The Tailor of Panama by John le Carré

‘What do you talk about?’

‘Number one was his car. He wants a hire car till he gets his own, so I’m to hire him one and he’s sent me a fax of his driver’s licence.’

‘Say what sort?’

Reg giggled. ‘Not a Lamborghini, he said, and not a three-wheeler. Something he could wear a bowler hat in if he wore a bowler hat because he’s tall.’

‘What else?’

‘His flat, how soon we’d have it ready for him. We found him ever such a nice one, if I can get those decorators out in time. High up above the Club Unión, I told him. You can spit on their blue rinses and their toupees any time you like. It’s only a lick of paint I’m asking. White, I said to him, broken to the colour of your choice, so what’s your choice? Not pink, thank you, he says, and not daffodil. How about a nice warm camel-turd brown? I had to laugh.’

‘How old is he, Reg?’

‘My goodness, I’ve not a notion. He could be anything, really.’

‘Still, you’ve got his driving licence there, haven’t you?’

‘Andrew Julian Osnard,’ Reg read aloud, very excited. ‘Date of Birth 01 10 1970 Watford. Well I never, that’s where my Mum and Dad got married.’

Stormont was standing in the corridor, drawing himself a coffee from the machine when young Simon Pitt sidled up to him and offered him a spy’s eyeline of a passport photograph cupped into the hollow of his palm.

‘What do you say, Nigel? Carruthers of the Great Game or an overweight Mata Hari in drag?’

The photograph was of a well-nourished Osnard with both ears showing, sent in advance so that Simon could arrange to have his diplomatic pass prepared by Panamanian Protocol in time for his arrival. Stormont stared at it and for a moment his whole private world seemed to slide out of his control: his ex-wife’s alimony, too large but he’d insisted that she have it, Claire’s university maintenance, Adrian’s ambition to read for the Bar, his secret dream of finding a stone farmhouse on a hillside in the Algarve with its own olives and winter sun and dry air for Paddy’s cough. And a full pension to make the fantasy come true.

‘Looks a nice enough chap,’ he conceded, as his innate decency asserted itself. ‘Quite a lot behind the eyes. Could be fun.’

Paddy’s right, he thought. I shouldn’t have sat up the night with her. I should have got some sleep of my own.

On Mondays, by way of consolation after morning prayers, Stormont lunched at the Pavo Real with Yves Legrand, his opposite number at the French Embassy because they both loved a duel and good food.

‘Oh, and by the way, we’re getting a new man at last, I’m pleased to say,’ said Stormont, after Legrand had entrusted him with a couple of confidences that were nothing of the kind. ‘Young chap. Your sort of age. On the political side.’

‘Will I like him?’

‘Everyone will,’ said Stormont firmly.

Stormont was scarcely back at his desk when Fran rang him on the internal telephone.

‘Nigel. The most amazing thing. Can you guess what?’

‘I don’t expect so.’

‘You know my weird half-brother Miles?’

‘Not personally, but he is a concept to me.’

‘Well, you know Miles was at Eton, obviously.’

‘No, but I know now.’

‘Well it’s Miles’ birthday today so I rang him. Can you believe, he was in the same house as Andy Osnard! He says he’s absolutely sweet, a bit tubby, a bit murky, but frightfully good in the school play. And he was sacked for venery.’

‘For what?’

‘Girls, Nigel. Remember? Venus. It can’t have been boys or that would be Adonery. Miles says it may have been for not paying his fees as well. He can’t remember who got him first, whether it was Venus or the Bursar.’

In the lift Stormont met Gulliver carrying a briefcase and looking grave.

‘Serious matters afoot tonight, Gully?’

‘A mite tricky, this one, Nigel. A mite softly-softly-catchee-monkey frankly.’

‘Well, watch yourself,’ Stormont advised him, with appropriate gravity.

Gulliver had recently been sighted by one of Phoebe Maltby’s bridge wives on the arm of a gorgeous Panamanian girl. She was twenty if a day, said the bridge wife, and darling, black as your hat. Phoebe proposed to warn her husband at an appropriate moment.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *