‘ Overly worried,’ insisted Snow, at once. ‘I really do not think there is any cause for concern.’
‘Father Robertson told me the escort for your recent trip actually inspected the church?’
‘He came to the English class that I take,’ qualified Snow, determined upon absolute accuracy. ‘While he was there he asked to see the church, which of course I showed him. Just as he’d shown me various temples, when we were travelling. It was not an inspection, in any sense of the word.’
‘Why did you make the journey?’
‘A holiday. I obviously want to see and get to know as much of the country as possible.’ Snow wondered what Samuels’ reaction would have been to knowing the truth: probably the same sort of hand-wringing that Father Robertson engaged in. Snow could see the mission chief in distracted conversation with one of the British officials with whom he had spoken earlier: the old man was looking directly across at where he was, with Samuels. As Snow watched he saw Father Robertson take another Scotch from the tray of a passing waiter and wondered how many there had been since the day had begun. Quite a few by now, he guessed.
‘Don’t you think it odd for the man to make such a visit?’
Snow hesitated. ‘I virtually invited him.’
‘Do you think he is attached to the Security Bureau?’
‘It would not surprise me if he were.’
Samuels paused, smiling and imperceptibly shaking his head to a man and a woman who were approaching. The couple veered away. Samuels covered the refusal by gesturing around the reception area. ‘There’s a great deal of importance attached to visits like these. It might have sounded trite, but those remarks about the enormous trade potential are true.’
‘I understand that,’ said Snow, expectantly.
‘We do not want any local difficulties interfering with the better links that have been established between our two countries. It’s taken a very great deal of time and effort to get to this stage.’
Snow disliked the other man’s unctuous manner and thought he talked like the other officials, earlier, as if everything had been rehearsed and prepared, well in advance. ‘What possible difficulty could be created by Li’s coming to the church?’
‘We’re talking generally.’
‘I don’t think we are,’ rejected Snow. ‘I have done nothing – nothing whatsoever – to cause you any official concern. But we are not allowed to preach or engage in any sort of religious observance involving the Chinese. So we do not. As Li discovered when he came to the class. When he went into the church, it would have been obvious to him it was unused. We don’t preach: do anything to offend the authorities. So there is absolutely nothing for you to worry about: nothing that can be worried about.’ He wasn’t sure the diplomat was accepting anything of what he was saying.
‘Father Robertson seems to think otherwise,’ reminded Samuels, in virtual confirmation of Snow’s doubt.
Snow sighed, carelessly. ‘You know what happened to him, during the Cultural Revolution. It effectively broke him. I think it’s a mistake for the Curia to let him remain here: I know it’s at his own request but I think it is putting too much strain upon a man who has already suffered enough.’
‘I felt it necessary officially to advise London,’ announced Samuels.
‘I would have welcomed the opportunity to give my version of the episode.’
‘I really must be circulating,’ said Samuels, gazing enquiringly around the room again.
‘It would be unfortunate if a biased account misled London,’ said Snow, unwilling to be put off like some minor irritant.
Samuels came fully back to Snow, frowning at the remark. ‘I made my report completely factuaclass="underline" I did not give a biased account.’
‘If it was based entirely upon what Father Robertson told you it must have been biased.’
Samuels mouth tightened, giving his long face a pinched look. ‘I did not overstress the matter.’
Would whatever Samuels had written percolate through to the department to which he reported? Before Snow had time to consider his own question, he at last saw Walter Foster. The embassy liaison man was at the extreme end of the large room, with a mixed group of English and Chinese businessmen: from the way his head was moving back and forth Snow inferred the man was helping with a translation difficulty. ‘I would like to think you’d add to your report, giving my version of events.’
‘What is your version of events?’
‘That I was assigned an over-zealous escort for part of a journey through southern and eastern provinces of the country. During that journey I did nothing to cause any official offence. Towards the end of the trip, there was some discussion about my being a priest and I invited the man to visit the mission when he returned to Beijing. This he did. Again there was nothing to cause any official offence.’
‘I see,’ said Samuels, stiffly.
‘Will you add that?’ pressed the priest.
‘If London seek further clarification,’ promised the diplomat, unconvincingly.
‘Not otherwise?’
‘Wouldn’t there be a risk of indicating an importance you insist does not exist if I send an additional report?’ said Samuels. Once more the room was examined. ‘I really must start moving around.’
Snow thought Samuels’ response showed the typical convoluted thinking of the diplomat milieu. ‘Perhaps if there is any further exchange, we could talk again before you report back? It’s very easy for me to come up from the mission at any time.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Samuels, distantly noncommittal. ‘And be a good chap, don’t keep openly referring to it as a “mission” as you are doing: gives the impression that it really might be used for religious services, don’t you think?’
Snow eased his way through the crush of the now full room, beyond anger, gripped by helpless impotence at what he considered to be a pointless conversation. The one reassurance he kept repeating to himself was that it did not matter how irreversibly slanted Samuels’ memorandum had been: in no way could it affect his remaining in China. It would still have been better to have had his say, to counter the hysteria of Father Robertson.
Foster, whose official embassy description was that of a cultural attache, was translating. Snow approached from the rear of the cluster of men, behind Foster, able to hear quite a lot before the man became aware of his closeness. He detected several words where the vital nuance in the Mandarin pronunciation came close to giving a completely wrong interpretation of what Foster was trying to convey. Foster’s concentration faltered when he finally saw Snow and he had to ask one of the British businessmen to repeat himself, to complete the bilingual exchange. It was a further ten minutes before an official Chinese translator rejoined the group, but even then Foster lingered, clearly reluctant to break away until Snow very obviously started forward to make the contact on his terms.
Foster intercepted him but said, vehemently: ‘Not now!’
‘Now!’ demanded Snow.
‘It’ll be easier after the lunch.’
‘Walk with me towards the canapes table,’ ordered Snow. ‘There is more you have to know.’
‘More!’ Instead of walking casually, the man actually stopped, staring directly at the priest. Snow kept going, making Foster hurry to catch up. ‘How much more?’
‘You haven’t talked with Samuels?’
‘No!’ said Foster, anguished.
Having reached the canapes table, both had to go through the pretence of selecting hors-d’oeuvres. Snow picked up another glass of orange juice.
Snow waited until they moved away before recounting Li’s visit, aware of Foster visibly flushing: the man’s face became redder and therefore seemingly more freckled than normal by the time Snow finished.
‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Foster. ‘There can’t be any doubt, not now!’ As always at times of stress the man began darting looks around him, as if fearing he would be seized at any moment.
‘There’s no proof, of anything.’