By mutual agreement, Forbes-James and Stratton walked back to Nelson House without talking. The interview had been a waste of time. Apse had denied everything and claimed that Diana had secreted the coded message in his flat and then pretended to discover it. When they got back, Forbes-James dismissed both Diana and Margot, and they sat nursing large Scotches until the two women had left. Stratton had expected Forbes-James to launch into a review of their interview with Sir Neville, but instead, he put his elbows on his desk and leant forward. ‘Well?’
‘He’s lying, sir. He’s either pro-fascist, or he’s being blackmailed by someone in the Right Club because he’s a homosexual.’
‘Very possibly. But we only have Mrs Calthrop’s word for it that she found the document in his kitchen, and that she heard him with the boy.’
Stratton nearly choked on his drink – which was, as he’d suspected, far superior to the blended stuff he had at home – and said ‘She couldn’t have made that up, sir.’
‘She wouldn’t have made it up on her own, no.’
‘You mean …’
‘Her name was on Wymark’s list of Right Club members,’ said Forbes-James.
‘But it would be, wouldn’t it? You instructed her to infiltrate it.
‘Apse’s name wasn’t there. And that list, as far as we can tell, is comprehensive.’
‘You didn’t tell me that, sir,’ said Stratton.
‘No, I didn’t. Perhaps I should have.’
Yes, thought Stratton, you fucking well should, if you want me to be any use. It might be the Secret Service way of working, but
this whole business of telling people things at the last minute, or not telling them at all, was bloody unsettling.
‘Apse said she made a number of pro-fascist comments while she was working for him.’
‘But if she was trying to find out whether he …’
‘Yes. But it is also possible that she might have planted that document. In fact, she didn’t even need to do that – or to visit Apse’s flat at all on that particular evening. As I said, we only have her word for it.’
‘But if she was acting for the Right Club, what would be the point of incriminating Sir Neville? If it’s blackmail, they could have put pressure on him. You’ve seen the film, sir.’
‘Yes,’ said Forbes-James, ‘and so have you. But we don’t know if anyone else has, do we? Diana’s been spending a lot of time with members of the Right Club, and she has also been having an affair with one of my men – a double agent who arrived from Lisbon several months ago, briefed by the Abwehr, although she did begin the infiltration before she met him. And while this man has given me no reason to believe that he is anything but reliable, and Diana tells me she has broken off the liaison, one can’t be absolutely certain about either of those things.’
So I was right, thought Stratton. The chap who took her out to lunch …
‘As I mentioned earlier,’ said Forbes-James, ‘beautiful women are vulnerable.’
‘But why would Mrs Calthrop tell you about a coded message in Sir Neville’s flat? If she’s acting for the Right Club, she’d know that the code could be broken and the whole thing could be traced back to Wymark. And if she’s working in Germany’s interests, surely that includes keeping America out of the war, and anything that would stop Mr Roosevelt from being re-elected would help that. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘You mean it doesn’t seem to make sense,’ said Forbes-James.
That’s because I don’t know what the fuck is going on, thought Stratton. ‘What about Miss Pender this morning?’ he asked.
‘She may not have been aware of the situation.’
‘But all the same …’
‘The Right Club may have had other reasons for wanting to discredit Apse, and Diana may not have known how easily the code
could be broken. Or – and this is entirely possible – she may have been given the wrong document by mistake.’
Stratton gaped at him.
‘Believe me, such things have happened. It’s quite astonishing how easily the best laid plan can turn into the most almighty cock-up,’ said Forbes-James, blandly. ‘Happens all the time, especially in war.’
‘But if Mrs Calthrop is involved,’ Stratton persisted, ‘how would she have access to these neutral countries?’
‘Through my double agent,’ said Forbes-James. ‘As I mentioned, his Abwehr contacts are in Lisbon. It’s all a question,’ he continued, ‘of looking at things from every angle. It’s unlikely, but not impossible. One mustn’t take anything for granted.’
‘Christ,’ said Stratton.
‘My sentiments exactly. More Scotch?’
‘Thank you, sir. I feel as if I need it.’
They drank in silence for a moment, then Stratton said, ‘May I ask something, sir?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why didn’t you let me question Sir Neville about the body in the church?’
‘He’s already denied having anything to do with it.’
‘But it was his handkerchief, sir. We made sure of it. It’s all in my notes.’
‘I know that, but there are ways of doing these things, and we need more information before we go any further. Softly, softly, and all that. Besides,’ Forbes-James smiled, ‘I could see you weren’t particularly keen on him.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I wasn’t.’ Sir Neville’s air of amusement – the mental shrug at the world in general and, Stratton felt, at him in particular, had rankled, as it had at their first meeting, but he hadn’t realised he’d let it show. The all-too-visible chip on the shoulder: exactly what someone like Sir Neville – and Forbes-James and, when you came down to it, Diana Calthrop – would expect from a person of his class.
‘You’ll get your opportunity, I assure you,’ said Forbes-James. ‘But first, we need to go and talk to Peverell Montague. They’ll have taken him in by now, and our driver will be waiting.’
‘I imagine,’ said Forbes-James, as they went down to the car, ‘that you are thinking you’d like to strangle the lot of us with our old school ties.’ This was pretty much exactly what Stratton had been thinking. He didn’t see any real point in denying it, but before he could reply, Forbes-James continued, ‘Incidentally, I agree that it is probably a question of blackmail. Although Mrs Calthrop is compromised, I think her involvement is highly unlikely.’
Then what the hell was all that about, Stratton wanted to ask, but said nothing. As they drove along the Embankment towards Albert Bridge, he thought of the Indian waiter in the ruins of West End Central Station. You think I know bugger all, Colonel, he mouthed silently, and you’re right. I haven’t got a fucking clue.