‘Rover looks all right,’ said Cork. In reverent silence they duly admired its distinguished outlines against the fencing on the other side of the canteen. Nearer at hand, the grey Rolls stood in its own bay, guarded by an army corporal.
‘He saw him, did he?’ Meadowes asked.
‘Sure.’ Cork licked his finger, selected the relevant telegram from the folder which he carried under his arm and began reading out loud, in a facetious, nursery-rhyme voice, the Ambassador’s account of his dialogue with the Federal Chancellor… ‘ “I replied that as Foreign Secretary you had implicit trust in the many undertakings already given to you personally by the Chancellor, and that you had every confidence that the Chancellor would not for a moment consider yielding to. the pressure of vociferous minorities. I reminded him also of the French attitude to the question of German reunification, describing it not merely as unsound but as downright anti-American, anti-European and above all anti-German-” ‘
‘Listen,’ said Meadowes suddenly. ‘Shut up and listen.’
‘What the -‘
‘Be quiet.’
From the far end of the corridor they could hear a steady drone like the sound of a car climbing a hill.
‘It can’t be,’ Cork said shortly. ‘Bradfield’s got the keys and he -‘ They heard the clank of the folding gate and the small sigh of a hydraulic brake.
‘It’s the beds! That’s what it is. More beds. They’ve got it going for the beds; he’s opened it up for them.’ In confirmation of his theory, they heard the distinct clank of metal on metal, and the squeak of springs.
‘This place will be a Noah’s Ark by Sunday, I’ll tell you. Kids, girls, even the bloody German staff: Babylon, that’s what it’ll be. Sodom and Gomorrah, that’s better. Here, what happens if it comes on while they’re demonstrating? Just my luck, that would be, wouldn’t it? My first kid: baby Cork, born in captivity!’
‘Go on. Let’s hear the rest.’
‘ “The Federal Chancellor took note of the British anxiety which he thought misplaced; he assured me he would consult his Ministers and see what could be done to restore calm. I suggested to him that a statement of policy would be very useful; the Chancellor on the other hand thought repetition had a weakening effect. At this point he asked that his best wishes be conveyed to yourself as Secretary of State, and it became clear that he regarded the interview as closed. I asked him whether he would consider reserving fresh hotel accommodation in Brussels as a means of ending uninformed speculation, since you were personally distressed by reports that the German delegation had paid its bills and cancelled its bookings. The Chancellor replied that he was sure something of that sort should be done.” ‘
‘Zero,’ said Meadowes distractedly.
‘ “The Chancellor asked after the Queen’s health. He had heard she had a touch of influenza. I said I thought she was over the worst but would make enquiries and let him know. The Chancellor said he hoped Her Majesty would take care of herself; it was a tricky time of year. I replied that all of us sincerely hoped that the climate would be more settled by Monday and he had the grace to laugh. We left on good terms.” Ha ha ha. They also had a little chat about today’s demonstration. The Chancellor said we weren’t to worry. London are copying to the Palace. “The meeting,”‘ Cork added with a yawn, ‘ “ended with the customary exchange of compliments at twenty-two twenty hours. A joint communique was issued to the press.” Meanwhile, Econ are going up the wall and Commercial are totting up the cost of a run on the pound. Or gold or something. Or maybe it’s a slump. Who cares?’
‘You ought to sit the exam,’ Meadowes said. ‘You’re too quick for in there.’
‘I’ll settle for twins,’ said Cork, and Valerie brought in the tea.
Meadowes had actually raised the mug to his lips when he heard the sound of the trolley and the familiar trill of the squeaky wheel. Valerie put down the tray with a bang, and some tea slopped out of the pot into the sugar bowl. She was wearing a green pullover, and Cork, who liked to look at her, noticed as she turned to face the door that the polo neck had brought up a light rash at the side of her throat. Cork himself, quicker than the rest, handed Meadowes the folder, went to the door and looked down the corridor. It was their own trolley, loaded high with red and black files and Alan Turner was pushing it. He was in his shirt-sleeves and there were heavy bruises under both his eyes. One lip was cut clean through and had been summarily stitched. He had not shaved. The despatch box was on the top of the pile. Cork said later that he looked as though he had pushed the trolley through enemy lines single-handed. As he came down the passage, doors opened one after another in his wake: Edna from the Typists’ Pool, Crabbe, Pargiter, de Lisle, Gaveston: one by one their heads appeared, followed by their bodies, so that by the time he had arrived at Registry, slammed back the flap of the steel. counter and shoved the trolley carelessly into the centre of the room, the only door that remained closed was that of Rawley Bradfield, Head of Chancery.