A SMALL TOWN IN GERMANY by John le Carré

‘When was that then?’

‘When was what?’

‘When was he dealing with archives?’

‘Berlin, I suppose. I never asked. You didn’t ask Leo about his background really; you never knew what you might hear.’ Meadowes shook his head. ‘So here he was with this sugges­tion. It didn’t seem right, but what could I say? “It’s up to Bradfield,” I told him. “If he sends you, and you want to come, there’s work enough.” Well, it worried me for a bit, to be honest. I even thought of talking to Bradfield about it but

I didn’t. Best thing is, I thought, let it blow over; I’ll probably hear no more of it. For a time that’s just what happened. Myra was bad again, there was the leadership crisis at home and the gold row in Brussels. And as for Karfeld, he was going hammer and tongs all over the place. There were deputations out from England, Trade Union protests, old comrades and I don’t know what. Registry was a beehive, and Harting went clean out of my mind. He was Social Secretary of the Exiles by then, but otherwise I hardly saw him. I mean he didn’t rate. There was too much else to think of.’

‘I get it.’

‘The next thing I knew was, Bradfield sends for me. It was just before the holiday – about 20th December. First, he asks me how I’m getting along with the Destruction programme. I was a bit put out; we’d really been going it those last months. Destruction was about the last thing anyone had been bother­ing with.’

‘Go carefully now: I want the fat as well as the lean.’

‘I said it was hanging fire. Well, he says, how would I feel if he sent me someone to help out with it, come and work in Registry and bring it up to date? There’s been the suggestion, he said, nothing definite, and he wanted to sound me out first, there’d been the suggestion Harting might be able to lend a hand.’

‘Whose suggestion?’

‘He didn’t say.’

It was suddenly upon them; and each in his way was mys­tified:

‘Whoever suggested anything to Bradfield,’ Meadowes asked. ‘It makes no sense.’

‘That’s rather what I wondered,’ Turner confessed, and the silence returned.

‘So you said you’d have him?’

‘No, I told him the truth. I said I didn’t need him.’

‘You didn’t need him? You told Bradfield that?’

‘Don’t press me like that. Bradfield knew very well I didn’t need anyone. Not for Destruction anyway. I’d been on to Library in London and spoken to them, back in November that was, once the Karfeld panic began. I’d told them I was worried about the programme, I was way behind, could I let it go till the crisis was over? Library told me to forget it.’ Turner stared at him.

‘And Bradfield knew that? You’re certain Bradfield knew?’

‘I’d sent him a minute of the conversation. He never even referred to it. Afterwards I asked that PA of his and she was certain she’d put it up to him.’

‘Where is it? Where’s the minute now?’

‘Gone. It was a loose minute: it was Bradfield’s responsibility whether he preserved it or not. But they’ll know about it in Library all right; they were quite surprised later on to find we’d bothered with Destruction at all.’

‘Who did you speak to in Library?’

‘Once to Maxwell, once to Cowdry.’

‘Did you remind Bradfield of that?’

‘I began to, but he just cut me off. Closed right down on me. “It’s all arranged,” he says. “Harting’s joining you mid-­January and he’ll manage Personalities and Destruction.” So lump it, in other words. “You can forget he’s a diplomat,” he said. “Treat him as your subordinate. Treat him how you like. But he’s coming mid-January and that’s a fact.” You know how he throws people away. Specially Harting.’

Turner was writing in his notebook but Meadowes paid no attention.

‘So that’s how he came to me. That’s the truth. I didn’t want him, I didn’t trust him, not completely anyway, and to begin with I suppose I let him know it. We were just too busy: I didn’t want to waste time breaking in a man like Leo. What was I supposed to do with him?’

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