‘We are not fighting the Americans.’
‘We are fighting for their goodwill.’
‘Put like that I, of course, agree.’
‘How are they doing? Have you put the central heating on?’
‘You know we lack that luxury at The Hall.’
‘To an American, Charlie, central heating is not a luxury, it’s a necessity … they’ll freeze.’
‘We are having an Indian summer. If it turns cold hot water bottles and whisky will keep them warm.’
‘I’m jealous … London’s hot and stuffy. Everyone is anxious. Passing Buckingham Palace, I had to tell my driver to stop … couldn’t believe my peepers. The Palace guards were wearing khaki … what have we come to? Would their ceremonial uniforms have made them targets? Is HMG expecting Nazi snipers in Whitehall? Ever heard the name Sean Roy?’
‘No.’
‘It was written on the inside of a cigarette packet taken from DeVelera.’
‘When you submit the nom de guerre to the Professor, tell him that only one of my guests did not ride in the phaeton.’
‘And that was?’
‘O’Neil.’
‘And it wasn’t raining?’
‘No. Freddy, I do believe you are more into this this than you admit.’
12
Who was ringing now? Where was Bert? Bert was in charge of the telephone. He was in danger of neglecting his American guests.
‘Yes?’ said Sir Charles.
‘To whom am I speaking?’
‘Sir Charles … who is it? What do you want?’
‘Sergeant Belt, sir, Kielder Police Station, North Northumberland, thirty miles north of the Wall.’
‘I know where Kielder is, get on with it, man.’
‘Of course you would, sir, I was forgetting … it’s the railway. I always said it would bring trouble and it has.’
‘Elaborate.’
‘What was that?’
‘What kind of trouble?’’
‘It’s a woman, sir … trespassing with intent … in a goods wagon. The station master thinks she was after the Brown Windsor.’
‘Soap?’
‘Yes, you see, sir, it’s a supply train … comes once a month full of buckets and mops and other useful stuff …if the station runs short of Brown Windsor it might have to close.’
‘That would be a tragedy.’
‘I can see, sir, our minds run on similar lines … cleanliness been next to godliness, a station without soap would be full of sin.’
‘What has this to do with me?’
‘The person I’ve charged claims to know you, sir … says she’s been invited to stay at The Hall. She spins a good yarn, I’ll give her that. She wanted me to phone London … says she has vital information for His Majesty’s Secret Service. In my time I’ve heard all sorts of excuses …. “It wasn’t me what stole the bread, officer, it was my identical twin” … then, if that wasn’t enough to swallow … tells me she’s a professor. I told her, “Madam, if you are a professor, I’m Harry Lauder.” She doesn’t look like a professor to me … she smells. She told me I’d smell if I’d been locked up all night in a railway wagon. She said, I have it in my wee notebook … “A railway goods wagon, sergeant, does not have a powder room.” To hide my embarrassment because I think I knew at what she was hinting, I fiddled with my pipe. She said, “Don’t even think about it.” I said, “Madam, the day I smoke in front of a lady without asking permission will be the day Britain no longer has an Empire.” She said, “If you don’t telephone London that’s just what will happen.” Comments like that set my fingers a-tapping. When she saw I wasn’t for budging, well, sir, that’s when she poured a mug of tea over my head. It never pays to be nice to prisoners. I broke my rule and I paid the price. A lesson learnt. She’s so violent I’ve had to lock her up. I only have the one cell. It was fortunate it was not in use. As I said before, sir, the constabulary at Kielder is a long way from what we, in 1914, called the front line … to tell the truth, sir, it’s the first time the cell’s been used. I’m sick of her banging and shouting. If she’d been a bloke I’d have belted her one … that always shuts them up. She said if I wouldn’t call London, would I call you … so I have. When I eat my steak and kidney I want to hear the birds singing not her thumping and screaming.’
‘For God’s sake, sergeant, cut to the quick, tell me the woman’s name.’
‘Striker, sir … Marigold Striker … Professor Striker, she says.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘In the cell, doing what my steak and kidney’s doing … cooling down.’
