‘Yes, we’re all thrilled about it.’
A yellow road sign said six kilometres to Bonn.
‘I think we’ll go round the city if you don’t mind; there’s liable to be rather a hold-up getting in and out. They’re checking passes and things. ‘
‘I thought you said Karfeld didn’t bother you.’
‘We all say that. It’s part of our local religion. We’re trained to regard Karfeld as an irritant, not an epidemic. You’ll have to get used to that. I have a message for you from Bradfield, by the way. He’s sorry not to have collected you himself, but he’s been rather under pressure.’
They swung sharply off the main road, bumped over a tramline and sped along a narrow open lane. Occasionally a poster or photograph rose before them and darted away into the mist.
‘Was that the whole of Bradfield’s message?’
‘There was the question of who knows what. He imagined you’d like to have that clear at once. Cover, is that what you’d call it?’
‘I might.’
‘Our friend’s disappearance has been noticed in a general way,’ de Lisle continued in the same amiable tone. ‘That was inevitable. But fortunately Hanover intervened, and we’ve been able to mend a few fences. Officially, Rawley has sent him on compassionate leave. He’s published no details; merely hinted at personal problems and left it at that. The Junior Staff can think what they like: nervous breakdown; family troubles; they can make up their own rumours. Bradfield mentioned the matter at this morning’s meeting: we’re all backing him up. As for yourself…’
‘Well?’
‘ A general security check in view of the crisis? How would that sound to you? It seemed quite convincing to us.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘Harting?’
‘That’s right. Did you know him?’
‘I think perhaps,’ de Lisle said, pulling up at a traffic light, ‘we ought to leave the first bite to Rawley, don’t you? Tell me, what news of our little Lords of York?’
‘Who the hell are they?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ de Lisle said in genuine discomfort. ‘It’s our local expression for the Cabinet. It was silly of me.’
They were approaching the Embassy. As they filtered left to cross the carriageway, the black Opel slid slowly past like an old nanny who had seen her children safely over the road. The lobby was in turmoil. Despatch riders mingled with journalists and police. An iron grille, painted a protective orange, sealed off the basement staircase. De Lisle led him quickly to the first floor. Someone must have telephoned from the desk because Bradfield was already standing as they entered. ‘Rawley, this is Turner,’ de Lisle said, as if there were not much he could do about it, and prudently closed the door on them.
Bradfield was a hard-built, self-denying man, thin-boned and well preserved, of that age and generation which can do with very little sleep. Yet the strains of the last twenty-four hours were already showing in the small, uncommon bruises at the corners of his eyes, and the unnatural pallor of his complexion. He studied Turner without comment: the canvas bag clutched in the heavy fist, the battered fawn suit, the unyielding, classless features; and it seemed for a moment as if an impulse of involuntary anger would threaten his customary composure; of aesthetic objection that anything so offensively incongruous should have been set before him at such a time.
Outside in the corridor Turner heard the hushed murmur of busy voices, the clip of feet, the faster chatter of the typewriters and the phantom throb of code machines from the cypher room.
‘It was good of you to come at such an awkward time. You’d better let me have that.’ He took the canvas bag and dumped it behind the chair.
‘Christ, it’s hot,’ said Turner. Walking to the window, he rested his elbows on the sill and gazed out. Away to his right in the far distance, the Seven Hills of Königswinter, chalked over by fine cloud, rose like Gothic dreams against the colourless sky. At their feet he could make out the dull glint of water and the shadows of motionless vessels.
‘He lived out that way, didn’t he? Königswinter?’
‘We have a couple of hirings on the other bank. They are never much in demand. The ferry is a great inconvenience.’ On the trampled lawn, workmen were dismantling the marquee under the watchful eye of two German policemen.