In the event I chose Ethiopia. My aunt came to see me towards the end of my stint, after which we travelled overland to Kenya, to her country. We never talked about Cuba again. When I read her 1962 journal – particularly the entries describing her adventures there – I was struck afresh by how little I knew of her life. That she had been to a country without me knowing, and also lied – or misled – me about having done so, was at first an unpalatable shock. It was a sensation that would become familiar to me as I read the rest of her diaries. In time the shock dimmed to mild surprise, mingled with amusement and not a little envy: she had been present at many of the turning points in recent history – events that I am constrained to study through other people’s words.
As my research continued, the events about which she wrote and the characters she wrote of became more familiar to me. I felt I knew them – certainly I knew things about many of them that they would never suspect. I was filled with an urge to meet whomever I could. One weekend I unearthed the photographs that Mark had taken at Aunt Jane’s memorial service and spread them across the floor. I looked at them carefully, one by one, but somewhat to my surprise there were few faces I could immediately identify. I had a list of names complied from the signatures – those I could decipher – in the book of commemoration that most people had signed after the service. I wrote each name on a Post-it note, then spent the next hour sticking them on to the photographs, shuffling them around until I thought I had a name to match the face. It was like a game of Pelmanism. Only, without a key, I had no idea which matches were correct.
There was one photograph that I kept going back to. I was almost certain it was Bill Tanner. I remembered him squeezing my arms as he said goodbye, telling me that he remembered Aunt Jane’s tears of joy when I was born. I remembered that he had given me a card and told me to keep in touch. But did I still have it? If I did, it would be in the file I kept while organising the service, which was probably in a box in the garage. The next weekend, I found it: Colonel Bill Tanner, The Old Rectory, Lattoe, Wiltshire. But would he still be there? The photograph showed a slim man in his mid-to-late sixties. Fourteen years had passed; he was probably eighty, if not older.
I kept the card by the telephone for a week. I don’t know what was stopping me from dialling his number. If there was anyone I wanted to meet at that moment in time, it was Bill Tanner. I would have traded dinner with Shakespeare, Mandela and Sam Shepard for the chance. Tanner had worked alongside my aunt for more than twenty years; every document M saw was co-signed ‘CoS’, or Chief of Staff; he had been Bond’s closest friend in the service. If anyone could unlock the remaining secrets in my aunt’s diaries it would be him.
Finally, and with some trepidation, I called the number. A clear voice answered on the third ring: ‘Tanner.’ No sooner had I introduced myself than I had an invitation – perhaps it would be more accurate to say an exhortation – to tea on the coming Saturday, along with military-style directions to his house.
I was greeted with extraordinary warmth and ushered into a long room, crammed with faded velvet furniture. Sun streamed through the French windows, highlighting the dust shimmying through the air. The coat of arms of 42 Company, Royal Engineers, was displayed with pride over the mantelpiece. A fat black Labrador lay dozing in front of the fire. Bill Tanner appeared younger than I had expected, spry, with clear blue eyes and an infectious laugh. ‘You mean to say your aunt kept a diary the whole time she was with us?’ he chuckled. ‘She was always a dark horse. Penny Moneypenny – M would have cut off her hands had he known!’ And he laughed some more. When I explained I was considering publishing the diaries, he looked a little more serious. ‘I don’t know what the Official Secrets Act would say about that,’ he said. ‘But, then again, they can’t prosecute your aunt, and I shouldn’t think they’d bother with you. Look at what’s happening now – websites, autobiographies, official histories and the like. Go for it, girl. Show them what we did. It was a lot more fun then than it is now, I can assure you.’
Tanner’s memory for detail was impressive, as I was to learn during subsequent visits to his Wiltshire rectory, when he revealed yet another perspective on the events described in my aunt’s diaries. Over frequent lunches in the officers’ canteen, Bond had apparently related his exploits in vibrant detail that Tanner was happy to relay to me – once he had taken that first step away from the world of secrets. But he did not forget himself completely; when I asked Bond’s true name, he just smiled and winked. ‘Couldn’t possibly tell you,’ he said. ‘More than my life’s worth.’
‘Does that mean he’s still alive?’
