The Human Factor (18 page)

‘Is something bothering you?'

‘If it was a question of sickness, he'd take blood tests, X-rays . . . He wouldn't just
guess
a diagnosis.'

‘Doctor Percival?'

Daintry said, ‘I don't know how to begin. I'm not supposed to talk to you about this.'

‘About what?'

There was a photograph of a beautiful girl on Daintry's desk. Daintry's eyes kept returning to it. He said, ‘Don't you get damned lonely sometimes in this outfit?'

Castle hesitated. He said, ‘Oh well, I get on well with Davis. That makes a lot of difference.'

‘Davis? Yes. I wanted to talk to you about Davis.'

Daintry rose and walked to the window. He gave the impression of a prisoner cooped up in a cell. He stared out morosely at the forbidding sky and was not reassured. He said, ‘It's a grey day. The autumn's really here at last.'

‘“Change and decay in all around I see,”' Castle quoted.

‘What's that?'

‘A hymn I used to sing at school.'

Daintry returned to his desk and faced the photograph again. ‘My daughter,' he said, as though he felt the need of introducing the girl.

‘Congratulations. She's a beautiful girl.'

‘She's getting married at the week-end, but I don't think I shall go.'

‘You don't like the man?'

‘Oh, I dare say he's all right. I've never met him. But what would I talk to him about? Jameson's Baby Powder?'

‘Baby powder?'

‘Jameson's are trying to knock out Johnson's – or so she tells me.' He sat down and lapsed into an unhappy silence.

Castle said, ‘Apparently Davis is ill. I was in late this morning. He's chosen a bad day. I've got the Zaire bag to deal with.'

‘I'm sorry. I'd better not keep you then. I didn't know that Davis was ill. It's nothing serious?'

‘I don't think so. Doctor Percival is going to see him at lunchtime.'

‘Percival?' Daintry said. ‘Hasn't he a doctor of his own?'

‘Well, if Doctor Percival sees him the cost is on the old firm, isn't it?'

‘Yes. It's only that – working with us – he must get a bit out of date – medically, I mean.'

‘Oh well, it's probably a very simple diagnosis.' He heard the echo of another conversation.

‘Castle, all I wanted to see you about was – you
are
quite satisfied with Davis?'

‘How do you mean “satisfied”? We work well together.'

‘Sometimes I have to ask rather silly questions – oversimple ones – but then security's my job. They don't necessarily mean a great deal. Davis gambles, doesn't he?'

‘A little. He likes to talk about horses. I doubt if he wins much, or loses much.'

‘And drinks?'

‘I don't think he drinks more than I do.'

‘Then you
have
got complete confidence in him?'

‘Complete. Of course, we are all liable to make mistakes. Has there been a complaint of some kind? I wouldn't want to see Davis shifted, unless it's to L.M.'

‘Forget I asked you,' Daintry said. ‘I ask the same sort of thing about everyone. Even about you. Do you know a painter called Nicholson?'

‘No. Is he one of us?'

‘No, no. Sometimes,' Daintry said, ‘I feel out of touch. I wonder if – but I suppose at night you always go home to your family?'

‘Well, yes . . . I do.'

‘If, for some reason, you had to stay up in town one night . . . we might have dinner together.'

‘It doesn't often happen,' Castle said.

‘No, I suppose not.'

‘You see, my wife's nervous when she's left alone.'

‘Of course. I understand. It was only a passing idea.' He was looking at the photograph again. ‘We used to have dinner together now and then. I hope to God she'll be happy. There's nothing one can ever do, is there?'

Silence fell like an old-fashioned smog, separating them from each other. Neither of them could see the pavement: they had to feel their way with a hand stretched out.

Castle said, ‘My son's not of marriageable age. I'm glad I don't have to worry about that.'

‘You come in on Saturday, don't you? I suppose you couldn't just stay up an hour or two longer . . . I won't know a soul at the wedding except my daughter – and her mother, of course. She said – my daughter, I mean – that I could bring someone from the office if I wanted to. For company.'