‘Put her on the phone.’
‘You know her?’
‘Yes, she is everything she says she is and more. Put her on the phone, that’s an order.’
13
Marigold talked. Sir Charles listened. When she’d told him everything Sir Charles said, ‘I’ll arrange for Mike to pick you up, he’s my gamekeeper. You’ll be safe with him.’
‘I don’t need a “minder”, I need a “bath”.’
Talk of female hygiene made Sir Charles feel out of his depth. At a loss as to how he should reply, he pressed on with his original offer of well-intentioned help.
‘What I mean is, Mike’s “a good man with whom to go to the well”; an American expression, I believe?’
‘Tell him to “Tallyho” … isn’t that what you Brits scream when you are hunting Mr Fox? In other words, step on the gas and get me out of this place. Until I ended up here I thought the Keystone Cops were fiction … are you still there? Sir Charles?’
‘Yes, I’m still here. I was pondering. I will cut to the quick. What do you know about O’Neil? Don’t answer. I wish to give you time to mull. I would confide in you on this line but for the fact that, if I did, the whole of Northumberland would be privy in an hour to what I wish to keep secret. Mike will appraise you of my interest in the gentleman, Professor Striker.’
‘Call me Marigold.’
‘Call me Charlie. My gamekeeper does.’
‘Should he do that?’
‘No.’
‘He sounds naughty.’
‘He is.’
‘In that case he and I will rub along just fine. I’m not a fan of conformists.’
‘Marigold, what Mike tells you will, I fear, put you in a compromising situation.’
‘Charlie, you Brits and your confidences are beginning to scare the hell out of me. Byker-Harrison’s confidence near got me murdered. What’s so scary is your politeness … “I do apologise but what I’m going to tell you might get you killed”.’
14
‘Mike,’ said Sir Charles, bounding into Mike’s cottage, ‘I have a job for you.’
‘So,’ said Bert, having allowed Sir Charles to blab uninterrupted for ten minutes, ‘I’m to persuade this American woman to spy on her own people?’
‘Not persuade … from all I’ve heard of her she’s unpersuadable … tell her about the letter from Harry’s aunt. How she decides to play the game will be up to her. I’m off to phone London.’
15
‘Nazis and the Irish,’ mused Lord Frederick, ‘in cahoots. I am surprised, but, on reflection, I shouldn’t be. We’ve no intelligence on such a coalition, that’s the prob. No coincidence they were all passengers on the Nord … a crucible of saboteurs and spies, that ship. In our line of work, Charlie, a coincidence is so often a clue. Years ago I kept bumping into Dot outside my club. First time it happened I said, “Freddy, is this a coincidence?” When it kept happening, that’s when the penny dropped; that’s when I twigged Dot was after changing my status from bachelor to married man …never mentioned I’d rumbled her ruse, pointless … she’d have denied it. B-H was right when he thought he was on to something … nose like a blood hound, that man. I will of course recommend him for a gong �
�� pity it will have to be posthumous.’ He paused. ‘I heard about CB’s daughter … tragic. How’s he coping?’
‘Elizabeth’s gone to visit … see what she can do.’
‘Good filly, your Elizabeth.’
‘She makes me eat an orange a day.’
‘A bit of fruit keeps the bowels open. You were always constipated at Eton. Matron’s syrup of figs opened me up like a can of beans … never seemed to move you.’
‘Loose talk costs lives.’
‘Touché. Americans don’t take kindly to foreigners telling them they might have a bad apple in the barrel.’
‘Harry’s aunt is a reliable source. She has two cats. Their names are Nelson and Wellington.’
‘That’s good enough for me. I have contacts in the CIA, trouble is, they are miserly about sharing intelligence. For us, Charlie, it would seem the war has started early.’
16
Over a buffet al fresco lunch Sir Charles apologised to his American guests for his wife’s absence. ‘She’s visiting an old friend. The chap’s daughter was blown up last night by Irish bombers. My nephew was with her. Harry is lucky not to be with the angels.’
‘He the idiot flying the tree cutter?’ said O’Neil.
