This banter was Alleline’s one instrument of communication, it could be friendly or hostile, reproachful or congratulatory, but in the end it was like a constant tapping on the same spot.
‘Couple of Arab ploys look quite promising. Cy Vanhofer’s got a lead to a German diplomat. That’s about it.’
‘Arabs,’ Alleline repeated, pushing aside the folder and dragging a rough pipe from his pocket. ‘Any bloody fool can burn an Arab, can’t he, Bill? Buy a whole damn Arab cabinet for half a crown if you’ve a mind to.’ From another pocket Alleline took a tobacco pouch, which he tossed easily on to the table. ‘I hear you’ve been hobnobbing with our late-lamented Brother Tarr. How is he these days?’
A lot of things went through Guillam’s mind as he heard himself answer. That the surveillance on his flat did not begin till last night, he was sure of it. That over the weekend he was in the clear unless Fawn the captive babysitter had doubled, which would have been hard for him. That Roy Bland bore a close resemblance to the late Dylan Thomas, Roy had always reminded him of someone and till this moment he’d never been able to pin down the connection, and that Mo Delaware had only passed muster as a woman because of her brownie mannishness. He wondered whether Dylan Thomas had had Roy’s extraordinary pale blue eyes. That Toby Esterhase was helping himself to a cigarette from his gold case, and that Alleline didn’t as a rule allow cigarettes but only pipes, so Toby must stand pretty well with Alleline just now. That Bill Haydon was looking strangely young and that Circus rumours about his love life were not after all so laughable: they said he went both ways. That Paul Skordeno had one brown palm flat on the table and the thumb slightly lifted in a way that hardened the hitting surface on the outside of the hand. He thought also of his canvas case: had Alwyn put it on the shuttle? Or had he gone off for his lunch leaving it in Registry, waiting to be inspected by one of these new young janitors bursting for promotion? And Guillam wondered not for the first time just how long Toby had been hanging around Registry before he noticed him.
He selected a facetious tone: ‘That’s right, Chief. Tarr and I have tea at Fortnum’s every afternoon.’
Alleline was sucking at his empty pipe, testing the packing of the tobacco.
‘Peter Guillam,’ he said deliberately, in his pert brogue. ‘You may not be aware of this, but I am of an extremely forgiving nature. I am positively seething with goodwill, in fact. All I require is the matter of your discussion with Tarr. I do not ask for his head, nor any other part of his damned anatomy, and I will restrain my impulse personally to strangle him. Or you.’ He struck a match and lit his pipe, making a monstrous flame. ‘I would even go so far as to consider hanging a gold chain about your neck and bringing you into the palace from hateful Brixton.’
‘In that case I can’t wait for him to turn up,’ said Guillam.
‘And there’s a free pardon for Tarr till I get my hands on him.’
‘I’ll tell him. He’ll be thrilled.’
A great cloud of smoke rolled out over the table.
‘I’m very disappointed with you, young Peter. Giving ear to gross slanders of a divisive and insidious nature. I pay you honest money and you stab me in the back. I consider that extremely poor reward for keeping you alive. Against the entreaties of my advisers, I may tell you.’
Alleline had a new mannerism, one that Guillam had noticed often in vain men of middle age: it involved taking hold of a tuck of flesh under the chin, and massaging it between finger and thumb in the hope of reducing it.
‘Tell us some more about Tarr’s circumstances just now,’ said Alleline. ‘Tell us about his emotional state. He has a daughter, has he not? A wee daughter name of Danny. Does he talk of her at all?’
‘He used to.’
‘Regale us with some anecdotes about her.’