After the Cabaret (20 page)

‘I get news,' said Sally, who, since her coup of the previous year, had special privileges. ‘They're alive and all right,' she continued. ‘That's all they let me know.'

‘You might have told me,' Geneviève said.

‘It's very hush-hush,' Sally said.

‘It can't be that hush-hush if they tell you,' Betty stated, expressing everyone's thoughts.

‘They give me the information because a year and a half ago they dropped me into France by parachute.'

‘Oh, really, Sally,' Geneviève said impatiently. ‘How much have you had to drink?'

‘Tell us, Sally,' her father said.

‘I don't believe it,' said Betty. ‘Why you?'

‘Lots of people are doing their bit,' said Sally.

Geneviève now sat like a statue, her hand on her heart. ‘Have you really seen them, Madeleine and Bertrand?'

‘Just Benoît. I was only there for an hour. I wasn't exactly a visitor. Charles and Benoît were going out killing Germans on the quiet. Benoît broke his leg running away. Otherwise, everything was fine. And I heard recently Uncle Bertrand did a big operation on an important German and saved his life.'

‘I suppose one must live,' said Geneviève, ‘even in such terrible times.'

‘You'd think he could have arranged for the knife to slip,' said Harold Jackson-Bowles.

‘I still can't see why they sent you, Sally,' said Gideon Cunningham.

‘I had to look up an old boyfriend,' Sally said. ‘He's a Nazi now. I can't say any more – it's frightfully secret.'

‘That put rather a damper on Christmas Day,' Sally had reported to Bruno afterwards. ‘You'd have thought I'd done something dreadful. I think they felt terribly guilty, really, making all those complaints about food, when I know Maman has a man who cycles round with all sorts of things hidden in his bicycle basket. And Gideon had gone on and on about his bad knee preventing him from service. Poor old Daddy is the only active one, really. He's charging in and out of his factory all week, pumping out uniforms for the Army and Navy to go and get killed in, but there you are, darling, somebody has to do it. To be utterly totally honest, I got drunker and drunker and I distinctly heard Betty telling Gideon that if I was the sort of person they were sending out on secret missions no wonder the war was going on so long. Honestly, how foul. Little Geezer's very sweet, though – but, my God, I'm glad to be back. Even Pym's face
cheers me up so you can tell how ghastly it was
chez
Jackson-Bowles.'

Bruno observed, ‘I think that moment marked when she started getting over Theo's defection and the consequent abortion.

‘Then spring was on the way – and it really was. The Germans had had to surrender in Stalingrad, the Russians were driving them back, and there were victories in North Africa. The RAF was bombing Germany instead of the other way about.

‘There were still raids, though. One evening we were in La Vie when there was a bad one. The place rocked with the explosions. Few people were there – Pym, Briggs and Charles Denham were playing poker with another man at one table, Cora was sitting with an elderly beau, drinking gin, and a couple of American colonels. Nobody was very happy, and the musicians were slumping. However, at a certain point a young American corporal, coloured soldier as he'd have been called in those days, stood up and went to the piano. He started playing, “Bye Bye, Blackbird” above the sound of the bombardment. Sally came ducking in then in her tin hat. She'd run through the raid from Pontifex Street and grinned when she saw him. She went over and began to sing the words “Pack up all my cares and woes, here I go, Singing Low, Bye Bye, Blackbird”. Then the All Clear sounded, Vi turned up to do her act and, without a word it seemed, Sally and the soldier left.'

Greg heard his own surprised voice on the tape. ‘An American serviceman? Black?'

‘Yes,' came Bruno's voice. ‘Eugene Hamilton. A GI. He was an artist and,' came Bruno's voice, with gloomy satisfaction, ‘black,
ein Schwarz
.'

Greg heard himself saying, ‘Well, I'll be damned.'

And that was the point at which Greg's doorbell at Everton Gardens rang.

Katherine was in the doorway in a thick coat, woolly hat and scarf, her eyes and cheeks glowing. She leaped towards Greg and embraced him warmly in the gloomy tiled entrance. Greg, seizing her joyfully, was nevertheless a little surprised at her enthusiasm.

They took the lift, kissing, up to the flat. ‘It's wonderful to see you,' she said, when they were inside. ‘And, look, I've brought all this food.' And she produced from her holdall a plastic carrier bag. ‘A lovely leg of lamb.'

She went to the kitchen and began to put away the food. ‘It looks so
clean
,' she cried. ‘It was life-threatening when Dominic was here.'

Back in the living room she looked round. ‘It's a bit grim, I suppose. Dominic doesn't care.'

‘Well, you brighten the place up,' he said, kissing her. ‘I have a plan. Let's go to bed, then out to dinner. The lamb can wait.'

Greg's was the plan they adopted. Lying contentedly in
his narrow bed, Katherine said in his ear, ‘Ooh, it's so good to be here. At this time of year Cambridge is so chilly and dull. I had to get away.'

‘How's your research going?'

‘So-so. You know how it is, nine parts slog. How's Sally?'

‘It's good,' Greg said, surprising himself a little by his statement. ‘I'm transcribing the latest batch of stuff Bruno Lowenthal told me. I know half the time he's putting me on, but the other half he comes up with some amazing tales. My problem's going to be cross-checking. I don't want to produce a novel by Bruno Lowenthal, which he's been slowly constructing for himself over fifty years.'

‘Is that your impression?' she said.

‘It's my worry.'

‘Oh,' she said, tightening her arm round his shoulders, ‘it's so good here. How will I ever make myself go back to Cambridge?'

They drank a lot over a cheerful Italian meal in Soho and Greg relaxed. Up to then he had not been aware of how loneliness and distance from home had affected him. This he told Katherine. He confessed also about his almost abortive trip to Russia with Alistair Bradshaw.

Katherine was impressed. ‘That was a bold move.'

‘I got tired of Lowenthal. He's helpful and he's fairly friendly, but it's always like I'm an animal he's keeping on a chain. He makes sure that as soon as I start feeling relaxed about things the chain goes tight again. And I needed to check his story. One source is not enough.'

‘Perhaps going to Moscow with Alistair wasn't the best way. He's bound to attract attention and he's got some funny contacts.'

‘His trip seemed straightforward enough. He was looking into setting up a Moscow branch of the bank.'

‘Yes. But whose money will he be handling? Ask yourself – who's got any in today's Russia? It's not the Bolshoi Ballet's account he'll be looking for, is it? Part of his researches will involve talking to some very dubious characters. You must have been watched from the moment you got off the plane. That might not have helped.'

‘He was all I had,' said Greg. ‘Well, maybe I was deceived by the suit, and the cordial City handshake. You know that style. I guess I didn't expect a guy like Alistair to be hanging out with gangsters.'

Katherine laughed.

‘All right,' he said, ‘but I'm still a stranger here. I guess you're all desperate, trying to find a new empire to the east.'

‘Not an empire. Just some loot.

‘Let's go and see Hugh Bradshaw,' Katherine suggested. ‘I'll give him a call.' She produced a mobile phone from her deep handbag and rang the number.

They found Alistair's brother Hugh in an immense house in Chelsea where he lived with Tamara, a bright-lipsticked brunette who worked as an account executive in an advertising agency. Hugh was writing a film-script, as he always had been since their student days. The films were never made. ‘I'd like to move to the country,' he said gloomily, in the very smart drawing-room of the house, which belonged to Tamara's
father. There was a Corot on the wall. ‘But it's Tamara's job – she doesn't want to commute forty miles a day.'

‘At least this house is free,' Tamara remarked, with an edge to her tone.

‘So how was Moscow?' Hugh asked. ‘Alistair said it didn't last long.'

‘The old spy was warned off. I bought the T-shirt and left,' Greg replied.

They talked of old friends briefly, but Tamara, who had not been at university with them, grew restless, so they departed.

‘He's only a bird in a gilded cage,' Katherine said of Hugh, in the cab back to Everton Gardens. ‘Their father took him and Alistair aside when they came of age and gave them a piece of sage paternal advice. Marry money.'

Hugging her to him, Greg said, ‘Very wise. Have you got money, by the way?'

