Quiller Solitaire

'All right. Would you like something to drink? I can ask them to send us -'

'Nothing for me. You go ahead.'

'I don't think so. Although I should be celebrating, in a way. This is probably the last time I'll be in Berlin apart from the odd trip.' She let her eyes wander across the brilliantly lighted streets. 'But it's also nice to be here for the first time alone. Without George.' She swung her head to look at me. The way he died was so beastly, and I've only just realised how much I hated him.' With a small wry smile – 'Do you mind if I unpack?'

'Not a bit.' There was a copy of Stern on the small round table and I went over and picked it up.

'Things get so creased,' she said from behind me, and I heard her pulling the zips of the bag open. 'At least mine do – I wear cotton when I can.'

I took it that the small talk was to cover the last thing she'd told me, about hating George. I didn't think she wanted any kind of answer. But it was interesting, and I wondered whether she was feeling a sense of relief that he was dead, and had even, perhaps, seen it coming.

'It was probably the last thing,' I said, 'you'd been expecting.'

She was pulling drawers open. 'I'm not absolutely sure. He was a rather mysterious person, rather secretive. In fact he was very secretive.' Her voice had become louder and when I looked up I saw she'd swung round from the chest of drawers, a pair of white cotton briefs in her hand. 'Do you think he could have been a spy?'

'It sounds possible.'

' Berlin 's almost a beautiful city again, and look what they're planning for the Potsdamer Platz and everything, but there are still some very strong undercurrents here, aren't there? You must know about them. And George -' she broke off as the phone rang. 'That's Willi.' She dropped the briefs onto the bed and picked up the telephone. 'Hello?' I went across to her, in case Hartman let me talk to him.

'Oh, Gerda, how are you?

I covered the mouthpiece and said, Tell her you'll call her back.'

'Gerda,' she said, 'do you mind if I call you back? I'm just out of the shower and dripping all over the floor.'

I wondered if she'd thought the easy lie was necessary, or if it was just social habit. When she'd hung up I said, 'She's a friend of yours?'

'Yes. Gerda Schilling. I've known her for -'

'I want to keep the line clear for Willi, so if anyone else rings, tell them the same thing. You'll call them back.' And then I asked her – 'How did Gerda know you were here?'

She looked contrite. 'I rang her from Heathrow, before I left. I shouldn't have, should I?'

'Did you ring anyone else?'

'No. Only Willi.'

She watched me with something close to fear in her wide grey eyes, the fear of authority. It told me a little more about George Maitland.

'You didn't tell anyone at all that you were staying at the Steglitz, or that you were coming to Berlin?'

'No.' She didn't look away. 'Nobody else.' 'Then don't worry. Don't talk to anyone until we've met Willi.'

'Whatever you say.' In a moment: 'You probably think I'm a bit – I don't know – naive, don't -'

'You're just not used to subterfuge, that's all.'

'Oh,' she said, looking down, 'I don't know about that. I tell lies easily, don't I?' She looked up again and the shimmering smile came. 'I think it's just that I'm not terribly bright. I was a model, that was all, before I met George. I've never had to use my brain.' A soft laugh – 'It makes life awkward for me.'

'A touch of innocence,' I said, 'is refreshing in this day and age.'

'You're very -' and she was looking for the right word when the phone rang again, and I picked it up and gave it to her.

'Hallo?' She turned to me and nodded slightly. Yes, Willi. Don't worry, it's still not late. Would you like to have a word with Mr Locke?' She listened for a moment. 'All right. But he wants you to know that he guarantees your' – looking at me – 'safety, was it?'

'His absolute protection.'

'He guarantees your absolute protection, Willi. So everything's all right.'

She listened for another minute and then said goodbye and put the phone back. 'We're to meet him at the Cafe' Brahms in twenty minutes.'

'Do you know where it is?'

'Oh, yes. Ten minutes from here.'

'Have you been there before?'

'Yes. I -'

'How often?

She began looking anxious again, as if she'd done something wrong. 'Oh, just a few times, when -'

With Willi?'

'Yes.'

'And with George?

'Yes.'

Then Hartman wasn't terribly bright either. I said, 'I just need to know things like that. Don't worry.'

In a moment, 'You'll be rather glad to be rid of me, won't you, when I leave Berlin?'

'Not really. But I've guaranteed your absolute protection, too, so we've got to take a few little precautions.'

But yes, in point of fact, I would be very glad indeed when I could put Helen Maitland onto a plane for London. In Reigate I'd thought she was vulnerable, and she was; but here in Berlin I realised she was also a distinct risk to security – her own, mine and the Bureau's. Solitaire was running close to exposure.

There was a cold drizzle in the air when we walked out of the lobby at the Steglitz and got a cab and drove through the late evening traffic.

'How big,' I asked Helen, 'is the Cafe Brahms?'

'Not very.' She sat close to me, her thigh against mine. Her face looked cold and pinched in the coloured light from the street; she was sitting close because she wanted to touch someone who knew much more about what was going on than she did; she needed to feel the protection I'd told her about. This was my impression. 'It's a basement,' she said. The Cafe Brahms.

'I'm going to drop you off there,' I said. 'I want you to sit as close as you can to the bar, where I can find you easily.'

'Why aren't you coming in with me?'

'I've got a chore to do. I'll be there as soon as Willi is, don't worry. What does he look like?'

She was picking at her nails, looking out of the windows at the street. 'Willi? Oh, he's short, thirty or so.' With a nervous smile – 'He usually wears a rather rakish trilby.'

'Face?'

She thought about it. 'He's got blue eyes – he's German-looking in that way, blond hair, thinning a bit – he's self-conscious about it.'

We were going east along Steglitzer Damm, crossing Bismarck; the pavements were shining under the drizzle.

'What kind of nose?'

'I can't really say I've noticed.'

'Pale skin? Red? A heavy face?'

'Oh no. Pale, and sort of soft.'