Tanner shook his head again. ‘Mum to that too, I’m ’fraid. Wouldn’t want you beating down too many doors.’
But he was happy to look through the memorial-service photographs, identifying his old colleagues and chuckling occasionally as he recalled some anecdote about them. ‘Lost touch with most of them. Sad really.’ He shook his head. ‘We were held together by that place. When the bond was broken, we scattered.’ He pointed to a tall, well-groomed woman with rows of pearls around her neck. ‘That’s Loelia, your aunt’s old best friend. Married an Hon and ended up a duchess when his cousin died. Frightfully grand. She died last year. Mary’s still in Jamaica, I believe.’ He picked up a picture of a smiling lady with faded blonde hair. ‘Always get a card from her at Christmas. Boothroyd went soon after your aunt, I believe. He always had a soft spot for her. Look at him there – he must have been close to a hundred. I do believe that’s Melinda, the Old Man’s niece. She was always going to be a looker. I wonder what’s become of her. She can’t be more than thirty-five now.’ As I looked at the photograph, I remembered her asking me at the service whether my aunt had kept the fourteen-pounder shell in which her uncle used to keep his pipe and tobacco. She had of course, and it is on my desk now as I write this.
‘Was Bond there?’ I asked. He shook his head. ‘As far as I can recall there was no one from the Double-O section. Certainly there are no photographs of them. 006 was in South Africa already – he started up a security company there. Don’t know what’s become of him. And 009 bought a farm on the Welsh border. I think he’s still alive. Possibly lecturing at Hereford. Now, how else can I help you?’
I asked about Caballo. ‘I’ve been able to find no confirmation of his existence,’ I told him. ‘There’s nothing at all in the American files, and even in Bond’s reports the name of the CIA source has been redacted.’ Tanner responded without hesitation: ‘Yes, I remember him. It was all top secret. Eyes Only, read-and-burn stuff. The Cousins insisted. He was their only source, and he was not going to be compromised. But then Penny and James came along and blew the whole thing sky high. What a fuss that caused. Meetings with the American ambassador, letters to and from the White House and Downing Street. Whoa, they caused a stink. But I hate to think what would have happened if they hadn’t.
‘Your aunt was a truly remarkable woman, you know.’ For once, his face was serious, his eyes perhaps a little misted. ‘I miss her every day.’
Friday, 2nd November
M returned from lunch with Molony, then called for Bill. They spent an hour together, and when Bill came out he asked if I knew where 007 was. ‘M called him on the red phone, but Mary answered. If you see him, tell him to speak to the Old Man urgently.’ I thought that when I did see him, I would tell him more than that.
An hour later, 007 walked into the room, looking as if he’d just mounted the steps to the gallows. ‘You can go in,’ I told him, making no effort to conceal my anger. I’m not sure he noticed. He squared his shoulders, looked at the padded baize door to M’s office almost as if he thought it was going to bite him, then reached for the handle, walked through and closed the door behind him. Whatever he’s done now, I hoped this wasn’t the end of the road for him.
He was in there for nearly an hour, after which I heard M buzz through to Bill. ‘Chief of Staff? What number have you allotted to 007?’
‘7777, sir.
’
‘Right. He’s coming to see you straight away.’
I was surprised. A four-figure number indicated promotion, but I didn’t recognise the 7 prefix. I looked through the open door to Bill’s desk, but he had his head down, busy shuffling papers.
Then M’s door opened and James walked through with a smile on his face. He came straight over to my desk and bent down and kissed me on the cheek. I didn’t know whether to kiss him back or slap him. I put my hand to my cheek as he said, ‘Dinner tonight, Penny?’
‘Sorry,’ I told him. ‘I’m going straight to Cambridge. It’s my sister’s birthday.’
‘What a shame. Then be an angel and ring down to Mary and tell her she’s got to get out of whatever she’s doing tonight. I’m taking her out to dinner. Scott’s. Tell her we’ll have grouse and pink champagne. Celebration.’
‘What of?’ I asked, relieved and surprised that he was still with us; I’d been convinced that M had summoned him to strip him of his number, at the least.
