‘And the only one who might lose it. Who embroidered it?’
‘I really have no idea.’
‘Did he have a housekeeper?’
‘Not to my knowledge.’
‘All right.’
‘He didn’t say anything at all about his altered situation. They were actually listening to the radio broadcast in Registry, I remember. The regiments were being piped on to the trains.’
‘Quite a moment for him, that.’
‘I suppose it was. I asked him what I could do for him. Well, he said, he wanted to be useful. It was all very low-key, all very delicate. He’d noticed Miles Gaveston was under strain, what with the Berlin disturbances and the Hanover students and various other pressures: might he not help out? I pointed out to him he was not qualified to handle internal matters; they were the preserve of regular members of Chancery. No, he said, that wasn’t what he meant at all. He wouldn’t for a minute presume to trespass upon our major effort. But he had been thinking: Gaveston had one or two little jobs; could he not take them over? He had in mind for instance the Anglo-German Society, which was pretty well dormant by then but still entailed a certain amount of low-level correspondence. Then there was Missing Persons: might he not take over a few things of that kind in order to disencumber the busier Chancery Officers? It made some sense, I had to admit.’
‘So you said yes.’
‘I agreed to it. On a purely provisional basis, of course. An interim arrangement. I assumed we would give him notice in December when his contract ran out; until then, he could fill in his time with whatever small jobs he could find. That was the thin end of the wedge. I was no doubt foolish to listen to him.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You don’t have to. I gave him an inch; he took the rest. Within a month he had gathered them all in; all the end-clippings of Chancery work, all the dross a big Embassy attracts: Missing Persons, Petitions to the Queen, Unannounced Visitors, Official Tours, the Anglo-German Society, letters of abuse, threats, all the things that should never have come to Chancery in the first place. By the same token, he spread his talents across the social field as well. Chapel, the choir, the Catering Committee, the Sports Committee. He even started up a National Savings group. At some point he asked to be allowed to use the title “Consular” and I consented. We have no Consular duties here, you understand; that all goes up to Cologne.’ He shrugged. ‘By December he had made himself useful. His contract was brought forward’ – he had taken up his fountain pen and was again staring at the nib – ‘and I renewed it. I gave him another year.’
‘You treated him well,’ Turner said, his eyes all the time upon Bradfield. ‘You were quite kind to him really.’
‘He had no standing here, no security. He was already on the doorstep and he knew it. I suppose that plays a part. We are more inclined to care for the people we can easily get rid of.’
‘You were sorry for him. Why won’t you admit it? It’s a fair enough reason, for God’s sake.’
‘Yes. Yes I suppose I was. That first time, I was actually sorry for him.’ He was smiling, but only at his own stupidity.
‘Did he do the work well?’
‘He was unorthodox, but not ineffectual. He preferred the telephone to the written word, but that was only natural; he had had no proper instruction in drafting. English was not his native language.’ He shrugged. ‘I gave him another year,’ he said again.
‘Which expired last December. Like a licence really. A licence to work; to be one of us.’ He continued to watch Bradfield. ‘A licence to spy. And you renewed it a second time.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
Once more Turner was aware of that hesitation which seemed to signify concealment.
‘You weren’t sorry for him, were you? Not this time?’
‘My feelings are irrelevant.’ He put down the pen with a snap. ‘The reasons for keeping him on were totally objective.’
‘I didn’t say they weren’t. But you can still be sorry for him.’