Castle said, ‘Of course I'd be glad . . . if you really think . . .' He could seldom resist a call of distress however it was encoded.

2

For once Castle went without his lunch. He didn't suffer from hunger – he suffered only from a breach in his routine. He was uneasy. He wanted to see that Davis was all right.

As he was leaving the great anonymous building at one o'clock, after he had locked all his papers in the safe, even a humourless note from Watson, he saw Cynthia in the doorway. He told her, ‘I'm going to see how Davis is. Will you come?'

‘No, why should I? I have a lot of shopping to do. Why are
you
going? It's nothing serious, is it?'

‘No, but I thought I'd just look in. He's all alone in that flat except for those Environment types. And they never come home till evening.'

‘Doctor Percival promised to see him.'

‘Yes, I know, but he's probably gone by now. I thought perhaps you might like to come along with me . . . just to see . . .'

‘Oh well, if we don't have to stay too long. We don't need to take flowers, do we? Like to a hospital.' She was a harsh girl.

Davis opened the door to them wearing a dressing-gown. Castle noticed how for a moment his face lit up at the sight of Cynthia, but then he realized that she had a companion.

He commented without enthusiasm, ‘Oh,
you
are here.'

‘What's wrong, Davis?'

‘I don't know. Nothing much. The old liver's playing it up.'

‘I thought your friend said stomach cramps on the telephone,' Cynthia said.

‘Well, the liver's somewhere near the stomach, isn't it? Or is it the kidneys? I'm awfully vague about my own geography.'

‘I'll make your bed, Arthur,' Cynthia said, ‘while you two talk.'

‘No, no, please no. It's only a bit rumpled. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Have a drink.'

‘You and Castle can drink, but I'm going to make your bed.'

‘She has a very strong will,' Davis said. ‘What'll you take, Castle? A whisky?'

‘A small one, thank you.'

Davis laid out two glasses.

‘You'd better not have one if your liver's bad. What did Doctor Percival say exactly?'

‘Oh, he tried to scare me. Doctors always do, don't they?'

‘I don't mind drinking alone.'

‘He said if I didn't pull up a bit I was in danger of cirrhosis. I have to go and have an X-ray tomorrow. I told him that I don't drink more than anyone else, but he said some livers are weaker than others. Doctors always have the last word.'

‘I wouldn't drink that whisky if I were you.'

‘He said “Cut down”, and I've cut this whisky down by half. And I've told him that I'd drop the port. So I will for a week or two. Anything to please. I'm glad you looked in, Castle. D'you know, Doctor Percival really did scare me a bit? I had the impression he wasn't telling me everything he knew. It would be awful, wouldn't it, if they had decided to send me to L.M. and then
he
wouldn't let me go. And there's another fear – have they spoken to you about me?'

‘No. At least Daintry asked me this morning if I was satisfied with you, and I said I was – completely.'

‘You're a good friend, Castle.'

‘It's only that stupid security check. You remember the day you met Cynthia at the Zoo . . . I told them you were at the dentist, but all the same . . .'

‘Yes. I'm the sort of man who's always found out. And yet I nearly always obey the rules. It's my form of loyalty, I suppose. You aren't the same. If I take out a report once to read at lunch, I'm spotted. But I've seen you take them out time after time. You take risks – like they say priests have to do. If I really leaked something – without meaning to, of course – I'd come to you for confession.'

‘Expecting absolution?'

‘No. But expecting a bit of justice.'

‘Then you'd be wrong, Davis. I haven't the faintest idea what the word “justice” means.'

‘So you'd condemn me to be shot at dawn?'

‘Oh no. I would always absolve the people I liked.'

‘Why, then it's you who are the real security risk,' Davis said. ‘How long do you suppose this damned check is going on?'

‘I suppose till they find their leak or decide there was no leak after all. Perhaps some man in MI5 has misread the evidence.'

