‘Does Prince Theodoric mean anything to you?’ asked Duport.
‘He’s done business with our Section once or twice, but not recently – and of course not on the secret operations level.’
‘You knew Peter was involved in that quarter?’
‘More or less.’
‘I always have a fellow feeling for the Prince, though we’ve never met,’ said Duport. ‘He and I always seem to be screwing the same ladies. Bijou Ardglas, for example, now, poor girl, in the arms of Jesus. Have you heard of a young woman called Pamela Flitton?’
‘Volumes.’
‘You know she was the main cause of Peter’s trouble?’
‘I was told that – but people don’t go and get killed because a piece like that won’t sleep with them.’
‘Well, not exactly, I agree,’ said Duport. ‘It was more Peter felt he was slowing up, as I see it. The point is that it all builds up round Theodoric. As you know the good Prince’s realm is internally divided as to how best repel the invader. One lot wants one thing, the other, another. Peter went in with the Prince’s gang.’
‘Was someone called Odo Stevens mixed up in all this?’
‘I thought you said you didn’t deal with the cloak-and-dagger boys?’
‘Something Stevens said off the record.’
‘You know him? Young Stevens was a bit too fond of making statements off the record.’
‘I was on a course with him earlier in the war. Then he was mixed up with a girl I knew, now deceased.’
‘Odo the Stoat we used to call him. These boys make me feel my age. That’s what got Peter down.’
‘Is Stevens missing too?’
‘Not he. I met him in Cairo after they’d got him out.’
‘Why didn’t they get Peter out too?’
Duport gave one of his hard unfriendly laughs.
‘There are those in Cairo who allege proper arrangements were never made to get Peter out. At least they were planned, but never put into operation. That’s what’s said. These things happen sometimes, you know. Little interdepartmental differences. Change of policy at the top. There was a man with an unpronouncable name mixed up with it all too. I don’t know which side he was on.’
‘Szymanski?’
‘Why do you ask about things when you know the whole story already? Are you from MI5? An agent provocateur, just trying to see what you can get out of me, then shop me for bad security? That’s what it sounds like.’
‘Was Szymanski with Templer or Stevens?’
‘So far as I know, on his own. Not sure it was even ourselves who sent him in. Might have been his own people, whoever they were. He went there in the first instance to knock off someone – the head of the Gestapo or a local traitor. I don’t know. It was all lined up, then a signal came down from the top – from the Old Man himself, they say – that war wasn’t waged in that manner in his opinion. All that trouble for nothing – but I understand they got Szymanski out. A chap in the Cairo racket told me all this. He was fed up with the way that particular party was run. It came out I’d been Peter’s brother-in-law in days gone by, so I suppose he thought, as a former relation, I’d a right to know why he’d kicked the bucket.’
‘And you really think Pamela Flitton caused this?’
‘I only stuffed her once,’ said Duport. ‘Against a shed in the back parts of Cairo airport, but even then I could see she might drive you round the bend, if she really decided to. I’ll tell you something amusing. You remember that bugger Widmerpool, who’d got me into such a jam about chromite when we last met?’
‘He’s a full colonel now.’
‘He was in Cairo at one moment and took Miss Pamela to a nightclub.’
‘Rumours of that even reached England.’
‘That girl gets a hold on people,’ said Duport. ‘Sad about Peter, but there it is. The great thing is he didn’t fall into the hands of the Gestapo, as another friend of mine did. Pity you’re going back tomorrow. We might have gone to the Opera together.’
‘Didn’t know music was one of your things.’
‘Always liked it. One of the reasons my former wife and I never really hit it off was because Jean only knew God Save the King because everyone stood up. I was always sneaking off to concerts. They put on La Muette de Portici here to celebrate the liberation. Not very polite to the Dutch, as when it was first performed, the Belgians were so excited by it, they kicked the Hollanders out. I’m not all that keen on Auber myself, as it happens, but I’ve met a lot of dumb girls, so I’ve been to hear it several times to remind myself of them.’
This revelation of Duport’s musical leanings showed how, as ever, people can always produce something unexpected about themselves. In the opposite direction, Kernével was equally unforeseen, on my return, in the lack of interest he showed in Cabourg and its associations with Proust. He knew the name of the novelist, but it aroused no curiosity whatever.
‘Doesn’t he always write about society people?’ was Kernével’s chilly comment.
I told Pennistone about Prasad, Asbjornsen and the bath.
‘Prasad merely turned the taps on at the hour of prayer. It was perfectly right that he should have the bathroom. Finn should have arranged that through you in the first instance.’
‘I see.’
‘Thank God Finn’s back, and I shall no longer have to deal directly with that spotty Brigadier who always wants to alter what is brought to him to sign. I have had to point out on three occasions that his emendations contradict himself in a higher unity.’
A day or two after our return, Kucherman telephoned early. It was a Friday.
‘Can you come round here at once?’
‘Of course. I thought you were still in Brussels.’
‘I flew in last night.’
When I reached Eaton Square, Kucherman, unusual for him, was looking a little worried.
