“Good luck,” she whispered, and was gone before he had time to thank her. He watched as she disappeared into the crowd, not sure what was going to happen next. He had to grip the sides of his chair to stop himself trembling.
The ten minutes seemed an eternity. And then he spotted her walking between the tables toward him. She was wearing the same dark suit as his erstwhile companion, an identical red scarf, and black high-heeled shoes, but that was where the similarity ended. Karin sat down beside him, but said nothing. Interpreters don’t hold real conversations, she had once told him.
Giles wanted to take her in his arms, feel the warmth of her body, her gentle touch, smell her perfume, but she remained detached, professional, giving nothing away, nothing that would draw attention to how he felt about her.
Once everyone had resumed their places and coffee had been served, the chairman rose for a second time and only had to tap the microphone once before the audience fell silent.
“It is my privilege as your host to introduce our speaker today, one of the world’s great statesmen, a man who has single-handedly…” When the chairman sat down twenty minutes later, Giles could only wonder how long the general secretary’s speech was going to be.
Honecker began by thanking all the foreign delegates and distinguished journalists who had traveled from many parts of the world to hear his speech.
“That’s not the reason I came,” murmured Giles.
Karin ignored the comment and faithfully continued to translate the general secretary’s words. “I am delighted to welcome you all to East Germany,” said Karin, “a beacon of civilization which is a benchmark for all those nations who aspire to emulate us.”
“I want to touch you,” whispered Giles.
“I am proud to announce that in East Germany we enjoy full employment,” said Karin. A smattering of applause from some well-placed apparatchiks allowed the general secretary to pause and turn another page of his thick script.
“There’s so much I want to talk to you about, but I realize it will have to wait.”
“In particular, our farming program is an example of how to use the land to benefit those most in need.”
“Stop staring at me, Sir Giles,” whispered Karin, “and concentrate on the leader’s words.”
Reluctantly Giles turned his attention back to Honecker, and tried to look engrossed.
“Our hospitals are the envy of the West,” said Karin, “and our doctors and nurses the most highly qualified in the world.”
Giles turned back, just for a moment, only to be greeted with, “Let me now turn to the construction industry, and the inspiring work our first-class engineers are doing building new homes, factories, bridges, roads…”
“Not to mention walls,” said Giles.
“Be careful, Sir Giles. You must assume every other person in this room is a spy.”
He knew Karin was right. The masks must remain in place until they had crossed the border and reached the freedom of the West.
“The Communist vision is being taken up by millions of comrades across the globe—in Cuba, Argentina, France and even Great Britain, where membership of the Communist Party doubled last year.”
Giles joined in the orchestrated applause, although he knew it had halved.
When he could bear it no longer, he turned and gave Karin a bored glance, and was rewarded with a stern look, which kept him going for another fifteen minutes.
“Our military might, supported by Mother Russia, has no equal, making it possible for us to face any challenge…”
Giles thought he would burst, and not with applause. How much longer could this rubbish go on, and how many people present were taken in by it? It was an hour and a half before Honecker finally sat down, having delivered a speech that seemed to Giles to rival Wagner’s Ring Cycle in length, with none of the opera’s virtues.
What Giles hadn’t been prepared for was the fifteen-minute standing ovation that followed Honecker’s speech, kept alight by several planted apparatchiks and henchmen who had probably enjoyed the cake and custard. Finally the general secretary left the stage, but he was held up again and again as he shook hands with enthusiastic delegates, while the applause continued even after he’d left the hall.
“What a remarkable speech,” said the former Italian minister, whose name Giles still couldn’t remember.
“That’s one way of describing it,” said Giles, grinning at Karin, who scowled back at him. Giles realized that the Italian was looking at him closely. “A remarkable feat of oratory,” he added, “but I’ll need to read it carefully to make sure I didn’t miss any key points.” A copy of Honecker’s speech was immediately thrust into Giles’s hands, which only reminded him how vigilant he needed to be. His remarks seemed to satisfy the Italian, who was distracted when another delegate marched up to him, gave him a bear hug and said, “How are you, Gian Lucio?”
“So what happens now?” whispered Giles.
“We wait to be escorted back to the bus. But it’s important that you continue to look as if you were impressed by the speech, so please make sure to keep complimenting your hosts.”
Giles turned away from Karin and began shaking hands with several European politicians who Griff Haskins would have refused to share a pint with.
Giles couldn’t believe it. Someone actually blew a whistle to attract the attention of the foreign delegates. They were then rounded up and, like unruly schoolchildren, led back to the bus.
When all thirty-two passengers were safely on board and had once again been counted, the bus, accompanied by four police motorcycle outriders, their sirens blaring, began its slow journey back to the border.
He was about to take Karin’s hand, when a voice behind him said, “It’s Sir Giles Barrington, isn’t it?” Giles looked around to see a face he recognized, although he couldn’t recall the name.
“Keith Brookes.”
“Ah yes,” said Giles, “the Telegraph. Good to see you again, Keith.”
