He got out at Kenton Station. Walking home he looked around for anything unusual, fearing the sound of quickening footsteps coming behind him, tensed, ready to run. He remembered his father saying once, after a big criminal trial, that he could never understand why anyone took to a life of crime, living in constant fear of a policeman’s hand on their shoulder. Now David understood: he was a criminal himself.
The house, the whole street, was quiet in the winter morning. He let himself in carefully, leaving the front door ajar in case the police were here and he had to turn and run. But the house was silent, the only sound the clock ticking steadily in the kitchen. Had Sarah been in she would have heard him and come out, but she didn’t. David walked from room to room, frightened of what he might see each time he opened a door, but the house was neat and still. He noticed that the telephone book had been taken out of its basket and lay on the telephone table, beside his mother’s vase. He closed the front door and sat in the lounge, waiting for Sarah to return, watching the street from the window. He thought, this is crazy, the police could come at any time. But he couldn’t leave Sarah, not now. It was utterly quiet in the house. He thought, this is what it must be like for Sarah all the time when she’s at home alone; silence, and the memory of Charlie. If she had gone to the shops she should be back in half an hour at most. He opened the back door, then returned to the lounge; if he saw anyone coming in at the gate he would run out the back, try getting over the fence. Or would it be best to let them take him? Would that stop them being interested in Sarah? But what about the others in his cell, Geoff and Jackson and Natalia and the man from the India Office? He didn’t think he could hold out if they tortured him.
Half an hour passed. He had been pacing the room impatiently and now he went into the hall and dialled Irene’s number. She answered almost at once. He tried to make his voice casual. ‘It’s David here. I’ve had to come home, I’m not very well. Sarah isn’t here. Any idea where she might be?’
‘Goodness,’ Irene said. ‘Is it something serious? Can I help at all?’
‘A bad stomach, I’ve been sick. I’m just a bit puzzled Sarah isn’t home.’
‘I’m sorry, David, I’ve no idea where she is. She hasn’t got one of her meetings, has she?’
‘No. Not today.’
He ended the call and stood irresolutely in the hall. He thought of ringing the contact number again but he mustn’t do that from home, since this number was probably already tapped. He shouldn’t even have rung Irene. He remembered the miniature camera and the copy of the key to the secret room were upstairs. He went and got them, then put on his hat and went out again. There was a telephone box outside Kenton Station. He would try the contact number again from there. He might even meet Sarah coming back.
But he didn’t see her. He went into the phone box, rang the number again and this time a male voice answered at once. The pips went and he pressed the button, relief flooding through him. He said quickly, ‘This is Fitzgerald, David Fitzgerald. The police have come to the office, about a document I misfiled. Two of them, one’s a German—’
The man seemed to know who David was and asked sharply, ‘Where are you?’ It was a young voice, with a strong Cockney accent.
‘In a phone box near my home. In Kenton. A colleague told me the police were with my boss, so I left the office at once. The janitor tried to stop me but I got out.’
‘Shit.’
‘I tried to phone you from near the Office over an hour ago, but there was no answer.’
‘I had to go out, I was only ten minutes. I shouldn’t have – hell! Why did you go home?’ The voice was loud, suddenly accusing.
‘I was worried about my wife. She’s not home, I don’t know where she is.’
‘Is your house all right? Any sign anyone’s been there?’
‘No. I waited, I thought she’d gone to the shops.’ David took a deep breath. ‘What do I do? I was told if anything happened you’d protect my wife.’
The voice became quieter, almost soothing. ‘Okay. We need to get you somewhere safe. Go to the safe house, now. We’ll send someone up to Kenton, to watch the house and pick up your wife when she gets back.’
‘And Geoff. Geoff Drax—’
‘We’ll phone him, and the others in your cell. I’ll arrange it all now. But you have to get yourself to your safe house. At once.’
David took a deep breath. ‘All right. I’m at the tube station now.’
‘Good. The Underground’s the safest way to travel. We’ve got your home address, we’ll send someone in a car to wait at your house for your wife.’
‘I’m on my way.’
David left the telephone box and stood uncertainly in the station entrance. A woman looked at him curiously. He tried to pull himself together. He thought, how do I know they’re telling the truth, that they’ll really send someone for Sarah? But he had to trust them now, there was no-one and nothing else. He understood suddenly how much of him, all this time, had remained anchored to the world he had been brought up in and longed, deep inside, to believe still existed: Britain, his country, dull and self-absorbed, ironic even about its own prejudices. But that Britain was gone, had instead turned into a place where an authoritarian government in league with Fascist thugs thrived on nationalist dreams of Empire, on scapegoats and enemies. And he was now, irrevocably, an enemy.
Chapter Thirty-One
AFTER DAVID LEFT FOR WORK ON Friday, Sarah, alone in the house, couldn’t settle. She still didn’t believe his denials about Carol; surely if he had nothing to hide he would have explained, been open, but instead he had drawn himself in even more and so, in response, had she. That morning she was due to begin chasing up the toyshops, ensuring they were making up the toy parcels for the unemployed, but she couldn’t face it. She hadn’t opened her case with the files in it since Tottenham Court Road.
She went and sat in the lounge, trying to read her Woman’s Own which had been delivered that morning. It was cold but she couldn’t be bothered to lay the fire. She felt restless all over, she couldn’t settle. She had a desperate urge to do something, anything. She went into the hall and took the telephone directory from its rack. She remembered, from meeting Carol at the last office social, that she lived with her mother somewhere in North London. She found the entry almost at once: Bennett, Mrs D and Miss C, 17 Lovelock Road, Highgate. That had to be her. She thought, she’ll be at work now. I’ll go round there, I’ll go this evening, I’ll deal with this once and for all. And in the meantime she had to get out of the house.
She fetched her hat and coat and went to the door. Opening it, she stopped dead for a second, thinking, if I do this, it really could be the end for me and David. She stood still, clutching the door handle. She considered telephoning Irene, but she knew her sister would try to talk her round. I can’t go on like this, she thought, I’ll go mad.
Sarah went out, closing the door firmly, and walked up the road, deciding to catch the tube into town, try to find something that might distract her. It was very cold under the leaden sky. She had a vague idea of going to visit the Tower of London, but when the tube reached Tottenham Court Road, on an impulse she got out. She had to see the scene of those deaths and shootings again, as though somehow that might help her understand the horrible madness she felt was all around her.