'Gavin, dear boy - ' Old Mr Willis levered himself to his feet again ' - she has a hockey Blue, from a year in which her dark blue trounced your light blue.'

  'I beg your pardon, Miss Loftus.' Only his complexion saved him from blushing. 'Then you'll know that no one passes to the wing in such games, of course.' He paused. 'So Haddock said I must ask for my old position, as fullback. And then, when I got the ball in the open, I was to run with it. And if I had to kick it, I was to kick ahead, not into touch -

  and kick so high, and follow up so fast, that when the ball came down I would be there.'

  'And that, Miss Loftus, is the secret of making your first million before you attain your thirty-first year,' said Mr Willis. 'Right, Gavin?'

  dummy2

  'You are an old bastard, Wimpy!' Gavin Thatcher's eyes ranged from Elizabeth to Audley and back. 'Dr Audley - Miss Loftus - '

  '"Silly old bugger" is the majority view. But come on, then - ' the old man shepherded the younger one ' - you must not drive too fast in that big car of yours, and kill yourself. Why do you not have a car like Elizabeth's? Or is it status? Will you have a Rolls-Royce next time?'

  Elizabeth knew only that the young man was going, when she didn't want him to go. And the thought pushed her further than she would have gone if she had had more time. 'You loved him, Dr Thatcher - Haddock?'

  ' Loved him?' The outrageous idea arrested him as he was ducking under the cascade of clematis at the corner of the cottage. 'I was terrified of him half the time - and I hated him the other half. You just wait and see for yourself - ' Whatever other truth he had to impart was lost as Mr Willis pushed him from behind, muttering almost incomprehensibly as he did so.

  '"Loved him"! Stuff and nonsense!' The old man disappeared too.

  Audley was looking down at her, almost sympathetically. 'Well, Elizabeth?'

  'Well - what?'

  'Well, you're quite right: hate is akin to love. And you've now had Peter Barrie, and Willy… and that far-too-bright young devil, sucking his high-tech silver spoon, on Haddock Thomas - or the Haddock, as Willy insists on rendering him. So what have you got?'

  'And I have you, also. But I have only the ones you wanted me to have, David.'

  'True - very true. But then you've got the man who vetted him in '58 - vetted him twice.

  And you've got an ex-friend, who lost his girl to him. And you've had a colleague, and newer friend, neither of whom has nothing to gain or lose - one of whom cares more for me than I him, whatever he may say… but who is not about to compromise his principles for me. Which is more than I can say for myself.' He drew in a breath. 'Because if I thought Haddock Thomas had screwed me back in '58, , then I'd be screwing him now - vengeance plus self- preservation, Elizabeth: that's just about the most potent cocktail you can serve, believe me.' He nodded. 'To which now you've added an ex-pupil, my dear.'

  'But Haddock still appeared on the Debrecen List, David.' Over the privet hedge the sound dummy2

  of the big Gavin Thatcher car interrupted her. 'If there ever was a Debrecen List.' Audley's expression became ugly. 'All I got on Haddock was nothing. And all you've got on Haddock is nothing, too.'

  'Including what Major Turnbull didn't give me?' She matched his ugliness with hers. 'And Major Parker jumped off the Pointe du Hoc, did he? Nothing plus nothing, is that?' From ugliness to brutality was only a short step. 'Or did you miss something?'

  'If I did, then it was because he was too clever for me - and so was Peter Barrie. And they'll be much too clever for you now, if it's proof you're after - '

  'Proof?' Old Mr Willis brushed past his clematis. 'What sort of proof is that? Proof to sway an English jury, than which there is nothing more oblivious to proof? Or proof- spirit? In which case we can now drink something stronger than anything you have consumed so far. And I have a casserole in the oven. So are you going or staying now, dear boy?'

  'I thought I smelt something in the kitchen. Staying, Willy. But going long before dawn, as I told you.' Audley sat down again, rather wearily. 'I'm getting too old for this sort of thing.

  And much too old to be reminded to know myself. It's far too late for that now.'

  Mr Willis sat down. 'You haven't succeeded there yet, then?'

  'Good God, no! I look at myself in the shaving-mirror each morning, to check for the tell-tale signs.' He shook his head. 'But when you see the signs, it's too late.'

