirty-five. Maybe, by the time we've finished with him, he'll go and teach Latin and Greek at Waltham - like Haddock Thomas did, even - ?'
'David - ' The old man's voice had the beginning of an outraged squeak in it.
'Are you going to make him a "maybe", Elizabeth?' Audley cut him off. 'With your two dead majors, you can hardly do anything else, unless you back your judgment as I did, back in '58. And as everyone now seems agreed that I made a mistake you can hardly do that, can you?'
She knew why he was so weary now; and it was not just because he was old enough to be her father, and he'd had a hard day, which had included a dreadfully untimely death behind them only a couple of hours ago, which could only be natural against the odds; it was also because of something he'd just said - which was something he'd been saying all along, or hinting at off and on, which she'd never quite been able to grasp.
'What signs, David? In the mirror?' She was weary too: it had been a long day, since Paul had seen his tripod masts in the mists of this morning. But she could see them now, at last.
'What signs?' He nodded at the old man. 'He's to blame.'
'I am?' The accusation made Mr Willis forget his outrage. 'How?'
Audley scowled at him. ' "Wer mil Ungeheuern Kampft, mag zusehn, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird" - don't you remember your "know thyself advice, you older Ungeheuer?'
He switched the scowl to Elizabeth. 'Trust him to spout Nietzsche at me, not Plato, or any of his other Greek hoplites! And this was back in '57, after I'd been recalled to the colours on his recommendation - his bloody recommendation, too!'
'A most misunderstood philosopher, Nietzsche.' The old man's face became bland as he turned to her. 'Do you not have the German language then, Elizabeth? And you an historian? I remember David arguing with me that all the best medieval history books were written in French and German, so Greek was really a waste of time, and he could keep up his Latin without taking any more exams.'
'The hell with that!' exclaimed Audley. 'Do we harry Haddock to an early grave? And do we persecute Peter Barrie, just in case, because he'll do just as well? And do we persecute everyone they've promoted or advanced, to make double sure, because we're not sure?
Because that's the self-defense option now - yours and mine, Elizabeth.'
dummy2
What was an Ungeheuer? 'You know I don't speak German, David.'
'Just check your mirror. Or look for the horror that sits grinning on your pillow, in the small hours - it always shows up in the dark, no matter who is there beside you: "he" - or
"she" - let's say "we" - "we who fight monsters must take care, lest we become monsters too thereby".' He picked up his glass, and frowned at it because it was empty, and then looked at her. 'You'll have to decide for yourself tomorrow, Elizabeth. But, speaking purely personally, I'm buggered if I'm going to become a monster - either for the sainted Oliver, or for the KGB.'
10
'Over there, Elizabeth.' Audley ignored the taxi-drivers. 'The red Fiat - the fellow in the dark glasses.'
'David - '
But he was already stepping out, oblivious of the puddles.
The roar of an aircraft reversing the thrust of its engines drowned the rest of her appeal, but he turned back to her into the noise as it shrieked and then died away. 'What?'
'Where's Richardson?' The sun came out from behind its cloud into a patch of Mediterranean-blue sky, flashing on every reflective surface and sharpening up every shadow with an alien clarity.
'What?' He squinted at her.
'Never mind.' She fumbled in her bag for her own dark glasses, more for self-defense than appearance: she had composed herself for this encounter, but she should have known better that there was no armour against reality so far from home. 'I'm coming.'
He swung away, back on his original course, without a second look at her. And she had composed herself inadequately for that too - Audley trailing her into the field, which he now plainly wasn't doing, so that her composure slipped, with no greater problem than to avoid the puddles.
But at least Audley knew the man, for he was shaking him warmly by the hand as she dummy2
reached them.
'Miss Loftus - ' The man swept the case (which Audley hadn't offered to carry; but she was getting used to that) out of her hand and into the open boot almost without looking at her '
- into the back, please.'
For a southern Frenchman, almost as swarthy as an Arab, the accent was startling Public School English, unsettling her further.
'You too, David.' He looked around the car park quickly. 'Let's get the hell out of here.'
A nasty humiliating suspicion enveloped her as she did as she was told. 'Captain Richardson?' The car slammed her back in her seat.
Richardson, Peter John, Captain (Royal Engineers), retired? She had decoded a dozen SGs from him in the last six months, each about the same unbreakably code-named subject, but all from Northern Italy.
'Richardson is me. But I left the captain behind twelve years ago, Miss Loftus.' He swung the wheel. 'I answer to "Peter".'