Trafalgar Square and all the streets that radiated from it were a solid jam of carrying chairs and rickshaws and pedestrians. The bronze mass of Leslie Barnes, the electrical genius, loomed from its plinth over the crowds of tourists who surrounded it. We made our way past the Dominion high commission buildings towards the shining new façade of Charing Cross Railway Station. Beyond that, the wheeled traffic began, and we had to wait for the correct lights before we could pass along the Mall.
“Isn’t London beautiful?” I said, breaking the long silence. Pakeshi nodded, a look of solemn agreement on his face. Yes, London was beautiful. More than that—much, much more than that—it was all so very normal. Until the morphine had kicked in the night before, I’d been kept awake by recollections of all the nonsense spouted by Macmillan’s Academy of Projectors. Thoughts of how they might have had their way with England, and thoughts that there were others, still alive, who might yet try the work of destruction, had chilled me. There might well be problems ahead. But London seemed, for the moment, unshakably normal. Everything was as it had to be. And everything would surely be as it had to be forever and ever. The Queen was on her throne. The pound was worth a pound. All was right with the world, under its English heaven. Yes, everything was as it had to be. And, if I’d nearly died to keep it that way, it was nice to think that I’d never be called on to do it again.
Oh, there’s a definite pride in duty to Queen and Country—especially after it’s been done.
Forty minutes and a 3s. fare later, I sat looking at the lunch menu inside the Savoy. Behind me, the salon orchestra played light selections from the later Schoenberg. I looked at Pakeshi, who was buried in the menu. Since I’d already thanked him for his surprise intervention at Birch Grove, there was no point alluding further to it. Since he’d politely evaded all questions of what arrangement he’d made with Stanhope, there was no point in raising that. Evidently, things had been settled with the Indian National Party. Not once had Pakeshi looked out of the rickshaw to see if there were any brown faces in the crowds we’d passed. He’d smiled happily enough at those children. But there was no trace of a hunted look in his eyes. I cleared my throat.
“I’ll speak to Hattersley later on,” I said. “But there’s no hurry. I’ll keep the flat going here in London. But it looks as if I’ll be completing the Churchill biography out of England. I’ll probably be away until Christmas.” I looked harder at Pakeshi, who was still inspecting the menu. “I suppose you’ll stay in Victory Mansions?” I hazarded. “If so, we must have lunch again when I come back for Christmas.”
Pakeshi smiled and patted his bulging waistcoat. Suddenly, he looked at me. He laughed with good-natured humour and put the menu down.
“But did not Mr Powell tell you the full story?” he asked with suppressed mirth. “He was insistent that I should accompany you to Dresden as your personal physician. Though I have no German whatever, he tells me you are fluent.
“And there is, I am told, a most interesting factory outside the main city. The Germans say it is to manufacture synthetic penicillin. The ever-perceptive Major Stanhope assures Mr Powell that it may be to develop a new liquid fuel for rockets.”
I’d scattered cigarettes all over the table before I could bring my hands back under control. Was that a smell of cannabis behind me? I suddenly noticed that the table was set for three….
Other Books by Sean Gabb
Cultural Revolution, Culture War: How Conservatives Lost England, and How to Get It Back, 2007, 105pp, ISBN: 0 9541032 2 X, £9.99/$20
Smoking, Class and the Legitimation of Power, 2005, 196pp, ISBN: 0 9541032 0 3, £18.99/$40
War and the National Interest: Arguments for a British Foreign Policy, 2005, 125pp, ISBN: 0 9541032 3 8, £18.99/$40
Dispatches from a Dying Country: Reflections on Modern England, Introduction by Chris R. Tame, 2001, 234pp, ISBN: 0 9541032 0 3, £20/$40
Conspiracies of Rome, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 2009, 368pp, ISBN: 978-0340951132, £7.99
The Terror of Constantinople, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 2010, 420pp, ISBN: 978-0340951156, £7.99
Blood of Alexandria, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 2012, 502pp, ISBN: 978-0340951170, £6.99
Sword of Damascus, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 2012, ISBN: 978-1444709667, £19.99
Copyright
The Churchill Memorandum, by Sean Gabb
This first edition published in January 2011
© Sean Gabb, 2011
The right of Sean Gabb to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted hereby in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission.
Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
With the exception of Alan Greenspan, all characters who appear in this novel are dead or fictitious. Any resemblance to other real persons is purely coincidental. Any resemblance to the famous dead is fully intended.
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