  It worried her to see him like this. 'What signs, David?'

  He looked at her. 'What you should be worrying about, Elizabeth, is what you're going to put in your report to your master, the sainted Oliver, after we have visited St Servan-les-Ruines tomorrow.'

  'About the sainted Haddock Thomas, whom everybody loves - including you, David?'

  'Oh - not sainted, believe me.' He shook his head again.

  'Certainly not sainted!' Mr Willis echoed him.

  'But everyone loves him.'

  'And he loves everyone.' Mr Willis admired his daisies. 'The boys -'

  dummy2

  'And their mothers. And their sisters.' Audley admired Mr Willis's daisies too. 'And their aunts. Strictly out of term, of course. He was always careful that way. And his colleagues.'

  'And their wives.' Mr Willis nodded agreement. 'And their sisters.'

  Audley nodded. 'Their colleagues' sisters. And the wives' sisters.'

  Elizabeth remembered the fair Delphi, Haddock Thomas's best friend's girl. 'And their fiancees?'

  'Them too,' agreed Audley. 'And you too, tomorrow. All grist to his mill, if it wore a skirt.

  He had a lot of love in him, as I recall.'

  'He enjoyed the occasional tipple, too. As I recall. And probably still does.' The old man smiled reminiscently at his daisies, and then turned the smile to her. 'There comes a time, my dear young lady, when one's… ah, one's attraction … to - to, not for… the fair sex declines. But I have never yet been rejected by the cork in a bottle - at least, not now that there are these mechanical openers which require no strength.'

  'So, you see, Elizabeth - ' Audley abandoned the daisies ' - not a saint, the Haddock.'

  'Just very careful,' agreed Mr Willis. 'Not to say judicious, in his sinning.'

  They were playing with her. 'And a lover of the Classics, as well as an incomparable teacher. He loved to teach.'

  'That above all - ' The old man turned to Audley ' - David?'

  'You think so?' Audley considered the proposition seriously for a moment. 'I think… when I took him to the cleaners, and then hung him out to dry, back in '58… whatever was to his hand at the time, that was what he loved best. He was just a natural-born great lover, I'd say.'

  'But not a traitor, David.' The old man wasn't smiling.

  'No evidence, Willy. Not then - so probably not now. But then, with the very good ones…

  the very good ones, Willy - not just the clever ones, or the lucky ones - the ones we've missed, because we missed something - or someone has missed something… because the very good ones are the ones Elizabeth and I are after… with them, Willy, evidence doesn't really come into it. With the very good ones, we don't have to say "yes" or "no", but just

  "maybe".' He had flicked glances between them as he spoke, but now he was back with the old man. 'And if "maybe", then we have to take a closer look at your Gavin, to see just what dummy2

  sort of high-tech contracts - and contacts, too - he's into, which the Russians would also like to be into. And then maybe - it's a great word, "maybe" - we'll just tip the word, so as he won't make his first million before he's thirty-one. Or his tenth million before he's thirty-five. Maybe, by the time we've finished with him, he'll go and teach Latin and Greek at Waltham - like Haddock Thomas did, even - ?'

  'David - ' The old man's voice had the beginning of an outraged squeak in it.

  'Are you going to make him a "maybe", Elizabeth?' Audley cut him off. 'With your two dead majors, you can hardly do anything else, unless you back your judgment as I did, back in '58. And as everyone now seems agreed that I made a mistake you can hardly do that, can you?'

  She knew why he was so weary now; and it was not just because he was old enough to be her father, and he'd had a hard day, which had included a dreadfully untimely death behind them only a couple of hours ago, which could only be natural against the odds; it was also because of something he'd just said - which was something he'd been saying all along, or hinting at off and on, which she'd never quite been able to grasp.

  'What signs, David? In the mirror?' She was weary too: it had been a long day, since Paul had seen his tripod masts in the mists of this morning. But she could see them now, at last.

  'What signs?' He nodded at the old man. 'He's to blame.'

  'I am?' The accusation made Mr Willis forget his outrage. 'How?'

  Audley scowled at him. ' "Wer mil Ungeheuern Kampft, mag zusehn, dass er nicht dabei zum Ungeheuer wird" - don't you remember your "know thyself advice, you older Ungeheuer?'

