Virginia gave a sudden gurgle of laughter. “I wouldn’t have minded,” she said in a confidential tone. “Not that Poznan struck me as being likely to rate high in the night-club register or that kind of thing. I’d call it a bit provincial, I guess.”
“And you could well be right at that,” Shaw agreed, grinning. “Warsaw may offer us a little more scope, perhaps. We could always try it and see… couldn’t we?”
She moved a little against him, their bare forearms touching. Her skin was cool and smooth. “Is this a proposition?” A little devil of mischief was dancing in her eyes. Somehow, in spite of last night, she struck Shaw as being on the level. Those eyes, and that smile…
He said, “Let’s call it an invitation. It’s not much fun doing the rounds of the night spots all on one’s own, is it — and by the look of the rest of the passengers,” he added in a lower tone, “I doubt if there’s many who’d be keen on that sort of thing.”
She laughed again and said, “You don’t want to underestimate Charlie Wicks, anyhow. He’s not past it, neither is his buddy. They did their best to date me up for the rest of the trip, back in West Berlin.”
“And you weren’t having any?”
She grinned into his eyes. “Was I hell! I guess they aren’t my type, somehow.”
He felt oddly pleased to hear it — a feeling which he tried to suppress. “And I could be… is that a reasonable deduction?”
“It’s a date — if you really mean it.” She looked at him then with an amused gleam in her nearviolet eyes. “What about the wife, though?”
“What the eye doesn’t see …” Shaw murmured tritely, acting the part of a would-be gay libertine freed temporarily from routine and the cares of family and accountancy. “She won’t mind.”
“Uh-huh… so you are married, then?”
“I never deceive a lady. I am married, Miss MacKinlay.”
“Thanks for telling me,” she said sincerely. “It can still be Virginia, though. Miss MacKinlay makes me feel like a very old Daughter of the American Revolution, all lace and lavender.”
He grinned. “Virginia it shall be.” After that, he brought out the cover story. “We’ve been married five years, Ethel and I.” He winced at the name, cursing Treece’s choice of identity. “Happily, I might add.”
“Kids?”
“One,” he said. “A girl. She’s just three…”
“Why didn’t you bring them with you?” she asked accusingly.
He grinned again. “Ever try taking a three-year-old on an extended coach tour? Ethel,” he added with a touch of unction, “knew I’d always been keen to see Moscow, and she didn’t mind a bit. Or said she didn’t, anyhow. You never really know with women. As it is, she’ll probably take young May down to Brighton for a day on the beach…”
“Doesn’t she have any qualms at all?”
He glanced at her. “Such as?”
“Why… you know. Thoughts that you might never emerge back through the Curtain?”
Shaw felt a sudden and quite illogical flash of alarm. It had been a natural enough remark to make in a casual way… and yet, could there be more behind it? Shaw remembered the way the girl had buttoned herself on to him back in Berlin. Had her remark some connection with whatever she’d been up to the night before? Could she possibly have rumbled him, right from the start? But if so why, in effect, give him a warning?
He answered lightly, “As I said, if she was worried she never said so.”
“Uh-huh. Didn’t want to upset your nervous system, maybe. My folks were in a panic over me, right enough. They won’t sleep till little Ginny comes right back in through that garden gate again, though it isn’t a garden gate, it’s a door on to the sidewalk.” She broke off. “Got a cigarette?”
“Sorry. Don’t use ’em these days.”
“Wise man!” She leaned across him. “Say, Mr Henderson. Got a cigarette to spare?”
“Certainly, my dear young lady.” Hartley Henderson produced a gold case, which he handed across Shaw. “Excuse me, won’t you,” he murmured. He flicked a lighter for the girl, seemed in no hurry to resume his conversation with Rumbold. Leaning confidentially across the gangway he said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about our itinerary. I dare say you’ve heard of the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw, Cane?”
Shaw pursed his lips. “Can’t say I have, really…”
“No? You surprise me, I must say!” Henderson raised his shaggy eyebrows. “I’m also surprised it’s not in the itinerary for a visit, and that’s what I’m getting at. We really should see it. Amazing place, I believe — it was given to the people of Warsaw by the Soviet Union, you know. Well worth seeing, I’d have said.”
“Really?” Shaw answered with a polite show of interest.
Tapping his colorful brochure, Henderson went on, “I see we’re down to visit the old town. Interesting of course… very. But, d’you know, I’d much rather see the Palace of Culture. I was wondering if I’d find any backers for a change of plan, always assuming our courier can arrange it at this stage of the tour.”
“I’d put it to Pope when we stop for coffee if I were you.”
“Good idea. What about you and Miss MacKinlay?”
“Count me out,” the girl said promptly. “I’d sooner see the old town for my money. Remember, Mr Henderson, I’m from the States. We have nothing old back home, and that’s what I’ve come to see, partly anyway. Right on my home doorstep,” she added with vehemence, “I have all the concrete jungle I need!”
Henderson seemed disappointed and a trifle put out. He said, “I wouldn’t dismiss the Palace of Culture and Science as just a concrete jungle, Miss MacKinlay. I’ve seen photographs of it — the architecture is modern, certainly, but most striking. What about you, Cane?”
Shaw hesitated. Already he’d had the idea that Hartley Henderson could be made into an extremely useful link with the Embassy in Moscow if the need to use anyone other than the unknown Jones should ever arise, as well it might in an emergency. Despite all Treece had said back in London, Shaw knew very well that if and when he needed to get in touch with the Embassy Jones might, just conceivably, not be available. The man was only human — and Shaw, who was also human, always liked to have his alternatives ready. Hartley Henderson could perhaps be used to convey some message into the Embassy via his friend Worth-Butters, and there were ways and means known to agents of ensuring that carriers like Henderson never had the remotest idea they’d been so used. An avenue of approach to a First Secretary could be very useful in the circumstances… so Henderson was worth cultivating, worth even enduring the Palace of Culture. Shaw said, “Very well. It sounds interesting. I’m on.”
“Good man!” Henderson, beaming with simple pleasure, reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “You won’t regret it, I’m sure.”
Shaw didn’t exactly regret it when, there being no other takers, he and Henderson formed a party of two; he had at least got on to pleasantly friendly terms with the man in taking an obvious interest in all he saw and heard listening with due reverence as the lecturer in Henderson took charge and expounded. Henderson was an erudite, perceptive man, and Shaw got along with him very well indeed. He was able to bring alive, better than the official English-speaking guide, the huge variety of cultural and scientific achievements represented in the Palace.
While they were walking back to their hotel after their afternoon’s sightseeing, Shaw found an opportunity of directing the conversation towards the Moscow Embassy — to Henderson’s obvious pleasure. In answer to Shaw’s subsequent question, Henderson said, “Oh, I’ve known old Butters for years. Great friend of mine. Met him just after the war, in Cambridge. I had an appointment there, you know. We used to meet a lot at parties… Butters was quite a party man — the right kind of parties, you know, where he could meet the right people, the people who really mattered. He’s not a snob, of course — just very ambitious. He’d been sent by the FO to mug up on Political Philosophy and Social and Political Theory, with special reference to Russian affairs. He was tracing the various influences that played a part in the course of the revolution and the rise of Bolshevism, making some independant assessment of his own of the nature of the Russian mind and outlook. He became very deeply immersed in the modern history of Russia, from the beginnings of the revolution onward. He’s by way of being an authority now, and he’s done most of his service in the Russian section.” He paused, frowning. “Said a lot I possibly shouldn’t have,” he added apologetically. “Never know with the F.O. I’d be obliged if you’d keep all that under your hat — I’m sure you’re a discreet sort of chap. Wouldn’t have spoken if you hadn’t been what, in my old fashioned way, I call in a pukka Sahib.”