"A tricky blighter, then," said Latimer. "Arrogant, selfish, indisciplined, bloody-minded, ruthless, cunning—take your pick." He stared into space as he listed David Longsdon dummy5
Audley's virtues, at a point above Roche's head.
"Brilliant," supplemented Sir Eustace. "Brave."
Roche achieved a surreptitious sidelong look at Colonel Clinton, and was rewarded with a fleeting vision of Clinton observing Oliver St.John Latimer in an unguarded moment.
"Clever—I'll grant you clever," begrudged Latimer.
"A First at Cambridge," murmured Sir Eustace. "An Open Scholarship when he was seventeen—the Hebden Prize—and a First after the war."
"Anyone can get a First at Cambridge," said Latimer disparagingly. "It isn't difficult."
"And a doctorate," said Sir Eustace.
Latimer sniffed. "On a singularly obscure aspect of Byzantine religious history. Which I also strongly suspect he cribbed from an even more obscure untranslated Arabic thesis on the subject ... I know of a chap who did exactly the same with a Ph.D on Richard Hooker— all out of an untranslated German book . . .But — clever, I'll grant you, yes!"
David Longsdon Audley . . .
Educated: Miss Anthea Grant's Kindergarten, 1930-33; St.
George's Preparatory School for Boys, Buckland, 1933-38; St. Martin's School, Immingham, Hampshire, 1938-42; War Service (see below); Rylands College, Cambridge, 1946-49
(Open Scholarship in History, 1942; Hebden Prizewinner, 1948; 1st Class Honours, 1949; Ph.D., 1953).
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"And brave." Sir Eustace allowed the hint of a sharper edge into his voice, almost as though he was deliberately taking a cut at Latimer.
"Ah . . . well, I wouldn't like to set myself up as an authority there, Eustace," said Latimer off-handedly, as impervious to the cut as a rhinoceros to the brush of a thornbush. "They didn't give him any pretty ribbons, but that doesn't prove anything, I suppose — medals being no more than a lottery.
But no doubt a gallant officer."
War Service (Immingham School OTC, 1938-42) Army, 1942-46 (conscripted); OCTU, Mons Barracks, Aldershot, 1943; 21 Lt, Royal West Sussex Dragoons, 1943; 15th Armoured Division, 2nd Army, Normandy, July-August 1944; Lt. September 1944, attached Intelligence Corps; T/
Capt., February 1945; demobilised, Oct 1946.
"Wasn't it the Duke of Wellington who asked to be preserved from 'gallant officers'?" Latimer cast a lazy glance in Colonel Clinton's direction. "I suppose military bravery is in the nature of a communal activity — the urge to conform multiplied by the bloodlust of the hunting-field, would you say, Fred?"
Clinton shrugged. "I'm not an authority on it either, Latimer.
I can't say I've ever thought about it."
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"But he was a cavalryman of some sort, wasn't he?"
"He served in an armoured regiment, if that's what you mean," said Clinton evenly.
"The Royal . . . something Dragoons . . .?"
"West Sussex. He was with them in Normandy."
"But not for long, if I remember correctly?"
Was this being staged for his benefit, Roche wondered — or did they always spar like this?
"They didn't last long. They were practically wiped out in the bocage country, south of Caumont." Clinton paused. "If I remember correctly."
"In the best British cavalry tradition," agreed Latimer. "It was a smart regiment, I take it?"
"It was a good yeomanry regiment," said Clinton icily.
"That's what I mean—sons of the local squires in pretty uniforms—gold braid and magenta-coloured breeches, and all that."
Magenta was their colour, yes."
"How ghastly! Doesn't go with anything, magenta—I should know, because it's my old college colour too," murmured Latimer. "And it was after that debacle you met him first, wasn't it, Fred?"
Suddenly Roche began to watch them both much more carefully.
"Briefly," said Clinton, equally briefly.
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"Yes. And that's where the book of words starts to become rather sketchy," nodded Latimer.
So it wasn't for his benefit—they were fencing with unbuttoned foils, decided Roche.
Latimer had done his homework on Audley, no matter what he pretended—even down to knowing that the regimental colour of the Royal West Sussex Dragoons was magenta, which was a dead giveaway to the depth of his research. But, nevertheless, there was still a lot that he didn't know about Audley—and therefore a lot that wasn't in the file—for which, even for any unconsidered titbit an irritated Colonel Clinton might let slip, Latimer was now unashamedly fishing.
But, much more to the point, 2/Lt Audley had met Clinton in 1944, and although obviously still very young had been involved in intelligence work thereafter.
So ... they didn't just want Audley as a recruit—they wanted him back.
"So then he went to work for you," confirmed Latimer obligingly.
"Not for me," Clinton shook his head.
"For us, then." Latimer waited for a moment or two. Then, when it became clear that Clinton wasn't going to elaborate on that piece of negative intelligence, he turned to Sir Eustace. "What exactly did he do? Beyond causing a lot of trouble to a lot of people, if I read between the lines correctly?"
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Sir Eustace smiled almost genially, as though he didn't want to offend Latimer. "It isn't really grist to our mill any more, Oliver. It's all water under the bridge—'in another country, and besides the wench is dead', and all that."
"You mean—still classified?" Smiles didn't fool Latimer.
"If you like. But also unimportant now. You've seen his fitness reports."
"Unfitness reports, more like," amended Latimer. "Oh yes, I've seen them. And I've talked to Archie Forbes at Cambridge too, and he pretty much confirmed them.
Arrogant, selfish, indisciplined, bloody-minded, ruthless and cunning."
"He's matured since then, Oliver."
"Or hardened."
"So much the better." Sir Eustace's voice roughened. "At all events, Oliver—and David—I want him. And I want him quickly."
Latimer gave Roche a quizzical look, almost as though he was seeing him for the first time. "Well, you're welcome to him.
But I say he's a tricky blighter—"
"So he worked for them." Genghis Khan did not appear either particularly surprised by the news, or embarrassed by the fact that it was news. "And then left them."
"And you've got no record of him?" Roche made no effort to dummy5
conceal his disappointment.
"Nothing?"
"The inquiry into our records is in progress. But now I will inquire more urgently, since we know there is something to look for. Do not despair."
"I'm not despairing. I just expected more help, that's all—if it's so important."
"It is important." Genghis Khan's fractional nod was, by the standard of his immobility, a wild gesture of agreement on that, Roche supposed. "It is so important that it is all the more important for us not to rush in to help you, I think. We must help you with caution, is better."
That sounded very much like all aid short of actual help, thought Roche bleakly. Between Sir Eustace's I want him quickly and Genghis Khan's we must help you with caution and St. John Latimer's he's a tricky blighter, not to mention his private plans, he was already in over his head, and he hadn't even started.
"And above all you must be cautious," Genghis Khan compounded the situation. "At least until we know what they want, there must be no risk taken, no slightest risk."