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’
‘How many lives does he think he has to lose?’
‘We heard about the atrocity,’ said Mancini, ‘terrible, terrible.’
‘You call it an “atrocity”,’ said O’Neil, pausing to suck an oyster from its shell. ‘I think the people responsible will call it giving the oppressors a poke in the eye. Ireland should belong to the Irish. India should belong to the Indians.’
‘There he goes again,’ said Mancini. ‘Give it a rest, O’Neil, remember our host. The British Empire paid for the champagne you are drinking.’
‘I’m drinking iced water. The views I’ve expressed are not mine.’ He grinned. ‘I’m putting myself in the shoes of the IRA.’
‘They seem a remarkably good fit,’ said Sir Charles.
‘If you drank champagne you might be more affable,’ said Mancini. ‘You going to lock him up in the Tower of London, Sir Charles?’
‘I might try the stocks.’
‘Lay a finger on me, Sir Charles and I’ll kill you.’
‘Are you sure you won’t join us in a glass of champagne?’
‘I’m teetotal. I made a pledge … until Ireland is free of the British, I won’t touch a drop. I’m joking! Can’t you guys take a joke?’
‘Anyone for toppers?’
Mancini raised a hand.
‘That’s your fourth glass,’ said O’Neil.
‘O’Neil, you ain’t my mom.’
‘You asking me if the sun is hot?’ said Macdonald. ‘Of course I’ll have more champagne.’
‘Champagne,’ said Weinberger, ‘fizzy lemonade with a kick like a mule … just the ticket for such a hot day; gee, I never knew England could be so hot.’
‘Bert, toppers all round. Iced water for Mr O’Neil who has declared an unshakable preference for that beverage.’
‘Ireland for the Irish?’ said Weinberger. ‘What about Texas for the Texans? Let Texas leave the Union Ha! Ha! Ha! The GOP would just love that.’
‘And Scotland for the Scots,’ said Macdonald; ‘take the cross of St Andrew out of the Union Jack.’
‘If that happened,’ said Sir Charles, ‘Newcastle will once again be a border city. My ancestors were reivers, border bandits, neither Scots nor English, a law unto themselves. Part of The Hall … that bit over there, started life as a Pele Tower, its walls are ten feet thick. In times of trouble my distant ancestors locked themselves in there … sheep and cattle downstairs, people on the top floor.’
‘It won’t protect you from Hitler’s Stukas,’ said Mancini. ‘Look what they did to Guernica … terrible … terrible.’
‘Ireland will make England weep,’ said O’Neil. ‘That’s what I’m hearing, not my view, just repeating what everyone knows.’
‘Bert?’
‘Sir?’
‘Crack open two more bottles.’
‘Don’t forget the bucket of hail, Bert,’ said Mancini.
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘The ice bucket … you do have more ice?’
‘Enough to make an igloo, sir.’
‘Bert, I like you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘By the by,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I’ve had a phone call from Professor Striker. She’ll be joining us later this afternoon. My man has gone to pick her up. She’d have been here earlier, but she boarded the wrong train.’
It would be up to the Professor to decide how much she told her fellow Americans of her recent adventures. If O’Neil was involved with the IRA it seemed a wise move not to let him know of Marigold’s run-in with that organisation. He was looking forward to meeting the woman who’d poured a mug of tea over a police sergeant’s head. She sounded the sort of spirited filly who’d enjoy a water pistol fight in the shrubbery.
‘Marigold will have been shopping,’ said O’Neil, ‘that’s what women do on business trips, go shopping … women should stay at home and look after the kids.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if Marigold was here,’ said Mancini. ‘I’m frightened of three women: my mother, my wife and Marigold. I’m surprised she got on the wrong train. Newcastle Central is not New York.’
‘The Prof lost or something?’ said Weinberger. ‘This smoked salmon … best I’ve tasted, local?’
‘The Tweed … you fish?’ said Sir Charles.
‘I don’t have the patience. Oilmen are proactive. If I was fishing this River Tweed … that where the Harris Tweed comes from, Sir Charles?’