“As you’re representing the Labour Party, Sir Giles, can I assume you still hope to return to frontline politics?”
“I try to keep in touch,” said Giles, not wanting to hold a lengthy conversation with a journalist.
“I’m sorry you didn’t stand at the by-election,” said Brookes. “Fielding seems a nice enough chap, but I miss your contributions from the front bench.”
“There wasn’t much sign of that when I was in the House.”
“Not the paper’s policy, as you well know, but you have your admirers on the news desk, including Bill Deedes, because I can tell you we all feel the present bunch of shadow ministers are pretty colorless.”
“It’s fashionable to say that about every new generation of politicians.”
“Still, if you do decide to make a comeback, give me a call.” He handed Giles a card. “You just might be surprised by our attitude to your second coming,” he added before resuming his place.
“He seemed nice enough,” said Karin.
“You can never trust the Torygraph,” said Giles, placing the card in his wallet.
“Are you thinking of making a comeback?”
“It wouldn’t be that easy.”
“Because of me?” said Karin, taking his hand as the coach came to a halt at a barrier just a few hundred yards from freedom. He would have replied, but the door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air.
Three uniformed officers climbed on board again. Giles was relieved to see that the morning shift had clearly changed. As they began slowly and meticulously checking every passport and visa, Giles suddenly remembered. He whipped out his wallet, retrieved the small photo of Karin and quickly handed it to her. She cursed under her breath, took her passport out of her bag and, with the help of a nail file, began to carefully peel off the morning’s photograph.
“How could I have forgotten?” Karin whispered, as she used the same small tube of glue to fix her own photograph back in place.
“My fault, not yours,”
said Giles, peering down the aisle to keep a watchful eye on the guards’ slow progress. “Let’s just be thankful that we aren’t sitting at the front of the bus.”
The guards were still a couple of rows away by the time Karin had completed the transfer. Giles turned to see that she was shaking, and gripped her firmly by the hand. Fortunately, the guards were taking far longer to check each name than they had when he’d entered the country, because despite Honecker’s boastful claims, the wall proved that more people wanted to get out of East Germany than get in.
When a young officer appeared by their side, Giles nonchalantly handed over his passport. After the guard had turned a few pages and checked the Englishman’s visa, he handed it back and put a tick by Giles’s name. Not as bad as he’d feared.
As the guard opened Karin’s passport, Giles noticed that her photograph was slightly askew. The young lieutenant took his time studying the details, date of birth, next of kin—at least this time they were accurate. Giles prayed that he wouldn’t ask her where she lived in England. However, when he did begin to question her, it quickly became clear from his tone of voice that he wasn’t convinced by her answers. Giles didn’t know what to do. Any attempt to intervene would only draw even more attention to them. The guard barked an order, and Karin rose slowly from her place. Giles was about to protest, when Brookes leapt up from behind them and began taking photographs of the young officer. The other two guards immediately charged forward to join their colleague. One grabbed the camera and ripped out the film, while the other two dragged Brookes unceremoniously off the coach.
“He did that on purpose,” said Karin, who was still shaking. “But why?”
“Because he’d worked out who you are.”
“What will happen to him?” asked Karin, sounding anxious.
“He’ll spend the night in jail and then be deported back to England. He’ll never be allowed to return to East Germany. Not much of a punishment, and well worth it for an exclusive.”
Giles became aware that everyone on the bus was now looking in their direction, while trying to work out, in several tongues, what had just happened. Gian Lucio beckoned to Giles that he and Karin should join him at the front of the coach. Another risk, but one Giles felt was worth taking.
“Follow me,” said Giles.
They took the two empty seats across the aisle from Gian Lucio, and Giles was explaining to the former minister what had happened when two of the guards reappeared, but not the one who’d questioned Karin. He was probably having to explain to a higher authority why he’d dragged a Western journalist off the bus. The two guards moved to the back of the coach and quickly checked the few remaining passports and visas. Someone must have explained to them that they didn’t need a diplomatic incident on the day the supreme leader had made a ground-breaking speech.
Giles continued chatting to Gian Lucio as if they were old friends while one of the officers did another head count. Thirty-one. He stood to attention and saluted, then he and his colleagues climbed off the bus. As the door closed behind them the passengers broke into a spontaneous round of applause for the first time that day.
The coach drove a couple of hundred yards across no-man’s land, an acre of bare wasteland that neither country laid claim to, before coming to a halt in the American sector. Karin was still shaking when a US marine sergeant stepped onto the bus.
“Welcome back,” he said in a voice that sounded as if he meant it.
11
“IS THIS WHAT politicians in the East mean, when they describe the West as decadent?”
“Decadent?” said Giles, pouring Karin another glass of champagne.
“Staying in your hotel room until eleven o’clock in the morning and then ordering breakfast in bed.”
“Certainly not,” said Giles. “If it’s eleven o’clock, it’s no longer breakfast, but brunch, and therefore quite acceptable.”
Karin laughed as she sipped her champagne. “I just can’t believe I’ve escaped and will finally be reunited with my father. Will you come and visit us in Cornwall?”
