‘Oliver, I wonder if you’d mind finally telling me what I’m doing here,’ he heard himself suggesting for the third time, hardly above a murmur.
Reaching out an arm he removed the vodka bottle from its bucket. Still unbidden, he broke the cap and poured himself a rather large tot.
Even then, Lacon dithered, pondered, hunted with his eyes, delayed. In Lacon’s world, direct questions were the height of bad taste but direct answers were worse. For a moment, caught in mid-gesture at the centre of the room, he stood staring at Smiley in disbelief. A car stumbled up the hill, bringing news of the real world outside the window. Lauder Strickland slurped his tea. Mostyn was seating himself gingerly on a piano-stool to which there was no piano. But Lacon with his jerky gestures could only scratch about for words sufficiently elliptical to disguise his meaning.
‘George,’ he said. A shower of rain crashed against the window, but he ignored it. ‘Where’s Mostyn?’ he asked.
Mostyn, no sooner settled, had flitted from the room to cope with a nervous need. They heard the thunder of the flush, loud as a brass band, and the gurgle of pipes all down the building.
Lacon raised a hand to his neck, tracing the raw patches. Reluctantly, he began : ‘Three years ago, George – let us start there – soon after you left the Circus – your successor Saul Enderby – your worthy successor – under pressure from a concerned Cabinet – by concerned I mean newly formed – decided on certain far-reaching changes of intelligence practice. I’m giving you the background, George,’ he explained, interrupting himself. ‘I’m doing this because you’re who you are, because of old times, and because-‘ he jabbed a finger at the window – ‘because of out there.’
Strickland had unbuttoned his waistcoat and lay dozing and replete like a first-class passenger on a night plane. But his small watchful eyes followed every pass that Lacon made. The door opened and closed, admitting Mostyn, who resumed his perch on the piano-stool.
‘Mostyn, I expect you to close your ears to this. I am talking high, high policy. One of these far-reaching changes, George, was the decision to form an inter-ministerial Steering Committee. A mixed committee’ – he composed one in the air with his hands – ‘part Westminster, part Whitehall, representing Cabinet as well as the major Whitehall customers. Known as the Wise Men. But placed – George – placed between the intelligence fraternity and Cabinet. As a channel, as a filter, as a brake.’ One hand had remained outstretched, dealing these metaphors like cards. ‘To look over the Circus’s shoulder. To exercise control, George. Vigilance and accountability in the interest of a more open government. You don’t like it. I can tell by your face.’
‘I’m out of it,’ Smiley said. ‘I’m not qualified to judge.’
Suddenly Lacon’s own face took on an appalled expression and his tone dropped to one of near despair.
‘You should hear them, George, our new masters! You should hear the way they talk about the Circus! I’m their dog’s-body, damn ie I know, get it every day! Gibes. Suspicion. Mistrust at every turn, even from Ministers who should know better. As if the Circus were some rogue animal outside their comprehension. As if British Intelligence were a sort of wholly owned subsidiary of the Conservative Party. Not their ally at all but some autonomous viper in their Socialist nest. The thirties all over again. Do you know, they’re even reviving all that talk about a British Freedom of Information Act on the American pattern? From within the Cabinet? Of open hearings, revelations, all for the public sport? You’d be shocked, George. Pained. Think of the effect such a thing would have on morale alone. Would Mostyn here ever have joined the Circus after that kind of notoriety in the press and wherever? Would you, Mostyn?’
The question seemed to strike Mostyn very deep, for his grave eyes, made yet darker by his sickly colour, became graver, and he lifted a thumb and finger to his lip. But he did not speak.
‘Where was I, George?’ Lacon asked, suddenly lost.
‘The Wise Men,’ said Smiley sympathetically.