‘This question I am going to put is rather important,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘My Government has come to a decision about the army of the Resistance. As you know, the problem has posed itself since the expulsion of the Germans.’
‘So I understand.’
‘Were you told what the Field-Marshal threatened to Gauthier de Graef?’
‘I was standing beside him when the words were said.’
‘They are good young men, but they require something to do.’
‘Naturally.’
‘The proposal is that they should be brought to this country.’
That was an unexpected proposition.
‘You mean to train?’
‘Otherwise we shall have trouble. It is certain. These excellent young men have most of them grown up under German occupation, with no means of expressing their hatred for it – the feeling that for years they have not been able to breathe. They must have an outlet of some sort. They want action. A change of scene will to some extent accomplish that.’
‘What sort of numbers?’
‘Say thirty thousand.’
‘A couple of Divisions?’
‘But without the equivalent in weapons and services.’
‘When do you want them to come?’
‘At once.’
‘So we’ve got to move quickly.’
‘That is the point.’
I thought about the interminable procedures required to get a project of this sort under way. Blackhead, like a huge bat, seemed already flapping his wings about Eaton Square, bumping blindly against the windows of the room.
‘Arrangements for two Divisions will take some time. Are they already cadred?’
‘Sufficiently to bring them across.’
‘I’ll go straight back to Colonel Finn. We’ll get a minute out to be signed by the General and go at once to the highest level. There will be all sorts of problems in addition to the actual physical accommodation of two extra Divisions in this country. The Finance people, for one thing. It will take a week or two to get that side fixed.’
/> ‘You think so?’
‘I know them.’
‘Speed is essential.’
‘It’s no good pretending we’re going to get an answer by Monday.’
‘You mean it may take quite a long time?’
‘You are familiar with ministerial machinery.’
Kucherman got up from his chair.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘I thought I’d better say all this.’
‘I know it already.’
‘It’s a fact, I’m afraid.’
‘But we must do something. What you say is true, I know. How are we going to get round it? I want to speak frankly. This could be a question of avoiding civil war.’
There was a pause. I knew there was only one way out – to cut the Gordian Knot – but could not immediately see how to attain that. Then, perhaps hypnotized by Kucherman’s intense need for an answer, I thought of something.
‘You said you knew Sir Magnus Donners.’
‘Of course.’
‘But you have not seen much of him since you’ve been over here?’
‘I have spoken to him a couple of times at official parties. He was very friendly.’
‘Ring him up and say you want to see him at once – this very morning.’
‘You think so?’
‘Tell him what you’ve just told me.’
‘And then —’
‘Sir Magnus can tell the Head Man.’
Kucherman thought for a moment.
‘I insist you are right,’ he said.
‘It’s worth trying.’
‘This is between ourselves.’
‘Of course.’
‘Not even Colonel Finn.’
‘Least of all.’
‘Meanwhile you will start things off in the normal manner through les voies hiérarchiques.’
‘As soon as I get back.’
‘So I will get to work,’ said Kucherman. ‘I am grateful for the suggestion. The next time we meet, I hope I shall have had a word with Sir Magnus.’
I returned to Finn. He listened to the proposal to bring the Belgian Resistance Army to this country.
‘It’s pretty urgent?’
‘Vital, sir.’
‘We’ll try and move quickly, but I foresee difficulties. Good notion to train those boys over here. Get out a draft right away. Meanwhile I’ll consult the Brigadier about the best way of handling the matter. You’d better have a word with Staff Duties. It’s not going to be as easy to settle as Kucherman hopes.’
I got out the draft. Finally a tremendous minute was launched on its way that very afternoon. Bureaucratically speaking, grass had not grown under our feet; but this was only a beginning. That weekend was my free one. I told Isobel what I had suggested to Kucherman.
‘If the worst comes to the worst we can invoke Matilda.’
Neither of us had seen Matilda since she had married Sir Magnus Donners.
‘It’s just a long shot.’
On Monday morning a summons came from Finn as soon as he arrived in his room. I went up there.
‘This Belgian affair.’
‘Yes, sir?’
Finn passed his hands over the smooth ivory surfaces of his skull.
‘The most extraordinary thing has happened.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘An order has come down from the Highest Level of All to say it is to be treated as top priority. The chaps are to come over the moment their accommodation is decided upon. Things like financial details can be worked out later. All other minor matters too. Tell Blackhead he can talk to the PM about it, if he isn’t satisfied.’
‘This is splendid, sir.’
Finn put on the face he usually assumed when about to go deaf, but did not do so.
‘Providential,’ he said. ‘Can’t understand it. It just shows how the Old Man’s got his finger on every pulse. I don’t know whether Kucherman did – well, a bit of intriguing. He’s a very able fellow, and in the circumstances it would have been almost justified. You will attend a conference on the subject under the DSD at eleven o’clock this morning, all branches concerned being represented.’
The Director of Staff Duties was the general responsible for planning matters. When I next saw Kucherman, we agreed things had gone through with remarkable smoothness. The name of Sir Magnus Donners was not mentioned when we discussed certain administrative details. Thinking over the incident after, it was easy to see how a taste for intrigue, as Finn called it, could develop in people.