‘Oh I don’t know.’ He crossed the room to Bill’s office and firmly closed the door.
I picked up the inter-office phone and called down to Mary. She was thrilled. ‘I do think he’s all right again, Mary,’ I told her. ‘Heaven knows what M’s been saying to him. He had lunch with Molony today. Don’t tell James that. But it may have had something to do with it. He’s with the Chief of Staff now. And Bill said he wasn’t to be disturbed. Sounds like some kind of job. Bill was very mysterious.’
Later that evening, I heard that 007 – as I will always think of him – had gone from Bill’s to see Colonel Johnson at Section J.1 James in Japan? On the surface it seems unlikely.
Friday, 9th November
007 left today. He popped by my office to say goodbye, but when I asked where he was going, he just smiled and shook his head. And we shared a submersible together! I thought we had developed a kinship – if that’s the appropriate word – beyond what we’d had before. A bond forged by shared peril. But then, I suppose, he has been through it all before, many times. For him, Cuba was just another on a long list of assignments in dangerous corners of the world. And now it’s on to the next.
I suppose I’ll find out what he’s up to when his reports start coming in, and as long as his spirits are up, I’m happy. I wished him luck and a safe and speedy return.
Monday, 12th November
M called me into his office this morning. There was a tall man with him, dressed in an aggressively pin-striped three-piece suit with a carnation in his buttonhole and a bowler hat on the chair beside him. I had him pegged as an American before he even opened his mouth. ‘Miss Jane Moneypenny, it is an honour to meet you, ma’am,’ he said, his moustache ends twitching. ‘May I, sir?’ M nodded. ‘On behalf of the American people, our President has commanded me to offer you the award of the Orange Star,2 in recognition of your actions in Cuba which’, and he nodded his head importantly, ‘made no small contribution to the successful resolution of the … er … situation over there.’
I didn’t know what to say. That this cartoon character was offering me a medal for bravery seemed absurd. I turned to M for help. He gave me one of the rare smiles that lit up his face. ‘On behalf of Miss Moneypenny, I would like to thank you for a great honour. Your country is our country’s greatest friend and ally and it is a privilege to provide you with any small assistance. However, and with regret, I’m afraid we cannot accept this great distinction.3 Please, however, convey thanks from myself, Miss Moneypenny and the Commander, who, as I said earlier, is out of the country at present.’ I managed to stammer my thanks before, with an exaggerated salute, the American made his farewells and left.
I can’t pretend that I was unmoved by the recognition, though what would I have done with an Orange Star? I think it came at a good time for M too – he had to brief the CIA London station chief about Prenderghast last week. Bill said he was despairing at whether we’d ever be trusted by the Cousins again. McCone’s already cut us off from the Pacific traffic.4 Hopefully, he won’t impose blanket radio silence, but that will depend, I suppose, on whether we manage to convince them that we’ve plugged all the leaks.
Tuesday, 13th November
James is in Japan – he cabled Mary via Melbourne giving his current address. I wonder what he’s doing there? For once, the Powder Vine is in the dark; only M and Bill seem to know and they’re not telling.
Friday, 16th November
007 sent a signal to M marked Eyes Only that Bill nabbed as soon as it came in. ‘Don’t worry about that one, Penny,’ he said. ‘My desk is fairly clear and the old fingers could do with the exercise.’ Why all the secrecy?
Whatever the signal contained, it must have been explosive.5 Bill rushed straight into M’s office and within minutes the OM was on the hot-line to Downing Street. Then, this afternoon, we were honoured with a visit from the Minister himself. M has cancelled his plans to go to Quarterdeck tonight and says he’s staying in London ‘to catch up on things’. When I asked if he needed my help, he said not.
Sunday, 18th November
The nightmare is returning, just when I’d begun to sleep easily again. Helena came up for the weekend and I took her to a gallery opening on Albemarle Street. It was an exhibition of photographs from Kenya – of painted people rather than animals, really quite good. We were going to the bar to get a glass of wine when I saw him. I grabbed Helena’s arm and tried to turn around. But I wasn’t quick enough. He’d seen us and started walking over. My first instinct was to run, but then I remembered Bill and his despair over the colander.
