A SMALL TOWN IN GERMANY by John le Carré

Leo had worked the whole thing out; he reckoned he could lay it on at twenty-one marks eighty a head including drinks and a present for his friend.’ He broke off. ‘I can’t go any quicker, it’s not my way.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘You’re pressing all the time, I can feel it,’ Meadowes said querulously, and sighed. ‘They fell for it, we all did, Commit­tee or not. You know what people are like: if one man knows what he wants…’

‘And he did.’

‘I suppose some reckoned he’d got an axe to grind, but no one cared. There was a few of us thought he was taking a cut to be honest, but well, maybe he deserved it. And the price was fair enough any time. Bill Aintree was getting out: he didn’t care. He seconded. The motion’s carried and recorded without a word being said against, and as soon as the meeting’s over, Leo comes straight across to me and Myra, smiling his head off. “She’ll love that,” he says, “Myra will. A nice trip on the river. Take her out of herself.” Just as if he’d done it specially for her. I said yes, she would, and bought him a drink. It seemed wrong really, him doing so much and no one else paying him a blind bit of notice, whatever they say about him. I was sorry for him. And grateful,’ he added simply. ‘I still am: we had a lovely outing.’

Again he fell silent, and again Turner waited while the older man wrestled with private conflicts and private perplexities. From the barred window came the tireless throb of Bonn’s iron heartbeat: the far thunder of drills and cranes, the moan of vainly galloping cars.

‘I thought he was after Myra to be honest,’ he said at last. ‘I watched out for that, I don’t mind admitting. But there wasn’t a breath of it, not on either side. Goodness knows, I’m sharp enough on that after Warsaw.’

‘I believe you.’

‘I don’t care whether you believe me or not. It’s the truth.’

‘He had a reputation for that as well, did he?’

‘A bit.’

‘Who with?’

‘I’ll go on with the story if you don’t mind,’ Meadowes said, looking at his hands. ‘I’m not going to pass on that kind of muck. Least of all to you. There’s more nonsense talked in this place than is good for any of us.’

‘I’ll find out,’ Turner said, his face frozen like a dead man’s. ‘It’ll take me longer, but that needn’t worry you.’

‘Dreadfully cold, it was,’ Meadowes continued. ‘Lumps of ice on the water, and beautiful, if that means anything to you. Just like Leo said: rum and coffee for the grown ups, cocoa for the kids, and everyone happy as a cricket. We started from Königswinter and kicked off with a drink at his place before we went aboard, and from the moment we get there, Leo’s looking after us. Me and Myra. He’d singled us out and that was it. We might have been the only people there for him. Myra loved it. He put a shawl round her shoulders, told her jokes… I hadn’t seen her laugh like it since Warsaw. She kept saying to me: “I haven’t been so happy for years.”‘

‘What sort of jokes?’

‘About himself mainly… running on. He had a story about Berlin, him shoving a cartload of files across the parade ground in the middle of a cavalry practice, and the sergeant-­major on his horse, and Leo down there with the handcart… He could do all the voices, Leo could; one minute he was up on his horse, the next minute he’s the Guard corporal… He could even do the trumpets and that. Wonderful really; wonderful gift. Very entertaining man, Leo… very.’

He glanced at Turner as if he expected to be contradicted, but Turner’s face was without expression. ‘On the way back, he takes me aside. “Arthur, a quiet word,” he says; that’s him, a quiet word. You know the way he talks.’

‘No.’

‘Confiding. Everyone’s special. “Arthur,” he says, “Rawley Bradfield’s just sent for me; they want me to move up to Registry and give you a hand up there, and before I tell him yes or no, I’d like to hear what you feel.” Putting it in my hands, you see. If I didn’t fancy the idea, he’d head it off; that’s what he was hinting at. Well, it came as a surprise, I don’t mind telling you. I didn’t quite know what to think; after all he was a Second Secretary… it didn’t seem right, that was my first reaction. And to be frank I wasn’t sure I believed him. So I asked him: “Have you any experience of archives?” Yes, but long ago, he said, though he’d always fan­cied going back to them.’

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