And Is There Honey Still For Tea? (11 page)

‘Yes, that's right,' Wood said. ‘I remember that now. But I lost touch with him during the War. It was during our stay in Buenos Aires that I got to know James, really. We all talked a great deal, especially during the voyages to and from Argentina, and we came to know each other quite well at that time.'

‘What was your impression of James?'

‘Very favourable, I would say. He struck me as a very modest man. There was no suggestion of superiority because of his title or his family, or even about being a barrister. He was there as a chess player, he was very approachable, and he treated everyone he met in the same way, courteously and fairly. He was quite happy, for example, to take the reserve spot on the team. He had no airs and graces at all. But he did believe in himself. By that I mean that he had enormous confidence in himself as a player. And …'

‘And …?'

Wood hesitated. ‘I'm not sure this has any relevance,' he said, ‘but James did have something of a chip on his shoulder about the plight of the western chess player. We all do, of course. It's something we all live with. But James seemed a bit obsessive about it sometimes. He could go on and on about the injustice of it all, and how the Soviets had set an example of how things should be – you know, chess as an art form and art being a contract between the State and the artist, the State supporting the artist and the artist putting his art at the service of the State, and so on. I remember he cross-examined Harry and myself about how we proposed to support ourselves as chess players. He was particularly interested in what I was doing. But I had only just got
Chess
underway at the time, and none of us could give him any satisfactory answer about how we were going to do it. I remember thinking it was rather odd in a way, because he was a barrister, and presumably he was going to do well for himself. But it seemed to me that he wanted someone to wave a magic wand and magically make it possible for him to become a professional chess player. It was almost as if talking about it would somehow make it happen.'

‘Was he good enough at that time,' Ben asked, ‘to play professionally, I mean?'

‘If he had been supported and nurtured, Soviet-style, from a young age? He would undoubtedly have been grandmaster material,' Wood replied, without hesitation. ‘A number of us would. But that wasn't the world we lived in. It might have been a world we sometimes dreamed of. But it wasn't real.'

‘And yet James did quite a lot of work as a chess journalist, didn't he?'

Wood looked at Ben as if unsure how to respond.

‘Yes, he did,' he replied eventually. ‘And that was something else which was a bit odd.'

‘In what way?'

Wood shook his head. ‘It's difficult to define. James didn't generally cover tournaments for the main newspapers. Hugh, Harry and I have done quite a bit of that for the
Sunday Times
, the
Telegraph
, and so on. So has Leonard Barden, for the
Guardian
. But James seemed to cover chess mainly for publications which didn't have serious chess columns. All right, he would place the occasional piece with a mainstream paper or a chess magazine; and his material was good – I ran several pieces he sent me over the years, as did the
British Chess Magazine
. But…'

‘But why is that odd?' Ben asked.

Wood thought for some time.

‘He did a lot of travelling for a reporter on that level,' he replied. ‘Chess journalism is not exactly highly paid. You have to be careful about your expenses. If you are writing a standard chess column, you can get reports of the games from any given chess tournament – especially something as big as the Soviet championship – quite easily, from any number of sources. There is no need to travel to all of them, and it wouldn't be economic to travel to all of them – not for what he would be paid for the kind of reporting he did. All of us have to be careful about that. We have to ration ourselves.'

‘Perhaps, as a barrister, he had the money and just liked to travel to chess tournaments?' Ben suggested. ‘Perhaps it made up for not being a player?'

Wood shook his head. ‘No,' he replied emphatically. ‘Nothing made up for not being a player. Not for James.'

16

Tuesday, 13 April

Ben waited anxiously for Barratt and Jess to arrive for the consultation with Bernard Wesley and Sir James Digby. When he had returned to chambers from Birmingham the previous day, he had had every intention of tracking her down, even going to Barratt's office on some pretext, if he had to. That would have been a gross breach of professional etiquette – any such contact should be made through his clerk – but she was still not returning his calls, and he was feeling desperate. But Merlin had whisked him away to the Marylebone Magistrates' Court in the late afternoon, to represent a sales representative who was in danger of being disqualified from driving for repeated offences of speeding and ignoring automatic traffic signals. The situation had remained unchanged overnight: he was unable to contact her. Barratt and Jess proved to be the last to arrive, minutes before the consultation was due to begin, and she avoided his eyes. If Bernard Wesley sensed that anything was wrong, he gave no indication of it.

‘Now that we are all here,' he began briskly, ‘let me remind everyone of where we are. We issued a Writ for libel and served our Statement of Claim on the 15th March. We received a Defence from Hollander's solicitors dated the 29th March, which contains only one defence, namely justification. You all know what that means. Hollander proposes to prove that what he said in his article is not libellous because it is wholly or substantially true. If he were to succeed in that defence, our claim would fail and we would be ordered to pay his costs.'