‘Or some woman, Castle. Why not a woman? It could be one of our secretaries, if it's not me or you or Watson. The thought gives me the creeps. Cynthia promised to dine with me the other night. I was waiting for her at Stone's, and there at the table next door was a pretty girl waiting for someone too. We half smiled at each other because we had both been stood up. Companions in distress. I'd have spoken to her – after all, Cynthia had let me down – and then the thought came – perhaps she's been planted to catch me, perhaps they heard me reserve the table on the office phone. Perhaps Cynthia kept away under orders. And then who should come in and join the girl – guess who – Daintry.'

‘It was probably his daughter.'

‘They use daughters in our outfit, don't they? What a damn silly profession ours is. You can't trust anyone. Now I even distrust Cynthia. She's making my bed, and God knows what she hopes to find in it. But all she'll get are yesterday's bread-crumbs. Perhaps they'll analyse those. A crumb could contain a microdot.'

‘I can't stay much longer. The Zaire bag is in.'

Davis laid down his glass. ‘I'm damned if whisky tastes the same, since Percival put ideas in my head. Do
you
think I've got cirrhosis?'

‘No. Just go easy for a while.'

‘Easier said than done. When I'm bored, I drink. You're lucky to have Sarah. How's Sam?'

‘He asks after you a lot. He says nobody plays hide-and-seek like you do.'

‘A friendly little bastard. I wish I could have a little bastard too – but only with Cynthia. What a hope!'

‘The climate of Lourenço Marques isn't very good . . .'

‘Oh, people say that it's OK for children up to six.'

‘Well, perhaps Cynthia's weakening. After all, she
is
making your bed.'

‘Yes, she'd mother me, I daresay, but she's one of those girls who are looking all the time for someone to admire. She'd like someone serious – like you. The trouble is that when I'm serious I can't
act
serious. Acting serious embarrasses me. Can you picture anyone ever admiring me?'

‘Well, Sam does.'

‘I doubt if Cynthia enjoys hide-and-seek.'

Cynthia came back. She said, ‘Your bed was in an unholy mess. When was it made last?'

‘Our daily comes in on Mondays and Fridays and today is Thursday.'

‘Why don't you make it yourself?'

‘Well, I do sort of pull it up around me when I get in.'

‘Those Environment types? What do they do?'

‘Oh, they're trained not to notice pollution until it's brought officially to their notice.'

Davis saw the two of them to the door. Cynthia said, ‘See you tomorrow,' and went down the stairs. She called over her shoulder that she had a lot of shopping to do.

Davis quoted. Castle was surprised. He would not have imagined Davis reading Browning – except at school, of course.

‘Well,' he said, ‘back to the bag.'

‘I'm sorry, Castle, I know how that bag irritates you. I'm not malingering, really I'm not. And it's not a hangover. It's my legs, my arms – they feel like jelly.'

‘Go back to bed.'

‘I think I will. Sam wouldn't find me any good now at hide-and-seek,' Davis added, leaning over the banisters, watching Castle go. As Castle reached the top of the stairs he called out, ‘Castle?'

‘Yes?' Castle looked up.

‘You don't think, do you, this might stop me?'

‘Stop you?'

‘I'd be a different man if I could get to Lourenço Marques.'

‘I've done my best. I spoke to C.'

‘You're a good chap, Castle. Thank you, whatever happens.'

‘Go back to bed and rest.'

‘I think I will.' But he continued to stand there looking down while Castle turned away.

CHAPTER VII

1

C
ASTLE
and Daintry arrived last at the registry office and took seats in the back row of the grim brown room. They were divided by four rows of empty chairs from the other guests of whom there were about a dozen, separated into rival clans as in a church marriage, each clan regarding the other with critical interest and some disdain. Only champagne might possibly lead to a truce later between them.

‘I suppose that's Colin,' Colonel Daintry said, indicating a young man who had just joined his daughter in front of the registrar's table. He added, ‘I don't even know his surname.'