‘Then in a cup,’ he said, capitulating.
Why had he asked for a glass in the first place?
Tension in a vacuum, he thought again, looking round. Hazard in a blank place.
The café was modern Swiss antique. Crossed plastic lances hung from stucco pillars. Hidden speakers played harmless music; the confiding voice changed language with each announcement. In a corner, four men played a silent game of cards. He looked out of the window, into the empty square. Rain had started again, turning white to grey. A boy cycled past wearing a red woollen cap, and the cap went down the road like a torch until the fog put it out. The bank’s doors were double, he noticed, opened by electronic eye. He looked at his watch. Eleven-ten. A till murmured. A coffee machine hissed. The card players were dealing a new hand. Wooden plates hung on the wall : dancing couples in national costume. What else was there to look at? The lamps were wrought iron but the illumination came from a ring of strip lighting round the ceiling and it was very harsh. He thought of Hong Kong, with its Bavarian beer cellars on the fifteenth floor, the same sense of waiting for explanations that would never be supplied. And today is only preparation, he thought : today is not even the approach. He looked at the bank again. Nobody entering, nobody leaving. He remembered waiting all his life for something he could no longer define : call it resolution. He remembered Ann, and their last walk. Resolution in a vacuum. He heard a chair squeak, saw Toby’s hand held out for him, Swiss style, to shake, and Toby’s bright face sparkling as if he’d just come in from a run.
‘The Grigorievs left the house in Elfenau five minutes ago,’ he said quietly. ‘Grigorieva’s driving. Most likely they die before they get here.’
‘And the bicycles?’ Smiley said anxiously.
‘Like normal,’ said Toby pulling up a chair.
‘Did she drive last week?’
‘Also the week before. She insists. George, I mean that woman is a monster.’ The girl brought him a coffee unbidden. “Last week, she actually hauled Grigoriev out of the driving seat, then drove the car into the gate post, clipped the wing. Pauli and Canada Bill were laughing so much we thought we’d get static on the whisperers.’ He put a friendly hand on Smiley’s shoulder. “Listen, it’s going to be a nice day. Believe me. Nice light, a nice layout, all you got to do is sit back and enjoy the show.’
The phone rang, and the girl called “Herr Jacobi!’ Toby walked easily to the counter. She handed him the receiver and blushed at something he whispered to her. From the kitchen, the chef came in with his small son : “Herr Jacobi!’ The chrysanthemums on Smiley’s table were plastic but someone had put water in the vase.
‘Ciao,’ Toby called cheerfully into the phone, and came back. “Everyone in position, everyone happy,’ he announced with satisfaction. “Eat something, okay? Enjoy yourself, George. This is Switzerland.’
Toby stepped gaily into the street. Enjoy the show, thought Smiley. That’s right. I wrote it, Toby produced it, and all I can do now is watch. No, he thought, correcting himself : Karla wrote it, and sometimes that worried him quite a lot.
Two girls in hiking kit were entering the double doors of the bank. A moment later and Toby had followed them in. He’s packing the bank, thought Smiley. He’ll man every counter two deep. After Toby, a young couple, arm in arm, then a stubby woman with two shopping bags. The yellow mail van had not budged : nobody moves a mail van. He noticed a public phone box, and two figures huddled into it, perhaps sheltering from the rain. Two people are less conspicuous than one, they liked to say at Sarratt, and three are less conspicuous than a pair. An empty tour coach passed. A clock struck twelve and, right on cue, a black Mercedes lurched out of the fog, its dipped headlights glittering on the cobble. Bumping clumsily on to the kerb, it stopped outside the bank, six feet from Toby’s mail van. Soviet Embassy car numbers end with 73, Toby had said. She drops him and drives round the block a couple of times till he comes out. But today, in the filthy weather, the Grigorievs had apparently decided to flout the parking laws and Karla’s laws too, and rely on their CD plates to keep them out of trouble. The passenger door opened and a stocky figure in a dark suit and spectacles scampered for the bank entrance, carrying a briefcase. Smiley had just time to record the thick grey hair and rimless spectacles of Grigoriev’s photographs before a lorry masked his view. When it moved on, Grigoriev had disappeared, but Smiley had a clear sight of the formidable bulk of Grigorieva herself, with her red hair and learner-driver scowl, seated alone at the steering-wheel. George, believe me, that’s a very distorting woman. Seeing her now, her jaw set, her bullish glare, Smiley was able for the first time, if cautiously, to share Toby’s optimism. If fear was the essential concomitant of a successful burn, Grigorieva was certainly someone to be afraid of.