‘No, that comes from the Isle of Harris, way up north in Scotland.’
‘If I was fishing this River Tweed I’d use dynamite … Boom! Boom!’
Macdonald flicked a flake of salmon off his forehead.
‘Begging your pardon, Mac, Texans have big mouths but even we shouldn’t talk with ‘em full of food … Mother would not be proud of her first-born.’
‘A gentleman would never use dynamite,’ said Sir Charles.
‘Hitler uses dynamite when he goes fishing for Lebensraum,’ said Macdonald.
‘Sir Charles,’ said Weinberger, ‘if it comes to war you Brits are going to have to learn that shouting, “I say, that’s not fair play” is pissing in the wind. You are going to have to learn to be brutal. If Hitler was in charge of India, Mr Gandhi would be dead.’
‘But he’s not in charge of India,’ said Sir Charles, ‘the British are, and that’s a fact. I’ve served there, I know the country well.’
‘Bet you don’t have any Indian friends?’ said O’Neil.
‘On behalf of my fellow guests, Sir Charles, I apologise,’ said Macdonald. ‘O’Neil, you are out of line. It is not Sir Charles’ fault Britain has an Empire.’
‘Empires come and go,’ said Mancini. ‘Look at the Roman Empire, how many more ice creams the Mancini family would have sold if Rome still ruled the world … Coliseum Cornets … Senator Sorbets … here’s an angle … whatever flavour it said on the wrapper would be a lie. You buy a chocolate Senator Sorbet, don’t expect chocolate … expect anything but chocolate. If you do buy a Chocolate Senator Sorbet and get chocolate then you win a prize … you’ve found a senator who tells the truth.’
‘You remind me of why I signed the pledge,’ said O’Neil.
‘What would the O’Neil flavour be? Sour Grapes?’
‘Give it to him,’ said Weinberger. ‘Always good sport watching a Wop fight a Mick.’
‘Gentlemen,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I do fear that in vino veritas we are in danger of becoming too boisterous. Before deck chairs are broken over heads may I suggest a tour of The Hall’s grounds?’
‘Will we be going off piste?’ said Mancini.
‘Wellingtons and sticks will be provided.’
‘Count me in.’
‘Me too,’ said Macdonald.
‘When do we get to shoot something?’ said Weinberger.
‘My gamekeeper’s organised a shoot for tomorrow. He’s a big stag lined up for someone.’
‘I know where I’m going to hang the head … you got seize thirteen wellingtons? If you do you’ll be the first host who’s kitted out Jasper Weinberger with the right size footwear, ever.’
‘Sir Charles knows all our foot sizes,’ said Macdonald. ‘The British Secret Service tipped my valet on the Mary, only I tipped the guy more to find out why he was writing down my personal details … right, Sir Charles?’
‘To be a good host I have found it indispensable to know the shoe sizes of my guests.’
‘You take any more measurements?’ said O’Neil.
‘If any of you gentlemen should require a new suit while you are at The Hall, for whatever reason … falling into a ditch, an accident at the dinner table … my tailor has your measurements. From memory, Jasper, you have a thirty-four inch inside leg and a thirty-nine inch waist … you dress on the left side.’
‘Never knew that about you,’ said Mancini. He looked at the Texan’s crotch. ‘You sure?’
‘Big oil wells, big gonads, that’s what we say in Texas and my oil wells are big, don’t you ever go forgetting that … big.’
‘I’m afraid, O’Neil, I don’t have your particulars – your valet was incorruptible. He was Irish, I believe.’
‘Is it a crime to be Irish?’
‘Bribery, it would seem has brought us the possibility of gratis boots and suits,’ said Mancini.
‘But does the end justify the means?’ said Macdonald.
‘If Grandfather hadn’t bribed a bank manager with free ice cream there’d have been no bank loan … without the loan he wouldn’t have been able to expand, without the expansion I wouldn’t have gone to Harvard … if I hadn’t gone to Harvard I wouldn’t be here … I’d be selling ice cream.’
Spies on Bikes Page 10