He had told her he was going to discuss the thematic aspects of the speech with Churchill or, at the very least, persuade the ambassador to discuss it with him. None of these things had apparently occurred. Or perhaps they agreed with the former prime minister’s thesis, although the remark about a death warrant seemed to negate that theory. Something was awry. She couldn’t shake an uncommon sense of terrible discomfort, a kind of anxious desperation.
Yet she continued to resist sharing this information with Thompson. He might think she was imagining things or it might set off unnecessary and possibly false alarm bells. After all, the Russians had been friends and allies. By imparting the information, she would, in effect, be involved in a double betrayal, both of her lover and Mr. Churchill.
She could not deflect her uneasiness.
“You look a bit distracted, young lady,” Thompson said.
Sitting opposite her, he had apparently been observing her closely for some time.
“Do I?” she asked innocently, knowing his assessment was exactly correct.
Guilt was having its corrosive effect. However she tried to put it aside and rationalize it in the name of love and loyalty to her boss, it continued to gnaw at her. She needed Donald by her side to reassure her by his presence and to reiterate his explanation.
“Just an idle observation, Miss Stewart. It’s the curse of the detective. Always needing to look beyond the human façade. Forgive me.”
After a long silence, she found her mind too fatigued with speculation about her lover’s motives. But in the process of blocking one path, she found another equally disturbing.
“You’ve been with Mr. Churchill a long time, Mr. Thompson?” she began.
“Very long, my dear — earlier in his career when he was First Lord of the Admiralty in the first war and later when he called me back in thirty-nine. I was with him during the entire time of his service as prime minister.” He sighed and smiled. “We’ve been through a great deal together.”
She noted his great pride in his service, and she had no doubts about his affection for and absolute loyalty to Mr. Churchill.
“I suppose you’ve seen him through all kinds of danger.”
She was surprised at her own comment, since it revealed a level of anxiety that she had deliberately repressed.
“My goodness, yes,” Thompson said. “You cannot imagine the close calls we’ve had. He is a stubborn man, courageous and quite fearless. During the blitz, I could not get him to be cautious, and often he would refuse to go down to a shelter. Considering his extensive travels during the war by land, sea, and air, it’s a miracle that he’s still alive.”
“I guess you must have an eagle eye for danger, sir,” she said, watching his face.
“Maybe so. At times, I’ve had to be rather heavy-handed to get him to change a schedule, switch modes of transportation, restrain him from moving into crowds — even though they were mostly adoring crowds. Many times I’ve had to deliberately inhibit his movements to get between him and potential harm.”
“Which would put you in the line of fire,” she said, suddenly feeling chilled.
“I would take a bullet for that man anytime or anyplace,” he said emphatically. “He is a great man.”
“Give up your life for another man, Mr. Thompson? That is quite a sacrifice.”
“To give it up for him would be an honor.”
She felt a sudden sense of panic and sucked in deep breaths to calm her. But she had apparently triggered in him a new train of thought.
“Odd, isn’t it? None of the great wartime leaders — Stalin, Roosevelt, Mr. Churchill, de Gaulle — were ever harmed during the war. Only Admiral Darlan, the Vichy collaborator who later betrayed the Nazis and collaborated with us, was assassinated.”
“I suppose they were well protected,” Victoria said.
“The marshal and the president had elaborate protection.”
“And the Prime Minister?”
Thompson chuckled.
“He had me.”
She offered a smile and a humorless laugh.
“Of course, when he was prime minister he was officially protected, but I was always on hand to watch over him.”
“Has there ever been an attempt… you know what I mean… on Mr. Churchill?” she asked hesitantly.
He studied her face for a moment then turned away to contemplate the passing scenery. After a while, he looked at her again. His expression seemed severe.
“This is a matter we never discuss. Not ever.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I hadn’t realized.”
“There are subjects beyond revelation,” he said. “In the public arena, they power suggestion and, unfortunately, emulation.”
“I think I understand, sir.”
She wasn’t exactly certain, but she presumed he meant that any public discussion of such an act or the possibility of it occurring would give evil people ideas. From his sudden change of attitude, she felt certain that attempts had been made on Mr. Churchill’s life that, quite obviously, had been thwarted and, presumably, never publicized.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I have set off some gloomy thoughts.” She shrugged. “I have no idea why I brought up the subject.”
Again, she repressed a desire to tell him about her lover’s action and his odd statement. The idea was obsessing her. At the very least, she thought suddenly, she should have pressed Donald for an explanation of why he would give the speech to the Russians. Surely, he owed her that. After all, they did share the secret of their affair. Surely, that meant something.
She felt suddenly stifled and vulnerable. The temptation to reveal what she knew was overwhelming. She needed to be alone and think this over.
“Will Mr. Churchill be needing me tonight?” she asked, anxious to be off.
“I expect he’ll be quite late — poker game, you know. If he needs you, he’ll call.”
She bid him good night and left the compartment.
Inexplicably, the young woman had triggered in Thompson’s mind recollections publicly repressed but never far from his thoughts. Yes, there were narrow escapes from the obvious: U-boats tracking ships and trains on which the prime minister had traveled, planes on which he flew.
He remembered the case of poor Lesley Howard, one of the great English actors, whose plane had gone down over the Atlantic. Thompson was dead certain that the actor’s plane was thought to be carrying the prime minister. Then there were the many instances when he toured the battlefield with General Eisenhower or went round London during the blitz.
Most of these episodes would, one day, when all the intelligence of both sides was sorted out, become the stuff of history. The other episodes, he hoped, would never see the light of day. His job was not only to guard the prime minister and foil any attempt to assassinate him, but prevent the attempt from becoming known. Some were not even revealed to the prime minister or his family.
An implicit policy of Special Branch was that all such incidents be shrouded in secrecy and not recorded anywhere, leaving no trace. The most serious of these attempted murders occurred at Chequers, the PM’s official country house. Before Churchill would embark to go anywhere, Thompson would carefully check the route, surveying possible clandestine targeting places. Secretly, he would pay a visit to the most dangerous spots, often working by pure instinct.
If he were suspicious, he often sat in a car where he could deflect a bullet before it hit Mr. Churchill. Yes, he would gladly put himself in harm’s way to protect his charge.
It was, of course, almost impossible to guard his man during the numerous stump speeches he made running for Parliament. But if the Prime Minister were to speak in an enclosed space — the House of Commons excepted, since that was thoroughly vetted by MI5, he was always careful to scout the premises in advance, checking even after his colleagues had scoured the area. He rarely trusted anyone to “cleanse” an area completely.