  He switched the scowl to Elizabeth. 'Trust him to spout Nietzsche at me, not Plato, or any of his other Greek hoplites! And this was back in '57, after I'd been recalled to the colours on his recommendation - his bloody recommendation, too!'

  'A most misunderstood philosopher, Nietzsche.' The old man's face became bland as he turned to her. 'Do you not have the German language then, Elizabeth? And you an historian? I remember David arguing with me that all the best medieval history books were written in French and German, so Greek was really a waste of time, and he could keep up his Latin without taking any more exams.'

  'The hell with that!' exclaimed Audley. 'Do we harry Haddock to an early grave? And do we persecute Peter Barrie, just in case, because he'll do just as well? And do we persecute everyone they've promoted or advanced, to make double sure, because we're not sure?

  Because that's the self-defense option now - yours and mine, Elizabeth.'

  dummy2

  What was an Ungeheuer? 'You know I don't speak German, David.'

  'Just check your mirror. Or look for the horror that sits grinning on your pillow, in the small hours - it always shows up in the dark, no matter who is there beside you: "he" - or

  "she" - let's say "we" - "we who fight monsters must take care, lest we become monsters too thereby".' He picked up his glass, and frowned at it because it was empty, and then looked at her. 'You'll have to decide for yourself tomorrow, Elizabeth. But, speaking purely personally, I'm buggered if I'm going to become a monster - either for the sainted Oliver, or for the KGB.'

  10

  'Over there, Elizabeth.' Audley ignored the taxi-drivers. 'The red Fiat - the fellow in the dark glasses.'

  'David - '

  But he was already stepping out, oblivious of the puddles.

  The roar of an aircraft reversing the thrust of its engines drowned the rest of her appeal, but he turned back to her into the noise as it shrieked and then died away. 'What?'

  'Where's Richardson?' The sun came out from behind its cloud into a patch of Mediterranean-blue sky, flashing on every reflective surface and sharpening up every shadow with an alien clarity.

  'What?' He squinted at her.

  'Never mind.' She fumbled in her bag for her own dark glasses, more for self-defense than appearance: she had composed herself for this encounter, but she should have known better that there was no armour against reality so far from home. 'I'm coming.'

  He swung away, back on his original course, without a second look at her. And she had composed herself inadequately for that too - Audley trailing her into the field, which he now plainly wasn't doing, so that her composure slipped, with no greater problem than to avoid the puddles.

  But at least Audley knew the man, for he was shaking him warmly by the hand as she dummy2

  reached them.

  'Miss Loftus - ' The man swept the case (which Audley hadn't offered to carry; but she was getting used to that) out of her hand and into the open boot almost without looking at her '

  - into the back, please.'

  For a southern Frenchman, almost as swarthy as an Arab, the accent was startling Public School English, unsettling her further.

  'You too, David.' He looked around the car park quickly. 'Let's get the hell out of here.'

  A nasty humiliating suspicion enveloped her as she did as she was told. 'Captain Richardson?' The car slammed her back in her seat.

  Richardson, Peter John, Captain (Royal Engineers), retired? She had decoded a dozen SGs from him in the last six months, each about the same unbreakably code-named subject, but all from Northern Italy.

  'Richardson is me. But I left the captain behind twelve years ago, Miss Loftus.' He swung the wheel. 'I answer to "Peter".'

  He might answer to 'Peter', but he drove like a rush-hour Italian, thought Elizabeth. 'What happened to Mr Dale - Peter?'

  He continued to drive like a maniac, without bothering to answer.

  'She said "What happened to Mr Dale?", Peter,' said Audley.

  'I heard the first time. You're going to have to be quick this time, David. Otherwise you're going to be in trouble.' Not captain Richardson studied each of his mirrors in turn. 'And I don't mind you being in trouble. But I do mind me being in trouble - in France. Because I've still got a clean slate here.'

  Audley settled back. 'Just answer the lady, there's a good fellow. All they told us before take-off was that Dale wouldn't be meeting us and you would. But they didn't tell us why.'

  He drew in a breath. 'And the lady is in charge, not me.'

  'Is that so?' Richardson took a look at her in his mirror. 'I'm sorry, Miss Loftus.'

