He thought he knew who the mole was.
He didn’t have much evidence, he certainly didn’t have proof, but it fitted. And he needed to talk to his grandmother about it.
She wasn’t waiting for him at the station.
Dick was.
He grinned and waved when he saw Phil, grabbed Phil’s rucksack and slung it into the back of the TR6.
‘I didn’t know you were staying with Grams?’ Phil said.
‘She is so secretive, your grandmother,’ said Dick. ‘Yes, I rearranged things. I’m planning to stay with her until...’
‘Until?’
‘Until.’
That shut Phil up for a bit. ‘Is it close, do you think?’
‘She had a brain scan when she came back. The tumour has grown. Her balance is really bad now, and often she can’t grip things or do up buttons. She gets headaches, especially early in the morning, but nothing too persistent. Yet.’
‘Do they say how long?’
‘No. They don’t know. It could be any time. Or it could be weeks.’
‘Oh.’
‘Still. She is in very good spirits. And she’s so pleased about you coming.’ Dick grinned. ‘I do like this car, by the way. It must have been fun driving it around Europe.’
Fun? Could you call fleeing halfway across the continent from homicidal KGB agents fun? And yet.
‘Yes,’ said Phil. ‘It was fun.’
‘We’ve been talking a lot,’ said Dick. ‘About her life. About her brother — my time at school with him, university. About you even. She’s been enjoying it. And so have I.’
They drove through the narrow streets of Mevagissey and then high up the hill overlooking the fishing harbour to his grandmother’s familiar house. He found her in the conservatory, which overlooked the garden and the white houses of the village down below. She looked pale and exhausted, but her eyes lit up when she saw Phil.
‘Ciamar a tha thu?’ she said in Gaelic.
Phil screwed up his face in concentration. ‘Tha mi glè mhath.’
She smiled. She was sitting in a wicker chair, a copy of The Black Prince by Iris Murdoch next to her.
‘Would you like some lime cordial?’
Rose’s lime cordial with ice was the drink she used to fix for Phil and Mel when they came to stay in the summer as children.
‘That would be lovely, Grams.’
She struggled to get to her feet.
‘I’ll get it,’ Phil said.
‘Don’t worry, I will,’ said Dick.
He returned with a glass a minute later, and then left them alone, explaining that he was going to walk out to the cliffs.
‘I’m so pleased you came,’ said Emma.
‘Dick said there might not be long to go,’ said Phil. He had learned over the last month not to beat about the bush with his grandmother.
‘I know. That’s why I wanted to see you.’
‘You really must tell Mum,’ said Phil. ‘Or let me do it.’ His mother still had no idea that her own mother was terminally ill.
‘No,’ said Emma. ‘Please no. You know, I’m really enjoying these last few days. With Dick. And you. I don’t want Caroline bustling about here bossing me around.’
Phil felt sorry for his mother. He knew she would want to know, and would be furious with Phil for not telling her. But he supposed it was Emma’s right to decide whom she told.
‘All right, Grams. If you insist.’
She smiled her thanks. She insisted.
Phil realized that with Dick gone for his walk, he had an opportunity that might not reappear.
‘About Dick.’
Emma gazed into Phil’s eyes, searching, finding, affirming.
‘You think so too?’ said Phil.
‘That he’s Kenneth’s mole?’ said Emma. ‘Yes.’
‘I can’t be sure,’ said Phil. ‘He’s the only one you knew back then who isn’t accounted for. We know it’s not Freddie, we know it’s not Kurt. Dick’s a management consultant working with international defence companies, plus he worked for some dodgy ministry during the war, so he would be well placed to spy for the Russians.
‘There is a chance that the mole is someone you’ve never met, but that doesn’t quite make sense. Swann must suspect that the mole is someone you knew, which is why he told me and not you about him; he was afraid you might warn whoever it is. You and Swann trusted each other. Why else wouldn’t he have spoken to you directly?’
Emma nodded.
‘I know it’s not exactly proof,’ Phil went on. ‘But it’s a good guess.’
‘I always wondered why Kurt’s warning about the Molotov — Ribbentrop Pact never got through to the Foreign Office,’ Emma said. ‘There is only really one explanation. It was never delivered. Dick never delivered it.’
‘Because the Russians told him not to?’
Emma nodded.
‘We could just ask Swann,’ said Phil.
‘We could. But I’d rather we didn’t.’
Phil had been afraid of this. ‘How long have you known?’
‘I don’t actually know.’
‘All right, how long have you suspected?’
‘Since Spain.’
‘Wait a moment,’ said Phil. ‘Did you shoot Lothar so that he couldn’t tell me about the mole?’
Emma nodded. ‘Sorry, Philip. You took me quite by surprise when you brought that up. I thought Lothar would refuse to tell you, but I couldn’t take the risk. I was always going to shoot him; that just made me pull the trigger sooner.’
‘But Dick’s here! He’s here with you now!’
‘I know. And it’s wonderful.’ She reached out to take Phil’s hand. ‘I know I have asked a lot of you, Philip. But I have just one more favour. Keep this to yourself. For me. Just so I can enjoy my last few days.’
‘But he’s a spy, Grams! Don’t you care? He’s spying for the Russians and they’re our enemies.’
‘I don’t care, Phil. I was a spy, once, remember? Dick is a good man. He is doing what he is doing because he believes in it. Because he believes that capitalism ruins the lives of the masses. Because he loves his fellow human beings. I admire that.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ said Phil. ‘Does he know you know?’
‘No,’ said Emma. ‘And I strongly suggest that you don’t let on that you know either. It might not be good for you.’
Because the bastard might kill me, thought Phil. He was angry with his grandmother. Angry that after all this she would put him in such an awkward situation. Again.
‘Promise me, Philip. Promise me you won’t tell Kenneth about Dick? Even after I’m gone.’
Why shouldn’t he? Why the bloody hell shouldn’t he?
He glared at his grandmother. She held his eyes, pleading, trusting.
Emma, Freddie, Dick, Kurt, Kay: they had all betrayed their countries at various times, all from a genuine belief that what they were doing was right for humanity. Phil disagreed with them. History had proved that they were wrong; the Soviet Union was evil.
He might be only eighteen, but he loved his country, as so many eighteen-year-olds had done before him.
But he also loved his grandmother.
‘OK, Grams,’ he said. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I promise.’
Sixty
July 1979, Buckinghamshire
The phone call Phil had been expecting came the Friday after he got back from Cornwall. He returned home from his first week on the building site filthy and exhausted. His mother was waiting for him in the hallway, her eyes red.
‘Grams is dead, Phil.’
‘Oh.’ Phil had anticipated this news, but it still stunned him.
‘A man called Dick Loxton has just rung. Who is he? He says he’s been staying with her.’