“No, I intend to give you a job in London as my housekeeper.”
“Ah, Professor Higgins.”
“But your English is already perfect and, don’t forget, they didn’t have sex.”
“They would have done if Shaw was writing today.”
“And the play would have ended with them getting married,” said Giles, taking her in his arms.
“What time’s our flight?”
“Three twenty.”
“Good, then we have more than enough time,” said Karin, as her hotel dressing gown fell to the floor, “to rewrite the last act of Pygmalion.”
* * *
The last time Giles had been greeted by a bank of television cameras, photographers and journalists on returning to England was when it had looked as if he might be the next leader of the Labour Party.
As he and Karin walked down the aircraft steps, Giles placed an arm around her shoulder and guided her gently through the assembled pack of journalists.
“Karin! Karin! What’s it feel like to have escaped from East Germany?” shouted a voice as the cameras flashed, and the television crews tried to stay a yard ahead of them while walking backward.
“Say nothing,” said Giles firmly.
“Has Sir Giles proposed to you, Miss Pengelly?”
“Will you be standing for Parliament again, Sir Giles?”
“Are you pregnant, Karin?”
Karin, looking flustered, glared at the journalist and said, “No, I am not!”
“Can you be sure after last night?” whispered Giles.
Karin smiled, and was about to kiss him on the cheek when he turned toward her and their lips brushed for a brief moment, but that was the photograph that appeared on most front pages, as they discovered over breakfast the following morning.
* * *
“Keith Brookes has been as good as his word,” said Karin, looking up from the Telegraph.
“I agree, surprisingly generous. And the leader even more so.”
“The leader?”
“An editorial opinion on one of the leading stories of the day.”
“Ah. We never used to get those on our side of the wall. All the papers delivered the same message, written by a party spokesman, and printed by the editor, if he hopes to keep his job.”
“That would make life easier,” said Giles, as Markham appeared carrying a rack of warm toast, which he placed on the table.
“Is Markham decadent?” asked Karin once the butler had closed the door behind him.
“He certainly is,” said Giles. “I know for a fact he votes Conservative.”
Giles was reading the Times’s leader when the phone rang. Markham reappeared. “It’s Mr. Harold Wilson on the line, sir,” he said, handing him the phone.
“Is he going to send me back?” said Karin.
Giles wasn’t sure if she was joking. “Good morning, Harold.”
“Good morning, Giles,” said an unmistakable Yorkshire voice. “I wondered if you could find the time to drop into the Commons today as there’s something I need to discuss with you.”
“When would be convenient?” asked Giles.
“I’ve got a gap in my diary at eleven, if that would suit you.”
“I’m sure that’s fine, Harold, but can I check?”
“Of course.”
Giles placed a hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Karin, when’s your father expected?”
“Around ten, but I’ll have to buy some clothes before then.”
“We can go shopping this afternoon,” said Giles. He removed his hand and said, “I’ll see you in the Commons at eleven, Harold.”
“And what am I expected to wear until then?” Karin asked once he’d put the phone down.
The butler coughed.
“Yes, Markham?”
“Mrs. Clifton always leaves a change of clothes in the guest bedroom, sir, in case of an emergency.”
&
nbsp; “This is unquestionably an emergency,” said Giles, taking Karin by the hand and leading her out of the room.
“Won’t she object?” asked Karin as they climbed the stairs to the first floor.
“It’s difficult to object to something you don’t know about.”
“Perhaps you should call her?”
“I have a feeling Emma might be doing something a little more important than worrying about which clothes she left in London,” said Giles as he opened the door to the guest bedroom.
Karin pulled open a large wardrobe to find not one, but several suits and dresses, not to mention a rack of shoes she would never have seen in a worker’s cooperative.
“Come and join me downstairs once you’re ready,” said Giles. He spent the next forty minutes trying to finish the morning papers, while being regularly interrupted by phone calls offering congratulations or trying to arrange interviews. He even found the odd moment to speculate about why Harold Wilson wanted to see him.
“Mr. Clifton is on the line, sir,” said Markham, passing him the phone once again.
“Harry, how are you?”
“I’m fine, but having read the morning papers, I’m just calling to find out how you are after escaping from the Germans a second time.”
Giles laughed. “Never better.”
“I presume being reunited with Miss Pengelly is the cause of you sounding so pleased with yourself.”
“Got it in one. As well as being beautiful, Karin’s the most delightful, kind, thoughtful and considerate creature I’ve ever met.”
“Isn’t it a little early to be making such an unequivocal judgment?” suggested Harry.
“No. This time, I’ve really struck gold.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. And how do you feel about the press describing you as a cross between Richard Hannay and Douglas Bader?”
“I see myself more as Heathcliff,” said Giles, laughing.
“So when are we going to be allowed to meet this paragon?”
“We’ll be driving down to Bristol on Friday evening, so if you and Emma are free for lunch on Saturday—”
“Sebastian’s coming down on Saturday, and Emma’s hoping to talk to him about taking over as chairman. But you’re welcome to join us.”
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