‘If he were to succeed in that defence,' Digby said, ‘my life would be over.'

‘Yes,' Wesley agreed. ‘So, the question becomes where we go from here. Herbert, I understand that we have still not received any indication from the other side that Hollander has any evidence to support his defence.'

‘No indication at all,' Harper confirmed. ‘The concern, of course, is that they have something they are not telling us about.'

Wesley nodded. ‘We cannot allow the situation to remain as it is, for obvious reasons. We must avoid being ambushed at, or just before, trial by evidence we have not seen.'

‘Well,' Digby said, ‘in the Chancery Division we would ask for further and better particulars of the Defence. We are entitled to notice of the facts he intends to rely on. Then, if those particulars are not forthcoming, we would apply to strike out the Defence; and if the judge won't do that, we would object to the defendant adducing evidence at trial to prove facts which should have been disclosed.'

Wesley smiled. ‘We are every bit as sophisticated in the Queen's Bench Division, James, I assure you,' he replied. ‘That is exactly what we are going to do. Ben is in charge of that.'

‘I will be sending the Request to Herbert for service on the other side very soon,' Ben confirmed.

‘Good,' Wesley said. ‘But obviously, we have not just been sitting back waiting for Hollander to show his hand. We have also been making certain inquiries of our own. Jess, I recall that we had delegated Professor Hollander to you. What can you tell us?'

This invitation to report gave Ben a legitimate reason to look directly at Jess, something he had carefully avoided up to this point. Jess returned his look briefly, and gave him what might have been the suggestion of a smile. Ben was momentarily heartened, but she looked away quickly and seemed unusually subdued as she produced her notes and began to speak.

‘Professor Francis R Hollander was born on the 11th June 1933, in Savannah, Georgia. After high school in Savannah, he attended the University of Georgia, where he received his Bachelor's degree, majoring in politics with a minor in American history. He went on to Yale to do his Master's degree and stayed on for his Doctorate, both in political science. He joined the Yale faculty almost immediately afterwards and is currently an associate professor. He is a keen chess player, as we know. Sir James knows about him in the context of chess, so I didn't delve into that. But I did look into his academic interests and writings. I must thank Mr Harper for opening some doors for me and getting me into the libraries of two London University colleges, King's and LSE. I'm not sure where I would have found some of the materials in this country without his help.'

Harper nodded and smiled. ‘My pleasure. I'm glad some of the money I have given my
alma mater
over the years has finally produced some benefit.'

‘Most of Hollander's work,' Jess continued, ‘seems pretty uncontroversial, at least for our purposes. He is very interested in the relationship between the States and the Federal Government, how power is shared under the Constitution, how far the Federal Government can influence State legislation, that kind of thing. He has written two or three pieces jointly with an associate professor at Yale Law School, Donald Tate, and several more on his own. We have copies of it all – Ben and I have copies.'

‘I have gone through them quickly,' Ben added. ‘I agree with Jess. There is nothing of great interest to us.'

‘Not so far,' Jess continued. ‘He did write a short piece about political responsibility for the Security Services about two years ago, but it was very technical – nothing rhetorical at all.'

‘Which makes his attack on James even stranger,' Wesley mused.

‘Yes,' Jess replied, ‘but now we come to more recent developments. About 18 months ago, he founded his journal, the
Ivy League Political Remembrancer
. When we first saw the article about Sir James, it seemed clear that the
Remembrancer
was Hollander's project. We noted then that he is the general editor as well as managing editor, which indicates that the publication is essentially his sole responsibility. There are one or two other names, but they seem to be support staff. Since then I have tracked down the earlier issues – there are only three or four – and there is a marked difference in the tone and content of the work when compared to Hollander's earlier pieces in other publications. In the journal, we have rhetorical pieces actively criticising the Government, particularly in the field of foreign policy. Again, we have copies. The tone is conservative and isolationist, for example a revisionist analysis of the Marshall Plan, condemning it as a waste of American resources, and a piece highly critical of every administration since Truman for giving away too many secrets about the American atomic and nuclear programmes.'

‘Now we are getting closer to it,' Harper said.

‘Except for the fact that the earlier pieces in the
Remembrancer
were not written by Hollander,' Jess replied. ‘The only piece under his name is the article about Sir James in the February 1965 issue. The others are all invited contributions.'

‘So,' Wesley said slowly, ‘he was creating a forum for other academics to express their views: views that might not be acceptable to a more mainstream journal.'

‘Exactly,' Jess said, ‘but then, apparently, he decided to make use of that forum to speak his own mind. And that leads us to yet another strange thing about Hollander.'

‘Go on,' Wesley said.

