Actually, it wasn’t such a silly question, because a man like Audley wouldn’t believe any old rubbish. But that was his problem now. ‘Who can I call on for back-up?’
‘That depends on what Audley wants.’ Jaggard gave Tom a shrewd look, as though he’d seen more in the question than had been intended. ‘But if he wants anything, then you deal with Colonel Butler—you deal with him, but you report to me. And I don’t want my name mentioned. You just stay with Audley, and keep me informed as to what he’s up to. Right?’
It wasn’t at all right. ‘You want Audley watched— as well as protected?’
‘My dear Tom—not watched’ Jaggard registered mild outrage. ‘Of all people—not watched… if that’s what you’re suggesting—?’
It was beginning to rain: the clouds had come to a decision at last.
But Jaggard seemed oblivious of it.
‘I’m not suggesting anything.’ To his annoyance Tom found Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State himself thinking of Willy, out there in the rain behind him somewhere. ‘I just want to know what the hell you want me to do.’
‘Of course.’ All Jaggard saw was his annoyance, not the reason for it. ‘David is a difficult man… opinionated, arrogant—not to say eccentric. But his loyalty is above question—don’t even think about it… And quite outstanding in his field, Tom—quite outstanding.’ Jaggard nodded to emphasize the accolade. ‘We need him. And we need him now, with Panin on the premises.’
Tom could see the rain running down Jaggard’s face, and could feel it running down his own. And he thought if Jaggard’s a liar, then he’s a good liar. But then—
‘And we need him kept alive— alive, you understand?’
‘Yes.’ But then he would be a good liar, Tom’s train of thought reached its terminus. But he didn’t think the man was lying now.
‘Keeping people alive is my business.’ He nodded back at Jaggard.
‘So what?’
‘So… Research and Development undertakes field-work occasionally. And I think this will be one of those occasions.
Because whatever Panin gives Audley, David won’t pass it on—
he’ll do it himself.’ Another nod. ‘But… he’s old, Tom.’
Old—
‘He always cut corners, and took risks—even in the old days—’
The old days—
‘I don’t so much want him watched, as watched over. So I want to know what he’s doing—and preferably before he does it. And I want to know why he’s doing it, and how he proposes to do it—I Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State want to know every last damn thing that’s happening. Do you receive me?’
Tom had seldom been given more equivocally unequivocal orders.
‘Loud and clear ’ All that remained was for Jaggard to explain what was actually happening, which required such precision. ‘And Panin?’
But Jaggard was looking past him, at whatever he could see through his rain-distorted lenses.
Tom turned, although he already knew what he would see.
‘Make your farewells to Miss Groot,’ said Jaggard. ‘There’s a car down the bottom of the lane with a man in it who’ll tell you about Panin—or why we think he’s here, anyway. His name is Harvey—
Garrod Harvey.’
In this downpour it would have been unreasonable to expect the young policeman to keep Willy in polite conversation. Short of physical restraint he could hardly have restrained her, and even as it was her hair was plastered close to her head.
‘You can keep the man and the car for the time being. He’ll explain who he is, but he can pass as your driver. Miss Groot can take your car. I’ll give you time to collect your gear from the hotel.’ Jaggard’s voice came from behind him. ‘Go and say goodbye to her— now.’
Tom had already raised his hand. There were too many questions still unasked, but an order was an order. But —
‘Harvey will tell you what to do, in the car.’ Jaggard filled the essential gap in his knowledge. ‘ Go on, man—’
Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State Tom launched himself up the rampart, his feet slipping and sliding in the grass. Equivocally unequivocal orders was right! he thought.
It all depended on Harvey, whoever Harvey was—
‘Willy! I’m sorry, darling—’ She looked even wetter than he felt, with her shirt outlining her shape agonizingly ‘—I’m sorry!’
‘Duty calls—huh?’ Her lip drooped on one side.
Her understanding only made it worse. ‘It does. But I’ll call you myself as soon as I can. This may not take long.’
‘And then more mottes and more baileys? ’ She adjusted her unhappiness with an effort. ‘I can’t wait—’ The effort produced a grin ‘—at least it probably won’t be raining on you back in the Lebanon, I guess.’
Tom blinked the rain out of his eyes. ‘I should be so lucky!’ In front of Jaggard all he could do was touch her wet shoulder. ‘Take the car—I’ll call you soon as possible. Maybe this evening, maybe not. Okay?’ The thought of this evening without her was loss and desolation. ‘Goodbye, my love—’
‘Goodbye, my love—’ She echoed him ‘—take good care, Tom.’
He slipped and slid back, down past Jaggard and through the open gateway. There was a car far down the lane, already facing outwards, on to the main road. But, of course, they always turned round for a quick getaway, like adulterers parked in secluded driveways. That was the rule.
So it all depended on Harvey now—
Before the high hedge cut him off he turned back towards her: she was standing just as he had left her, on the edge of old Ranulf’s Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State rampart, like a statue.
Take good care, Tom, he thought.
2
The journey’s last hour, after he had divested himself of Harvey at a convenient railway station, was curiously disquieting, even a little frightening.
If there was one thing Tom prided himself on, it was the ability to concentrate his mind on what was important, to the exclusion of all minor matters, however gratifying and pleasurable. But now, when… after all Henry Jaggard had said (and not said), and with what Garrod Harvey had added… when that concentration should have been on Panin, Nikolai Andrievich and Audley, David Longsdon, and the web of circumstances which hypothetically bound them together… but now— now— he was faced with a damned, bloody mutiny of his thoughts against the direct and legitimate orders of his mind,
It wasn’t even as if they were merely wandering away into the countryside on either side of them, alerted by sign-posts which pointed towards early Norman castles known to him, or even to places adjacent to such castles— Aldingboume, Arundel, Bramber, Cadburn… Ashley, Barley Pound, Basing, Bishops’ Waltham, Castle Redvers— the counties’ roll-call came to him automatically and geographically as he drove westwards, as it did all the time, Price, Anthony - For the Good of the State wherever he was, whatever he was doing elsewhere— Alton Charley, Eccleshall, Litchfield… Ascot Doilly, Ascot Earl, Bampton, Banbury— it would have been the same in Staffordshire or Oxfordshire; and he had walked them all anyway, or nearly; and even if an odd name had registered it would still only have been in passing and a minor matter; because (as he had already thought about old Ranulf’s almost forgotten motte only this morning) what had outlasted eight or nine centuries’ decay would still be there waiting for him another day, another time.