"That's quite generous, isn't it? Two thousand pounds for being the biggest bloody fool the Service could lay their hands on."
"I shouldn't look at it like that if I were you. As I told you, you were selected for your inexperience. You were also isolated. Somebody had to do it. When the project first took shape there was a school of thought favoring the officer in your role being fully informed of the true state of events and aims, but I was able to argue successfully that the continuous deception called for would be an intolerable strain. The alternative was somebody of your general type-conscientious, not excessively imaginative, predictable-to be kept in ignorance. You were chosen. You did what was expected of you. You've nothing to be ashamed of."
"I've everything to be ashamed of."
Sighing, Ross-Donaldson stood up and settled his clothing into position. Leonard also rose.
"I think, if I may say so, Leonard, you'll quite likely do better outside the Service. I doubt if you'd ever have become a top-flight Security officer. You're too interested in people."
"I don't know a thing about them," said Leonard.
He put on his hat, saluted-smartly and turned away. Ross-Donaldson shrugged his shoulders.
More than an hour went by befoie Leonard began to feel in the least degree better. On leaving Ross-Donaldson's office he decided that he needed sherry just as much as he needed Lucy, and sherry was nearer. But before entering the Mess doorway he stopped. It was only nine-fifty and he disliked the idea of being caught drinking at such an hour by a brother-officer, or indeed of being caught doing anything at any foreseeable hour by a brother-officer. After a moment's thought, he drove down to the village and bought a bottle of Murillo Hermanos' Manzanilla off Eames, who was just opening the White Hart. While he was waiting for it to be wrapped, Leonard got Anne to serve him with a glass of whatever was nearest. This proved to be a sweetish South African wine which vanished without trace before even getting as far as his breakfast had done.
His gloom persisted during his drive to Lucy's and changed direction slightly at the suspicious, even hostile, way she greeted him.
"What's the matter?" he asked as he stood in the portico. "What have I done?"
She glared at him. "What are you doing here? I told you not to come over."
"I thought that only meant the evenings. I've just come to see you. I've got some free time. I'll go away if you like."
Her glare lessened. "You're not after James?"
"James? Why should I be after him? Is he here?"
"You're a sort of policeman, aren't you? Yes, he's upstairs."
"What for? I don't understand."
He understood better within about ten minutes, by which time he and Lucy were sitting in the shade of an oak-tree on the unkempt lawn outside the drawing-room. As she talked, she sipped a weak gin and tonic. He had two glasses of sherry inside him, a third in his hand, and the bottle beside his deck-chair. For one reason or another, he had forgotten about being gloomy.
"I should have been informed, really, I suppose," he said at one point. "But it doesn't matter now."
"No, this whole business is much more important."
"And he hasn't eaten or drunk a thing?" he asked when Lucy had finished her account.
"He won't eat. He doesn't even want to smoke. Willie's got him to drink a glass or two of water."
"What about, you know, going to the lavatory?"
"Willie's taken him I think three times. The last time he had to more or less carry him. To the little lavatory, that is. He hasn't been to the big lavatory. He's sort of shutting down completely. Here's Willie."
Ayscue came over to them across the sunlit grass. He nodded unsmilingly to Leonard, refused a drink, sat down in a third chair and began rubbing his eyes slowly. He was pale and unshaven.
"Anything?" asked Lucy.
"No change. Except perhaps a little for the worse. It's getting harder to tell whether he's asleep or not."
"You ought to get some sleep yourself."
"I might as well. I'm not doing any good up there. You've come to take him back, I imagine," he added accusingly to Leonard.
"No. Brian just wanted to see me. I've been telling him about it all. You want to help, don't you, Brian?"
"I don't see what I can do if you two can't do anything."
"Brian," said Ayscue. His manner had become more friendly. "What will happen to him if you and I dress him and take him back? From the Security point of view, I mean."
Leonard knew that the canceling of Operation Apollo would not lead to any remission of the checks and restraints on those concerned in it, at any rate for some time. He guessed that his chiefs would not permit to be at large an individual in possession of such vital secrets who had clearly become unstable mentally.
"They'll lock him up," he said.
"That's what I thought. Brian, I want to ask you something important. I think James has got more on his mind than he says. Than he said he had when he was still talking. I think it's this Operation Apollo. I think he can't face it. I know all war is dreadful, but whatever this is must be quite unusually dreadful. I want you to tell me if I'm right. Just that and no more."
"Yes," said Leonard. "You're right."
"Yes. He's fallen into a state of hating God, you see, Brian. That's bad enough. But I think he's lost faith in everything else too. In the world. He's against it all."
"I think I understand. Will you excuse me? I'll be back later."
He went off towards the house. Before going inside he looked round at the other two, Ayscue in his rumpled khaki, leaning back now as if asleep, Lucy in her spotless white dress that shone in the sun, sitting forward with her arms clasped round her knees. Then he entered and hurried upstairs to the room where Churchill was lying with his eyes shut. Leonard went and knelt by the bed.
"James. This is Brian Leonard. I know you're worrying about Operation Apollo. Well, you needn't any more. It's off. It's been canceled. You haven't got to do it. You're free. It's all over. Operation Apollo has been canceled."
Churchill made no move. He hardly seemed to be breathing.
Leonard cleared his throat and said in a caricatured military tone, "Official message for Lieutenant James Churchill, Blue Howards. Top secret. Operation Apollo is hereby canceled, repeat canceled, effective forthwith. Acknowledge. Message ends."
This too had no effect. Leonard rose to his feet and stood thinking. After a short while he went out and downstairs, left the house by the front door, got into his car and drove away.
The two on the lawn heard him go. Ayscue stirred irritably.
"Where's he off to?" he said. "Gone to turn out the Brigade of Guards, I expect, or something equally helpful."
"That isn't very nice of you, Willie."
"I'm sorry. He's a very decent man, I agree. But a very foolish one. He's never asked himself a serious question in his life. He knows no more about the way things work than he did when he was fourteen."