‘Have we met before?’
Charlie brought the sherry glass to his lips, knowing an immediate reply would have been impossible for him.
‘Met before?’ he echoed dismissively. ‘I don’t think so. Not often I take sherry with a British ambassador.’
At least the strain didn’t sound in his voice. Sweat was flooding his back, smearing his shirt to him.
Collins laughed politely.
‘Odd feeling there’s been another occasion,’ he insisted.
‘There must be so many people,’ said Charlie.
‘Quite,’ agreed Collins.
‘Do you anticipate the authorities will send the cook back?’ said Charlie, trying to move the man on.
‘They helped you,’ pointed out the diplomat.
‘But only to obtain a statement. I gather they feel to turn the man over to the Hong Kong police would be establishing a precedent for any future cases. And they are unwilling to make such a sweeping commitment.’
‘Quite,’ said Collins again.
The ambassador was still examining him curiously.
‘And as far as they are concerned, a High Court challenge will be as good as any criminal court proceedings,’ said Charlie.
‘Ever been to Lagos?’ blurted Collins, snapping his fingers in imagined recollection.
‘Never,’ said Charlie. The perspiration would be visible on his face, he knew. And the room was really quite cold.
Collins moved his head doubtfully at the rejection.
‘Usually got a good eye for faces,’ he apologised.
‘I’d have remembered,’ said Charlie.
‘Quite,’ said Collins.
Since their last meeting, the man had affected an irritating air of studied vagueness, thought Charlie.
‘How long you staying in Peking?’
‘I’ve got what I came for,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m leaving as early as possible tomorrow morning.’
‘Oh,’ said Collins, in apparent disappointment. ‘Going to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening. As I said, not often we get visitors from home.’
‘Very kind,’ Charlie thanked him, ‘but we’ve got to file an answer in the London courts as soon as possible.’
‘Quite.’
Just a stupid mannerism? wondered Charlie. Or the thoughtless use of a favourite word, to feign interest while he tried to recall their other meeting?
‘Stockholm?’ tried Collins, gesturing with his finger.
Charlie shook his head.
‘Never been there,’ he said. The man would persist, Charlie knew. He looked the sort of person who played postal chess and did crossword puzzles, enjoying little challenges.
Charlie looked obviously at his watch.
‘I’ve a four o’clock appointment at the Foreign Ministry with Mr Chiu,’ he improvised. He hadn’t and there was a danger of the ambassador’s discovering the lie. But it was the best escape he could manage. And there was an even greater danger in continuing this conversation.
‘I’ll check with Hodgson,’ said Collins, taking the hint.
He spoke briefly into the internal telephone, smiling over at Charlie as he replaced the receiver.
‘All done,’ he said.
Almost immediately there was a movement from behind and the lawyer entered at the ambassador’s call, carrying a file of documents.
‘The Chinese original,’ he said, holding out the papers, ‘and a British translation. Both notarised by me and witnessed by the First Secretary. I’ve also annotated the identified photograph and sworn a statement that it was the one seen by the man.’
‘You’ve been very kind,’ said Charlie, including the ambassador in the thanks.
‘That’s what we’re here for,’ replied Collins, rising with Charlie.
The ambassador walked with him to the study door. Charlie was aware of his attention.
‘Amazing,’ said the ambassador, when they reached the hallway. ‘Just can’t lose the feeling that I know you from somewhere.’
‘Thank you again,’ said Charlie.
‘Sure about tomorrow night?’
‘Quite sure. I’m sorry.’
Charlie hesitated immediately outside the embassy buildings. He was trembling. Almost noticeably so. He straightened his arms against his sides, trying to control the emotion. After his discovery at Sir Archibald’s vault, when he had realised they were chasing him, there had been times when he had felt helplessly trapped in a contracting room, with the walls and ceiling slowly closing in upon him. It had been frightening, claustrophobic. For a long time he had not encountered it. But it was very strong now.
‘Well?’ demanded Clarissa Willoughby.
‘I’ll have to make the statement soon,’ admitted the underwriter.
‘Even before you finally hear from Hong Kong?’
‘It’s a criminal offence knowingly to go on trading without funds to meet your obligations,’ said Willoughby.
‘Criminal!’
‘Yes.’
‘Christ, I couldn’t stand you appearing in court as well.’
‘I didn’t think you intended to stand anything.’
‘I don’t,’ said the woman.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I haven’t made up my mind. Does it matter?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘I feel very sorry for you, Rupert. I really do.’
She spoke in the manner of a person discovering that a friend’s pet was having to be put down, thought the underwriter.
‘Thank you. When do you intend to leave?’
‘End of the week, I suppose,’ said the woman.
She smiled.
‘You really are being remarkably civilised,’ she said.
‘Isn’t that what we’ve always been?’ he said, the bitterness showing for the first time. ‘Remarkably civilised.’
‘If it confirms Lu’s involvement with the fire, then surely it’s enough? For our purpose, anyway,’ said the chairman.
‘I suppose so,’ said Chiu.
‘What else is there?’
Chiu shrugged.
‘You’re right,’ he agreed.
‘And on behalf of the council, I would like to thank you,’ said the chairman formally.
Chiu smiled, gratefully.
‘The statement still has to be put to its proper use,’ he reminded them.
‘I don’t think we should worry about that, do you?’
‘I hope not.’
17
The wind was stronger than the previous day, so the dust from the Gobi drifted in pockets through the capital, gritting the buildings and plants with a light, greyish-yellow dust. Charlie saw that a few people wore face masks or pulled scarves up around their mouths. He sat in the Hsin Chiao foyer, his briefcase and shoulder grip already packed beside him, knowing he was early but impatient for Chiu’s arrival. Because the hotel was organised on the Russian style, with each floor having its own reception staff, the main foyer was remarkably empty. The furniture was frayed and shabby and the walls were patched with quick repair work; it reminded Charlie of a retirement hotel way back from the sea front at Eastbourne.
The Chinese official stopped just inside the entrance when he saw Charlie already waiting.
‘I am not late,’ stated Chiu.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said Charlie truthfully. ‘So I got up early.’
‘The car is waiting.’
As the vehicle nudged out into the shoals of bicycles, Chiu said, Tan Yung-ching is still available.’
‘I have what I came for,’ said Charlie. ‘It will be sufficient, believe me.’
‘It would be difficult to arrange another meeting, if anything had been overlooked,’ warned Chiu.
What were they going to do with the poor old bugger? wondered Charlie.
The car moved out of the Legation district, with its pink-bricked buildings and into the huge T’ien An Men Square.
‘There is much to see in Peking,’ offered Chiu, gesturing towards the red-walled Forbidden City.
‘I don’t think I’ve time,’ said Charlie.
‘There is the monument to the Heroes of the Revolution,’ said Chiu, pointing through the car window. ‘The cornerstone was laid by our beloved leader, Mao Tsetung.’
Charlie nodded politely. It reminded him of the Russian statue to their war dead in East Berlin. The department’s attempt to kill him, remembered Charlie. He’d actually stood by the Russian monument and watched the innocent East German he’d cultivated for just such a purpose drive the marked Volkswagen towards the checkpoint. Poor sod had believed he was driving towards an escape to the West.