by Hilary Green
Nick did a rapid calculation. ‘About that time! But apart from the fact that they were both at Oxford at the same time, what makes you think there was a connection?’
‘Wainwright didn’t give himself away, and he wasn’t found out through the usual security channels,’ said Stone. ‘He was stopped—by a woman; a student who was also his girl-friend. A woman who is referred to in the file simply as “Miss C.”’
Nick gazed at him for a moment in silence. ‘What put you on to this?’
‘I got to thinking, on the long, boring drive home. Didn’t it strike you that Pascoe knew more than he was telling us about why Leo left without completing her degree? So when I got back and found he was out and I had a few minutes to spare I got Penny in the computer room to turn up anything she could find with an Oxford connection during the relevant years—and she came up with this.’
‘So are you saying that Leo’s been working for Triple S ever since then?’
‘Could be.’
‘Does the file say what happened to “Miss C.”?’
‘That’s the really interesting bit,’ Stone said quietly. ‘It simply records that all further information has been transferred to a separate file, coded for the director or his deputy only.’
‘In other words, to a Triple S operative’s personal record file,’ Nick said.
‘Exactly!’ cut in a voice from the door. ‘A file to which you, quite rightly, have no access.’
They both rose and swung round to face Pascoe. His face was a mask.
‘Come through to my room,’ he said curtly, and turned on his heel.
They followed him in silence and stood waiting while he settled himself behind his desk and looked from one to the other. Nick saw the steely glint beneath the lowered eyelids and the telltale tightening of his partner’s jaw and prepared himself for a bumpy ride.
‘It is a pity,’ Pascoe began at length, ‘that you two have not been devoting the same detective powers to the operation in hand as you obviously have to the personal history of one of your fellow operatives. I’m quite sure that you, Stone, would be the first to insist that anything that may be known to me about an agent’s life prior to joining Triple S should be a matter of total confidence.’ Stone made a move as if to protest and Pascoe silenced him with a gesture. ‘I know, you are about to tell me that the computer record which you were studying was simply one of a previous operation and one to which your security coding gave you access without reference to any higher authority.’ He paused. ‘I am also prepared to admit that it was something which I let slip which first put you on to it. Nevertheless, in other circumstances I would simply tell you to let the matter drop there and make no further inquiries; but as it is—’ he paused again, as if reluctant to continue—‘I propose to tell you the rest of the story; not to satisfy your curiosity, but to protect her and to ensure, as far as I can, that neither of you open any old wounds by asking too many questions.’
He gestured to the two chairs in front of the desk. Stone and Marriot sat, glancing at each other uneasily.
‘I hope I don’t need to emphasize the fact that nothing I am going to tell you must ever be repeated,’ Pascoe went on. ‘And that neither of you must ever give the faintest sign to Leonora herself that you know any more than she may choose to tell you.’ They both nodded silently. Pascoe folded his hands in his usual manner in front of his chin and appeared for a moment to be collecting his thoughts.
‘Leonora went up to Oxford in 1972,’ he began. ‘She had an excellent academic record at school and every prospect of a brilliant career ahead of her. She came from a very respectable, middle-class family and had been educated at a fairly exclusive girls’ day-school. Her life up to that point had been, shall we say, sheltered. Shortly after going up she became involved with Wainwright who was, by all accounts, brilliant but highly unstable. They became lovers. Towards the beginning of her second year she began to suspect that he was passing secrets to the other side. Being the person she is, she said nothing but set about obtaining irrefutable proof. It took her until November. It so happened that a niece of mine had been a school friend of Leonora’s and that we had met once at my niece’s home. Leo knew that I had some connection with security, though not, of course, precisely what; but when she had her proof and wanted someone to pass it on to I suppose I must have seemed the obvious choice. She got my address from my niece and wrote me a letter setting out her grounds for suspicion and citing her proofs. It was a most impressive document. She posted it on a Thursday and when I received it on the Friday I immediately prepared to follow it up, though it wasn’t strictly speaking a Triple S matter. However, I was already too late. Apparently, on the Thursday evening she went to Wainwright’s laboratory, where he was working late, alone, and told him what she had done. It’s not hard to understand why. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to stand by and see thousands of lives put at risk. On the other hand, she had been, perhaps still was, in love with the man. She was giving him one faint chance of getting away. Unfortunately, as I said earlier, he was a very unstable character. Either he panicked, or it was a last spiteful attempt to punish her—I don’t know. He grabbed the nearest bottle of lethal chemical and managed to swallow enough of it to kill himself, though very far from instantly. The laboratory was empty, apart from the two of them. Leo screamed for help but it was some time before the caretaker heard her. There was nothing she could do but watch him die, a slow and agonizing death.’ Nick put the back of his hand against his mouth and pressed his lips very hard against it. He glanced at Stone, but his eyes were firmly fixed on the carpet between his feet.
