Here he had distinguished himself by becoming a leading advocate of British support for General Giraud in Algiers. It was, or would have been, a jolly good policy too, had it not been out-manoeuvred by that other and less senior French general who had been living in London all the while trying to put together a force called the Free French. Why Winston ever bothered with the man was something none of the professionals could ever understand.
Not that any of the French were much use, of course. No one could ever say of Sir Jasper (knighted in ’61 for his services to diplomacy) that he lacked the essential qualification for a good Head of France. He had a congenital dislike of France and everything to do with the place. These feelings had become, by the close of President de Gaulle’s press conference of January 14th, 1963, in which he barred Britain from the Common Market and caused Sir Jasper to have an uncomfortable twenty minutes with the Minister, as nothing compared to his feelings towards the person of the French President.
There was a tap on his door. Sir Jasper swung away from the window. From the blotter in front of him he picked up a piece of blue flimsy paper and held it as though he had been reading it when the knock came.
‘Enter.’
The younger man entered the office, closed the door behind him and approached the desk.
Sir Jasper glanced at him over the half-moon glasses.
‘Ah, Lloyd. Just looking at this report you filed during the night. Interesting, interesting. An unofficial request lodged by a senior French police detective to a senior British police officer. Passed on to a senior superintendent of the Special Branch, who sees fit to consult, unofficially of course, a junior member of the Intelligence Service. Mmm?’
‘Yes, Sir Jasper.’
Lloyd stared across at the spare figure of the diplomat standing by the window studying his report as if he had never seen it before. He had cottoned on at least that Sir Jasper was already well versed in the contents, and that the studied indifference was probably a pose.
‘And this junior officer sees fit, off his own bat and without reference to higher authority, to assist the Special Branch officer by passing on to him a suggestion. A suggestion, moreover, that without a shred of proof indicates that a British citizen thought to be a business man may in fact be a cold-blooded killer. Mmmmm?’
What the hell’s the old buzzard getting at? thought Lloyd.
He soon found out.
‘What intrigues me, my dear Lloyd, is that although this request, unofficial of course, is lodged yesterday morning, it is not until twenty-four hours later that the head of the department of the ministry most closely concerned with what happens in France gets to be informed. Rather an odd state of affairs, wouldn’t you say?’
Lloyd got the drift. Inter-departmental pique. But he was equally aware that Sir Jasper was a powerful man, versed over decades in the power struggle within the hierarchy into which its component members habitually put more effort than into state business.
‘With the greatest respect, Sir Jasper, Superintendent Thomas’ request to me, as you say an unofficial one, was made at nine last night. The report was filed at midnight.’
‘True, true. But I notice his request was also complied with before midnight. Now can you tell me why that was?’
‘I felt the request for guidance, or possible guidance as to a line of enquiry only, came within the scope of normal interdepartmental co-operation,’ replied Lloyd.
‘Did you now? Did you now?’ Sir Jasper had dropped the pose of mild enquiry and some of his pique was coming through. ‘But not apparently within the scope of interdepartmental co-operation between your service and the France Desk, mmm?’
‘You have my report in your hand, Sir Jasper.’
‘A bit late, sir. A bit late.’
Lloyd decided to riposte. He was aware that if he had committed any error in consulting higher authority before helping Thomas, it was his own chief he should have consulted, not Sir Jasper Quigley. And the head of the SIS was beloved by his staff and disliked by the mandarins of the FO for his refusal to allow anyone other than himself rebuke his subordinates.
‘Too late for what, Sir Jasper?’
Sir Jasper glanced up sharply. He was not going to fall into the trap of admitting it was too late to prevent the co-operation with Thomas’ request from being fulfilled.
‘You realise of course that a British citizen’s name is concerned here. A man against whom there is not a shred of evidence, let alone proof. Don’t you think it a rather odd procedure to bandy a man’s name and, in view of the nature of the request, reputation about in this manner?’
‘I hardly think divulging a man’s name to a superintendent of the Special Branch simply as a possible line of enquiry can be described as bandying it about, Sir Jasper.’
The diplomat found his lips were pressed hard together as he sought to control his rage. Impertinent pup, but astute too. Needed watching very carefully. He took a grip on himself.
‘I see, Lloyd. I see. In view of your evident desire to assist the Special Branch, a most laudable desire, of course, do you think it too much to expect you to consult a little before throwing yourself into the breach?’
‘Are you asking, Sir Jasper, why you were not consulted?’
Sir Jasper saw red.
‘Yes, sir, I am, sir. That is exactly what I am asking?’
‘Sir Jasper, with the greatest deference to your seniority, I feel I must draw your attention to the fact that I am on the staff of the Service. If you disagree with my course of conduct of last night I think it would be more seemly if your complaint went to my own superior officer rather than to me directly.’
Seemly? Seemly? Was this young upstart trying to tell a Head of France what was and was not seemly?
‘And it shall, sir,’ snapped Sir Jasper, ‘and it shall. In the strongest terms.’
Without asking for permission, Lloyd turned and left the office. He had few doubts that he was in for a roasting from the Old Man, and all he could say in mitigation was that Bryn Thomas’s request had seemed urgent, with time possibly a pressing matter. If the Old Man decided that the proper channels should have been gone through, then he, Lloyd, would have to take the rap. But at least he would take it from the OM and not from Quigley. Oh, damn Thomas.
However, Sir Jasper Quigley was very much in two minds whether to complain or not. Technically he was right, the information about Calthrop, although completely buried in long discarded files, should have been cleared with higher authority, but not necessarily with himself. As Head of France, he was one of the customers of SIS intelligence reporting, not one of the directors of it. He could complain to that cantankerous genius (not his choice of words) who ran the SIS and probably secure a good ticking off for Lloyd, possibly damage the brat’s career. But he might also get a dose of the rough edge of the SIS chief’s tongue for summoning an intelligence officer without asking his permission, and that thought did not amuse. Besides, the head of SIS was reputed to be extremely close to some of the men at the Very Top. Played cards with them at Blades; shot with them in Yorkshire. And the Glorious Twelfth was only a month away. He was still trying to get invited to some of those parties. Better leave it.
‘The damage is done now, anyway,’ he mused as he gazed out over Horseguards Parade.
‘The damage is done now anyway,’ he remarked to his luncheon guest at his club just after one o’clock. ‘I suppose they’ll go right ahead and co-operate with the French. Hope they don’t work too hard, what?’