I just had time to nudge Helena before he reached us. ‘Hello, Jane. I was hoping to run into you,’ he said.
I didn’t look at Helena when I introduced him – I didn’t want to see her expression when she realised who he was. But I needn’t have worried. She calmly shook his hand and smiled.
‘It’s good to meet you, David,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ I dug my elbow into her ribs as she continued. ‘You’re a fellow Brahms-lover, I understand.’
They started chatting away about music and art and Africa, and I was left to gaze around the room. I could see Zach trying to catch my eye, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
Eventually, Helena ran out of steam. She drained her glass and held it out in front of her, expectantly. But Zach didn’t take the hint, so I drained mine too. ‘Thanks, Helena, I’d love another one.’ She looked at me rather quizzically, but I smiled and nodded. As soon as she turned away, Zach took my arm. ‘We’ve got to talk,’ he said. ‘I’ll telephone next weekend.’ I said I’d look forward to it. Then he asked me to say goodbye to Helena for him and slipped off through the crowd.
When she came back, she raised her eyebrows and I shook my head. ‘Are all spies that attractive?’ was all she had to say.
Monday, 19th November
I tried to talk to Bill today, but he was running back and forth between M’s office and the Ministry. It transpires that the Russians staged another test explosion at Novaya Zemlya yesterday. The force of this one was felt almost 3,000 miles away, in Athens. Moscow confirmed later that it had been a 200-megaton bomb – four times the size of Tsar Bomba and tens of thousands of times the force of the bomb detonated at Hiroshima.
There was an immediate public uproar. By mid-afternoon, Trafalgar Square was thronged with peace campaigners, led by the CND.6 On the news later, I heard that there had been similar spontaneous demonstrations of outrage around the Western world.
For some reason, the explosion came as no surprise to M. As soon as the news came through, he ordered Bill to set ‘Operation Redress’ in action, before calling Downing Street and his opposite number in the Security Service. By the end of the day, reports were coming in to the effect that all Soviet personnel in the UK had been confined within a radius of twenty miles of their homes, while the Embassy, various consulates and trading offices were being visibly protected by armed police.
Before
I left this evening, M asked me to send a cable to 007, care of Melbourne:
CONGRATULATIONS ON MAGIC PRODUCT7 STOP GREATLY APPRECIATED THANKS DUE TO THE TIGER8 STOP KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK SIGNED M
It was as close to a pat on the back as I have seen him give – particularly at a distance of 6,000 miles. It is too much of a coincidence that it came on the same day as the Russian bomb.9 Well done, James – it sounds as if he is indeed back on form. I look forward to his return.
Thursday, 22nd November
A chance, at last, to speak to Bill. I collared him as he was heading to the canteen and persuaded him to come for a sandwich with me instead. We squeezed behind the tiny table at the back of Franco’s and I looked at my cheese and tomato on wholewheat bread (no more ham and strong mustard for me) and told him that I’d seen Zach again. ‘He’s going to call me this weekend. I didn’t want to speak to him until I’d had a chance to consult you. What do I do?’
Bill took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it carefully before replying. ‘It would be very helpful to us if we could get him. We’ll need every shred of evidence to convict Prenderghast, and if this Zach can bring anything to the table, then it would be most useful. That’s assuming, of course, that he was the contact in this case. It doesn’t sound like Zach himself is a seasoned operator, but it might be as well to get him off the scene now. I think the natural thing would be for you to organise a meet. Would you be prepared to do it at your place? Then we can get in beforehand to mike it up and be standing by to pick him up when he leaves.’
My first instinct was to refuse, but then I told myself not to be silly. Z knows where I live and he’s probably already told whomever he’s reporting to, so it wouldn’t make much of a difference. I made Bill promise there would be someone standing by, in case anything goes wrong. He seemed relieved. ‘Atta girl! I’ll get going on this and then we’ll meet a couple of days beforehand to run through what you’re going to say. I’ll bring Dorothy up to speed, and have a talk to Q Branch about getting one of their gadget men on to it. All you have to do for the meantime is to answer the telephone.’
Moneypenny Diaries: Guardian Angel Page 21