‘It’s an ugly story,’ Pascoe said quietly, ‘but I’m afraid it gets worse. Three weeks later she realized that she was pregnant—she was carrying Wainwright’s child.’
There was a long silence. Stone got up abruptly and went to stand with his back to them, looking out of the window.
‘What did she do?’ Nick asked at length.
‘She gave up her university course and went abroad. All that winter she worked in a hotel in Switzerland. Came back speaking nearly perfect French and German and found a job as a translator which kept her going until the baby was born. It was offered for adoption—I believe she never even saw it. As soon as she was strong enough she went abroad again— Italy, Greece, Cyprus, Turkey, Israel, Egypt— doing a variety of jobs; waitress, nanny, companion-secretary. That’s how she knows the domestic service trade so well. She picked up the languages of all the countries she worked in, with half a dozen local dialects on the side. At the end of two years she felt able to think about a proper career again. She’d always had a love for acting and so she decided to come back to England and apply for a place at RADA. By the end of the course she was their star pupil, went straight into the Royal Shakespeare Company—and the rest is a matter of public record.’
‘Hardly that, surely,’ Stone said, turning away from the window. ‘What made her give up acting? And when did you recruit her into Triple S?’
‘That,’ said Pascoe firmly, ‘is a different story and one which…’
‘Which she only tells to particularly close friends…’ murmured Nick under his breath.
‘What was that?’ asked Pascoe.
‘Nothing,’ Nick said quickly. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Anyway,’ Pascoe resumed, ‘you will understand why she will never talk about that part of her life, and why you must never question her about it.’
Nick looked at Stone and then at Pascoe.
They both nodded. Stone started to speak and then had to stop and clear his throat.
‘You—you can rely on us, sir. Thank you for putting us in the picture.’
‘Well now,’ said Pascoe. ‘I hope you will be able to concentrate your minds on finding Stratos Zahran. Here is a list of suspected PLO sympathizers in London. Get out there and lean on them—hard!’
* * *
Late that night Leo called Pascoe on his personal line. ‘Nothing very definite, I
’m afraid,’ she said, ‘but I think we ought to follow it up. You’ve heard about this big exhibition that the Sports Council are organizing at Olympia—something to do with making the most of your increased leisure time?’
‘In other words, how to occupy the unemployed,’ Pascoe commented drily. ‘Yes, I read something about it. Why?’
‘There’s going to be a big reception tomorrow night to inaugurate it and Farnaby’s wangled himself an invitation. The curious thing is, Guy Farnaby feels faint at the prospect of anything more energetic than a strenuous game of backgammon. The only possible reason he could have for going is because there is going to be someone there he’s interested in. Can you get a sight of the guest list?’
‘Of course,’ Pascoe agreed. ‘Come in tomorrow morning and we’ll go through it.’
When Leo arrived the next morning Pascoe greeted her with,
‘I think we may be on to something. The powers that be obviously want to give this thing maximum publicity. The guest list for tonight is extremely high-powered. Apart from the usual sports celebrities and TV personalities there are representatives from practically every embassy in London, MPs from all parties and several members of the Government—including the Prime Minister and family.’