  'Don't be.' She watched Audley's fingers drum on his knee. 'What about Mr Dale?'

  dummy2

  'I have a message for you, actually. I'm to tell you the Major wasn't a natural event -

  whatever that means: the Major wasn't a natural event?'

  Audley's fingers stopped drumming.

  'Thank you.' The steadiness of her voice surprised her. 'And Mr Dale?'

  'Probably safe, back in Paris by now.' He looked at the clock. 'Most likely asleep in his bed.'

  Elizabeth closed her eyes for a second. 'Why did he leave?'

  'He saw someone he knew, but not quite quickly enough. So he didn't reckon to his cover any more. And I just happened to draw the next-shortest straw, unfortunately.'

  'The French, you mean?' asked Audley quickly. 'The DST?'

  'Among others.' Richardson's voice was almost contemptuous. 'His face is all too well-known in certain official circles, anyway - like yours, David, if I may say so.'

  'Ah! The French… Stupid of me, I agree, Peter.' Audley recovered quickly. 'I do rather have this damned blind spot about the French, Elizabeth. I've lived here twice - once when I was a mere boy, on exchange, before the war… and once for several very happy and frequently inebriated years later on, after Cambridge, as a tax exile. And, of course, I invaded them in

  '44 - it is a really wonderful country to invade, with all the wine and women. So some of my very best friends are Frenchmen, and I do rather take them for granted… Which is stupid, Peter, I do agree.'

  And she had been stupid too, thought Elizabeth: the French had been on to the Pointe du Hoc, and they would surely have traced Major Parker back to St Servan after the Americans and the British had demonstrated their interest in him. And, as she had cause to know from even her limited experience, the DST was jealous of foreign intelligence intrusions.

  'Stupid?' Richardson snorted. 'Apart from your youthful indiscretions - about which I'm glad to say I know nothing… my God, David! You're a three-time loser anywhere. But here of all places!'

  'Here?' Elizabeth glanced for a second at the dense holiday-traffic on the other side of the autoroute, heading south, and then at the sign pointing them northwards, past Avignon and Orange, to distant Lyons and faraway Paris. 'Why here?'

  Richardson reached down and threw a map back into her lap. 'Don't you do any dummy2

  homework in London? Doesn't the Plateau d'Albion mean anything to you?'

  She looked at him. 'The Plateau - ?'

  ' Perfide Albion is us, Miss Loftus,' said Richardson. 'The Plateau d'Albion is where the French have got their ..IRMBs siloed - plus one or two longer-range missiles now, I shouldn't wonder. Right, David?'

  Audley took the map from her. 'St Servan's in the sensitive radius?'

  'What the hell d'you think? It may not be in the red radius, but it's for damn sure in the pink. And they may not be able to log every tourist who drives along the Nesque gorges, but they'll have logged every foreigner resident in the pink zone. And there are enough large hoof-prints around your Dr Caradog Thomas by now to make them decidedly twitchy, I'd guess - ' Richardson leaned back ' - unless you know something that I don't know, anyway - ?'

  Audley looked at her at last. 'I think we maybe are in trouble, Elizabeth. Or… like the man says… we're going to have to be very quick, in and out.'

  'And gone,' agreed Richardson. 'If we can get away from St Servan in one piece, Dale's got a man in Avignon who can split you up. And then you can head for Belgium, not the nearest frontiers, which will be covered. Or you can throw yourselves in the embassy in Paris and shout "Sanctuary! Sanctuary", like the Hunchback, and make it a diplomatic incident. Just so long as I'm back home in Italy, I don't give a damn!'

  'It's that bad? Is it, Peter?'

  The shoulders lifted. 'Search me - this is not my territory. But Dale ran like a frightened rabbit. And he doesn't scare easily.'

  'Among others?' Elizabeth had been trying in vain to get a word in edgeways. 'What others?'

  'Yes,' agreed Richardson. 'He thought the Other Side was maybe savouring the tourist attractions of the Vaucluse. So that also helped to concentrate his mind.'

  'The KGB?' Audley notoriously hated departmental euphemisms.

  The shoulders lifted again. 'He wasn't sure. But he wasn't happy.' Richardson rocked in his seat. 'But don't get me wrong: he ran because he saw this DST heavyweight - not because dummy2

 

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