‘Not a sausage. I have to live on my pay. How about you?'

‘My father advised me to do an honest day's work for a day's pay. That way I could always hold my head up high. I'm not sure that's what I'm doing,' he added.

‘Never mind,' she said comfortingly.

Next day, in good spirits, Greg went off to his date with Sir Peveril. He entered the imposing portals of the Athenaeum Club with all the confidence of a man in love, or something like it at any rate.

The porter directed him to the dining room where Sir
Peveril, a thick-set man, awaited him at a table. They shook hands and Greg sat down.

‘So good of you to come,' Sir Peveril said.

‘Not at all, sir,' Greg said. ‘It's a pleasure to see the inside of this wonderful place.' However, he felt wary of this old man, of his charm, of his experience, of attitudes Greg felt he could only guess at.

‘Tell me about your book,' Sir Peveril requested.

When Greg mentioned Bruno Lowenthal he got the distinct impression that Sir Peveril found the name unpleasant.

‘I don't remember very much about Bruno Lowenthal. I was away from London for most of that period, but I'd take what he says with a considerable pinch of salt. From what I heard, he was ever a romancer, something of a hanger-on too. However, even fantasists can be enlightening, if you sift what they say intelligently.'

Greg nodded assent, but thought that if both Pym and Sir Peveril suggested that Bruno was a liar it didn't have to mean he was. Sir Peveril regarded him steadily from red-rimmed blue eyes. Plates were brought and taken away around them. The harsh, dry voice asked, ‘So you saw Pym? And did he seem well?'

‘Not really,' Greg told him. ‘He's a little weak. He says he's ill.'

‘He's not a man who ever looked after himself, to put it mildly,' Sir Peveril said. ‘It's a miracle he's still alive, I'm inclined to think. Still drinking, is he?'

‘Yes,' Greg told him. ‘He's got a soldier looking after him.'

Sir Peveril smiled.

‘His message went,' Greg went on, keeping his voice low, ‘and I quote him, “Tell Peveril he must get me back to England, with no charges against me. I have copies of documents from Russian sources relating to the whole period during which I was an agent for the Soviet Union. Individuals in Britain never before officially connected with the activities of the defectors are named in them.” He told me that with the situation as it was in Russia it had been possible to bribe someone from the old security services to obtain the documents. He said, sir,' Greg reported uncomfortably, ‘that he would release this information to the press in Britain and the USA if you did not act to ensure his return to Britain as a free man. He said he'd also require money.'

Sir Peveril frowned. ‘Did he show you any of these documents?' he asked.

‘He was going to do that on the following day. Of course, I couldn't have read them. Actually, he was going to give me some pages to bring back, as proof. But then he was warned off. He cancelled our appointment and I came home. I had the impression he's dependent on those in power in Russia for everything so I suppose he had no choice.'

‘He gave you no information about what he had in his possession?'

Greg shook his head. There was a long pause. Then Sir Peveril said, ‘Well, I suppose it shouldn't be any surprise.'

‘You do understand that I'm only a messenger, sir. I still can't see why he asked me to represent him,' Greg said. ‘He could call you any time.'

‘He did. That's why I rang you. But obviously what he originally wanted was to give you something to bring back here, which would make it absolutely clear what he had. He didn't dare send it openly, in case it was intercepted. He gambled that you would not be searched. Of course, if you had been, you would have been in serious trouble.'

‘I doubt if I'd have agreed to carry any documents for him,' Greg said.

‘He would have offered you something,' Sir Peveril said calmly. ‘Something you wanted very much. For example, I take it that you'll be anticipating the book you're about to write will enhance your career. Pym might well have offered you some information, some details that you could not have found elsewhere. That would have been the arrangement – his information in return for your cooperation in carrying the documents. I just use that as an example, it would have been a possible tactic. Pym is a very clever man – they were all very clever. That is how they eluded detection for so long.'

Greg nodded in agreement but said nothing. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable about this meeting. He saw Sir Peveril as part of an old world governed by rules he did not know and did not want to know.

Sir Peveril instantly saw his mood. ‘Well,' he said, ‘let's eat. I hope your fish is good.'