Leo met his eyes. ‘Sounds like Triple S ought to be represented too, don’t you think?’
Half an hour later Nick arrived in response to a summons from Control. Leo had already left.
‘Ah, Marriot,’ said Pascoe. ‘You had a fairly chequered career before you joined the police. Did you ever work as a waiter?’
Nick blinked. ‘Once or twice, for short periods.’
‘Good, then today should give you no problems. For the next twenty-four hours you are an employee of the Cavendish Domestic Agency. Report there for training straight away.’
Nick arrived at the agency whistling happily but if he had supposed that his ‘training’ would be a mere formality he was soon disillusioned. The Cavendish Agency worked on the principle that all its staff were of the highest possible calibre and Leo was not about to have its reputation spoiled by anyone, even a Triple S agent. Nick found himself handed over to a gentleman called Mr Burrows who had started life as an RSM and had then served as a butler in some of the most distinguished houses in the country and who now enlivened his retirement by taking on an occasional assignment for the Cavendish Agency. It was very soon made clear to Nick that his ideas of the correct behaviour for a waiter were not the same as Mr Burrows’s; and his discomfiture was not lessened by the fact that Helen, the blonde secretary, kept remarking that she was sure they had met before, somewhere. When Leo sent him out to get his hair cut it was almost the last straw.
He was considerably comforted, however, by the discovery that Leo would be working alongside him that evening.
‘I would have thought you’d be going along with Farnaby,’ he commented.
She shook her head. ‘It was made very clear to me last night that my presence was not required. He kept telling me how boring I should find it.’
‘It’s a bit risky for you to be there at all then, isn’t it?’ he objected. ‘Suppose he recognizes you.’
She grinned. ‘Don’t worry. By the time I’m ready even you won’t recognize me.’
‘Do you fancy taking a small bet on that?’ he asked, laughing.
‘All right.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘How about the same amount as you won off Stone the other day when we first met?’
‘You don’t miss much, do you,’ he marvelled, still laughing. ‘OK. You’re on—a fiver.’
They agreed to meet in the booking-hall of the tube station, since Leo pointed out that people who went out to earn extra money as casual waiters did not normally arrive for work in a posh motor—or even in a taxi. Nick arrived a few minutes before the appointed time and looked around him. The booking-hall was empty except for a dark-haired woman in a rather short black skirt and a cheap fake fur coat standing with her back to him apparently studying a map on the wall. Nick grinned to himself and moved over towards her. The height was right, if you allowed for those ridiculously high heels; and that hair was surely a wig. He closed in behind her and cleared his throat.
‘Excuse me, madam, but I think you owe me five pounds.’
‘You what?’
She turned and he found himself staring into opaque brown eyes. Under the thick make-up he could see that the skin was sallow and the eyelids puffy and discoloured, and when she smiled the teeth were stained with nicotine. He stepped back sharply.
‘I’m sorry! I thought you were somebody else. Sorry…’
He beat a hasty retreat and paced up and down the far side of the booking-hall, watching the up escalator and praying for Leo to arrive. Five minutes passed. He reflected that he would not have expected her to be unpunctual. Then he saw that the woman was coming towards him and his heart sank at the thought that she was going to try and pick him up. She took a cigarette out of a case as she approached and put it between her lips.
‘Got a light, love?’ The voice was throaty and the articulation slack.
‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘I don’t smoke.’
She took the cigarette out of her mouth and smiled and for the first time he noticed the sweet curve of the lips.
‘No,’ she said softly, ‘nor do I unless I’m absolutely forced to.’
‘Leo?’ he said incredulously.
‘I think you owe me five pounds,’ she replied.
‘But it’s unbelievable!’ he exclaimed. ‘How do you do it?’
‘Tricks of the trade, love,’ she said with a grin. ‘But of course the contact lenses are the most vital part. Come on, we’re going to be late.’