FIVE
During the period between the Potsdam Conference and the dropping of the first atomic bomb, I read in the paper one morning that Widmerpool was engaged to Pamela Flitton. This piece of news was undramatically announced in the column dedicated to such items. It was not even top of the list. Pamela was described as daughter of Captain Cosmo Flitton and Mrs Flavia Wisebite; an address in Montana (suggesting a ranch) showed her father was still alive and living in America. Her mother, whose style indicated divorce from Harrison Wisebite (sunk, so far as I knew, without a trace), had come to rest in the country round Glimber, possibly a cottage on the estate. Widmerpool – ‘Colonel K. G. Widmerpool, OBE’ – was based on a block of flats in Victoria Street. Apart from stories already vaguely propagated by Farebrother and Duport, there was no clue to how this engagement had come about. Surprising as it was, the immediate implications seemed no more than that a piece of colossal folly on both their parts would soon be readjusted by another announcement saying the marriage was ‘off’. The world was in such a state of flux that such inanities were only to be expected in one quarter or another. Only later, considered in cold blood, did the arrangement appear credible; even then for less than obvious reasons.
‘Drove for the Section, did she?’ said Pennistone. ‘I never remember those girls’ faces. I haven’t heard anything of Widmerpool for some time. I suppose he’s now passed into a world beyond good and evil.’
I had not set eyes on Widmerpool myself since the day Farebrother had recoiled from saluting him in Whitehall.
Although, as an archetypal figure, one of those fabulous monsters that haunt the recesses of the individual imagination, he held an immutable place in my own private mythology, with the passing of Stringham and Templer, I no longer knew anyone to whom he might present quite the same absorbing spectacle, accordingly with whom the present conjunction could be at all adequately discussed. By this time, in any case, changes both inside and outside the Section were so many it was hard to keep pace with them. Allied relationships had become more complex with the defeat of the enemy, especially in the comportment of new political regimes that had emerged in formerly occupied countries – Poland’s, for example- some of which were making difficulties about such matters as the ‘Victory march’; in general the manner in which Peace was to be celebrated in London. In other merely administrative respects the Section’s position was becoming less pivotal than formerly, some of the Allies – France, the Netherlands, Czechoslovakia – sending over special military missions. These were naturally less familiar with the routines of liaison than colleagues long worked with, while the new entities, unlike the old ones, were sometimes authorized to deal directly with whatever branch of the Services specially concerned them.
‘Not all the fruits of Victory are appetising to the palate,’ said Pennistone. ‘An issue of gall and wormwood has been laid on.’
By that time he was himself on the point of demobilization. He had dealt with the Poles up to the end. Dempster and others had gone already. The Old Guard, like the soldiers in the song, were fading away, leaving me as final residue, Finn’s second-in-command. In a month or two I should also enter that intermediate state of grace, technically ‘on leave’, through which in due course civilian life was once more attained. Finn, for reasons best known to himself – he could certainly have claimed early release had he so wished – remained on in his old appointment, where there was still plenty of work to do. Other branches round about were,
of course, dwindling in the same manner. All sorts of unexpected individuals, barely remembered, or at best remembered only for acrimonious interchanges in the course of doing business with them, would from time to time turn up in our room to say goodbye, hearty or sheepish, according to temperament. Quite often they behaved as if these farewells were addressed to the only friends they had ever known.
‘My Dad’s taking me away from this school,’ said Borrit, when he shook my hand. ‘I’m going into his office. He’s got some jolly pretty typists.’
‘Wish mine would buck up and remove me too.’
‘He says the boys don’t learn anything here, just get up to nasty tricks,’ said Borrit. ‘I’m going to have a room to myself, he says. What do you think of that? Hope my secretary looks like that AT with black hair and a white face who once drove us for a week or two, can’t remember her name.’
‘Going back to the same job?’
‘You bet – the old oranges and lemons/bells of St Clement’s.’
As always, after making a joke, Borrit began to look sad again.
‘We’ll have to meet.’
‘Course we will.’
‘When I want to buy a banana.’
‘Anything up to twenty-thousand bunches, say the word and I’ll fix a discount.’
‘Will Sydney Stebbings be one of your customers now?’
About eighteen months before, Stebbings, suffering another nervous breakdown, had been invalided out of the army. He was presumed to have returned to the retail side of the fruit business. Borrit shook his head.
‘Didn’t you hear about poor old Syd? Gassed himself. Felt as browned off out of the army as in it. I used to think it was those Latin-Americans got him down, but it was just Syd’s moody nature.’
Borrit and I never did manage to meet again. Some years after the war I ran into Slade in Jermyn Street, by the hat shop with the stuffed cat in the window smoking a cigarette. He had a brown paper bag in his hand and said he had been buying cheese. We had a word together. He was teaching languages at a school in the Midlands and by then a headmastership in the offing. I asked if he had any news, among others, of Borrit.
‘Borrit died a few months ago,’ said Slade. ‘Sad. Bad luck too, because he was going to marry a widow with a little money. She’d been the wife of a man in his business.’