Because what David likes, and what he does best and enjoys most, is working from hand-to-mouth in an emergency, improvising and botching up and making good.' He frowned at her. 'It's like… he's like - have you ever heard of the Sopwith Camel, Elizabeth - Miss Loftus?'
'The - what?' It took her a second to adjust from David Audley's idiosyncrasies to Paul Mitchell's. 'It was - it was a First World War aeroplane, wasn't it?' She was only doubtful for another half-second: with Paul it had to be that war. 'It was. But what - '
'It was. And it wasn't very fast. And it had no rate-of-climb worth talking about. And it was a little bugger to fly, spinning pilots into the ground if they gave it half a chance.' He leered at her ghoulishly. 'But in combat it could turn on a ha'penny. And when the Hun bounced it… if a Camel pilot got one second, to pull his stick, no one on God's earth - or in God's sky - knew where the Camel was going. The Camel pilot came down on his tail, out of nowhere.' He stared at her. 'And that's David - to the bloody life!'
It wasn't loyalty, thought Elizabeth. And it wasn't admiration, either: it was something much more complicated, which she didn't have time now to explore.
She didn't have time! 'But I'm not a Sopwith Camel, Paul. And David will still have time to -
to pull his stick, or whatever - ' She floundered in the midst of a metaphor she didn't fully understand.
'That's right - exactly right.' He evidently understood his own imagery. 'But he's escorting you, don't you see? If anything goes wrong - if you fail abysmally, or if you get shot down… and you are his recruit - his pupil - as well as his responsibility… Christ! If there's dummy2
one thing Jack Butler would never forgive - one thing that would discredit David finally and for all time - it would be that. And Oliver St John Latimer knows it. Because he's an Audley-watcher too. And he's watched him longer than I have. And he knows what he wants. And… he's not stupid, is our Fatso - he's bloody good.' He gave her another dreadful smile. 'And that's half the trouble, of course.'
Half the trouble? If that was half … ? But that was another thing to think about tomorrow.
'So he's done everything right, you see.' Paul had the bit between his teeth now. 'Jack Butler won't be able to fault him when he gets back from his leave, whatever he may suspect privately. Because - Item One - that American was on the Debrecen List - the Americans' list, which is in the file… and I've been busy checking off some of the English names, so I know. And I don't doubt he's acquired some evidence that that "tragic fall" was
- ' He gave her an innocently-raised eyebrow ' - an efficient shove, maybe?'
So that had been Major Turnbull's function, she understood: to confirm legitmate suspicion and justify further action -
'Yes.' He read her face too easily, 'So - Item Two - take appropriate action?' The eyebrow remained raised. 'One dead Debrecen American. But two recent entries in the Debrecen file. So let Loftus, Elizabeth Jane win her spurs. It's time she did a bit of field-work, to get experience and earn her keep. But give her David Audley, who is elderly and should be responsible, and who was her "recruiting-sergeant… and who knows all about Debrecen -
Good thinking, Mr Deputy-Director. Defence of the Realm properly secured, essential training of promising staff advanced, and duty well and truly discharged.' The eyebrow lowered. 'And Fatso's back well and truly protected while he inserts his poniard into David Audley's back - see how it works, Elizabeth Jane? Because David can't refuse to help you - see?'
What she saw was a Paul she hadn't seen before - not so much cynical as strangely bitter.
But then the curtain scraped on its runners again.
'Right, then!' Tom sucked his toothless gums noisily.
'Buzz off, Tom.' Paul continued to stare at her. 'You're too late. You're too late and I'm too late. We have to go-'
'Oh yus?' Tom advanced nevertheless, until Elizabeth couldn't ignore him. 'Got 'is measure, 'ave you, Miss?' He flashed an irreverent eye at Paul Mitchell. 'Looks like 'e's lost's sixpence, an' found a dud shillin'.'
'If you don't buzz off this minute, Tom - ' Paul spoke with quite uncharacteristic malevolence ' - I'll have the Old Bill object to the renewal of your licence next time, if it's dummy2
the last thing I do on this earth.'
He was so obviously serious that she found herself looking at him again compulsively, and the scrape of the curtains closing was a distant sound in a much larger silence.
'I'll tell you one thing about David, that I do know… when he really gets himself into trouble.' He fixed the malevolent look on her. 'And one thing about the Debrecen file - the thing he has in common with it.'
She had read the file, but it was suddenly a blank in her mind as she thought about David Audley, with whom she had only worked once. Only that had been -
'They both kill people, Elizabeth - Elizabeth Jane… Miss Loftus.' He stumbled over the confusion of names. 'Or… people end up dead, one way or another, when they get together.
And I have a very strong presentiment that they're going to do it again, this time, between them.'
It was really very strange, very strange indeed, this almost fastidious abhorrence he had about violent death, thought Elizabeth. And it was strange not because this time she herself might be involved on the edges of it - that really wasn't strange at all - but rather because his whole ten-year civilian academic career, and his devoted hobby over the last ten years, involved the concentrated study of that 1914 -18 bloodbath in the trenches of France and Flanders.
'But it doesn't worry you, does it?' Calculation, only half-masked by curiosity, had replaced honest passion. 'Not one bit, eh?'
'Of course it does.' Normally she could lie more readily, and much more convincingly. But this time he caught her off-balance, in the middle of remembering another reason why his hatred of violence was so odd -
'No, it doesn't.' Calculation had taken over. 'Old Fatso's not so stupid - I'm the stupid one.
He's got your number right to the last decimal point, naturally: fitness reports, psychological profile, and all the little - nasty little - small print… all those bloody-minded, coldblooded naval ancestors of yours, of the flog 'em and hang 'em brigade, from the Nore and Spithead.'
What she remembered was that, when the chips were down, Paul himself had a natural talent for violence, instinctive and efficient. 'I really don't know. But then I don't really know what you're talking about, either.'
'No, you wouldn't.' He nodded mild agreement. 'And your old man, too - that's the special dummy2
beauty of it, from Fatso's point of view: not just the chance to up-anchor, and make sail, and put to sea… But a bloody-marvellous father-figure target to sink as well - right, Elizabeth Jane?'
The passion was back. It was deep-layered now, under that false mildness, and then under mocking calculation and curiosity. But it was there all the same, and she half-wished that it worried her more, instead of merely irritating her.
But then it was anger, rather than irritation. 'I don't see what my father has to do with this.'
The anger flared. 'Or with you.'
'Nothing to do with me.' He felt the heat. 'As of this minute I was never here, and we never met.' He straightened up, and gestured towards the door. 'And seeing as we haven't met, and I shall have to buy an alibi to prove that I was somewhere else - that I am somewhere else… or at least half-way there - ' He frowned suddenly, and made a silly face. 'When you gave David those jobs… what did you say you were doing? I mean…just curiosity - ?'