Once again Nick found that working for Cavendish was not an easy option. He had assumed that all he would have to do was wander round with a tray of drinks and keep his eyes open; but the manager from the catering company who were in charge of the refreshments for the reception had no idea that Nick and Leo were any different from the other casual help which had been employed from various sources and Nick soon found himself set to work unpacking and polishing glasses. Once the guests began to arrive he was busier than ever and it seemed that every time he paused to have a look round the manager appeared at his elbow and demanded to know why he was standing about when there were people without a glass in their hands. At last, when the first rush was over and he was able to draw breath, he spotted Leo standing by one of the buffet tables. As he made his way towards her he thought how completely right she looked with the neat little white apron over the slightly too short dress and her air of tawdry sophistication.
Just as he reached her there was a flurry of activity by the main entrance as the Prime Minister’s party arrived. Under cover of the general hubbub Nick said,
‘Spotted anything?’
Leo shook her head. ‘If Zahran’s here then I haven’t seen him. Mind you, with this many people around it wouldn’t be hard to miss him.’
‘Well,’ Nick said, ‘the building has been searched, and Stone and his team are covering all the entrances and watching it all on closed- circuit TV, so they may spot anything we’ve missed. Where’s Farnaby?’
‘Over there,’ Leo said, nodding. ‘With that little bunch of TV celebrities. If you want to find Farnaby just look for someone with a name. He can’t resist anyone rich or famous. That’s why he likes to be seen around with me. Look, I daren’t get too close, just in case. Why don’t you wander over and see if you can pick up anything?’
Nick did as she suggested. It was not easy to overhear any one conversation in the general noise but by straining his ears he managed to pick up the general drift of what was being said. There was nothing in it of any significance, as far as he could tell. Before long he saw the manager heading in his direction again and decided he had better get on with handing round the drinks. A little later he passed Leo.
‘Have you noticed who Farnaby’s latched onto now?’ she murmured.
Nick
looked round. ‘Who?’
‘On the left there.’
Nick frowned at the fair-haired young man who had joined the group. ‘I know the face, but I’m damned if I can think who he is.’
Leo clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘You haven’t been doing your homework. That, my unobservant friend, is the PM’s son. Better keep an eye on them.’
Nick managed to hover in the general area of the little group for the next half-hour or so. The young man seemed to find Farnaby very congenial and Nick had the impression that Farnaby was deliberately setting out to charm him, but at length he rejoined the Prime Minister and shortly afterwards the party left. That was the sign for the gathering to begin to break up. Nick heaved a sigh of relief and became aware that his feet were aching. It struck him that Stone had had the best job, watching the whole thing on TV. At least he would have been able to sit down. Sitting down seemed like a good idea, but he had hardly formulated it when he found himself hard at work again, collecting glasses, drying them and repacking them. It was another hour before he and Leo finally made their way back to the tube station. She smiled at him.
‘Fancy a nightcap?’
‘I don’t know about a nightcap,’ he commented. ‘I could do with a bloody good meal. I’m starving.’
‘Well, I expect there’s something in the freezer,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘This time I’ll take you out.’
‘Looking like this?’ she queried ironically.
‘I don’t give a damn how you look,’ he said.
‘Give me five minutes,’ she said, and disappeared into the ladies’ room.
This time he was prepared for the transformation but he would still hardly have recognized her if it had not been for the fact that she was still wearing the cheap coat. The wig had gone, and the contact lenses, and the thick make-up had disappeared. She looked fresh and scrubbed and very appealing. He caught her hand.
‘To hell with the tube. Let’s get a taxi.’
He took her to his favourite Italian restaurant in the Kings Road and took pleasure in watching her tuck into polio alia cacciatora. He knew that if he had brought her here as Leonora Carr the waiters would have been falling over themselves and people at the other tables would have been watching them and asking each other who he was; but he preferred her like this, with her short hair tousled and her face almost without make-up. Over the zabaglione he said,