‘Well, he is on track for promotion to full professor and tenure. I don't know much about the American academic system, but my father has a distant cousin who is a professor at the University of Virginia. I was able to speak to him by phone. He is a mathematician, but he tells me that the career path is essentially the same, regardless of subject. There is a career path, typically about seven years, from assistant, to associate, to full professor. Promotion to full professor usually brings with it a grant of tenure. That means that it becomes very hard to dismiss the professor. It is designed to protect academic freedom. You can't get rid of a tenured professor for expressing his academic opinions, however controversial they may be. You can only dismiss a tenured professor for certain kinds of misconduct.'

She paused for a moment.

‘So the conventional wisdom is that, if you want tenure, you don't make waves before you get it. You establish your reputation with safe, uncontroversial articles. Then, once you have tenure, you can chance your arm a bit more if you want to.'

There was silence for some time.

‘How long does Hollander have to go before he would be awarded tenure?' Wesley asked.

‘A year or two,' Jess replied.

‘Then it would seem that his recent forays into the realm of the sensational, including his attack on James, are unwise,' Wesley said, ‘at least according to conventional wisdom.'

‘The professor I spoke to at Virginia said he must have an academic death wish,' Jess replied.

17

‘Yesterday morning, I had a meeting with B H Wood, the editor of
Chess
,' Ben began. ‘He sends his best wishes, James. He will act as a character witness, if we need him.'

Digby smiled. ‘Baruch is a nice man,' he replied, ‘and a strong player. He wiped the floor with me at Whitby a year or so ago.'

‘So he told me,' Ben returned the smile. ‘He asked me to tell you how distressed he is by all this. He said you spent some time together in Argentina at a chess Olympiad and got to know each other quite well.'

‘Buenos Aires, 1939,' Digby confirmed. ‘He had just started
Chess
three or four years before that. He has done very well for himself. It is very well produced.'

‘He found a way to turn his passion into a career,' Ben observed.

Digby did not reply for some time.

‘He would prefer to be playing,' he said eventually. ‘He does play, of course. But whenever he plays he is also reporting the tournament for
Chess
, and so he has to spend much of his time on that rather than on preparation.'

‘He said that was a burden that all the best British players have to bear,' Ben said, ‘the need to make a living, I mean.'

‘That is quite true,' Digby replied quietly.

‘He had very little to say about Hollander,' Ben continued, ‘nothing we didn't already know, really. But we did discuss Stepanov. He gave me this book. It has a short piece about Stepanov and gives one or two of his games.'

Ben held up the
Survey of Soviet Chess
.

Digby laughed. ‘Of course, the dear old
Survey
. It's been a year or two since I delved into that, but I am sure that one of the games they give is his splendid win over Keres in the Championship, in the early 1950s, I would think?'

‘Yes,' Ben replied.

‘His best game ever, a real masterpiece,' Digby said.

‘The biographical note is fascinating,' Ben said. ‘If I read you one or two paragraphs, I think you will get the picture.

Viktor Stepanov was born in Leningrad in 1914. His parents fully supported the Revolution of 1917 and the principles taught by Marx and Lenin. Recognising that the young Viktor had a great talent for chess, they did not divert him into other fields of study as would have happened in a decadent Western culture, but encouraged him to pursue his love for the game.
He became a Young Pioneer, and joined the Pioneers' chess club. Before long, he was winning tournaments because of his creative and original approach to chess. His parents then sent Viktor to Moscow where he was enrolled at the Chess Academy, and received instruction from senior Soviet masters and grandmasters. With the benefit of their teaching and advice, Viktor Stepanov quickly rose through the ranks and attained the rank of master at the young age of 22. Like many others, his career in chess was cut short by the Great Patriotic War, in which he served with distinction.

After the War, Viktor Stepanov quickly resumed his playing career, winning a number of tournaments, placing well in the Soviet championship in several years, and attaining the title of grandmaster. Unfortunately, for some time, Viktor Stepanov fell prey to the bourgeois temptation to play safely, in the hope of resting on his laurels, and ceased his constant exploration for creative and original work in chess.
This had the result that his tournament results became less satisfactory. But he received advice from more experienced grandmasters, and on their advice, Viktor Stepanov engaged in a long period of self-criticism in accordance with the principles of Marxism-Leninism, with the result that he re-discovered his creative flair, and won many fine games. He has made some important contributions to opening theory in the Sicilian Defence. He also serves as a teacher at the Moscow Academy where he passes on his skill and wisdom to the next generation of Soviet grandmasters.

‘Grandmaster Stepanov is also a fine linguist, being fluent in English and German, among other languages. At some cost to his playing career, he selflessly placed his linguistic talents at the service of the State whenever they were required.
He acted as an interpreter for the Soviet prosecutor in the trial of the Major Axis War Criminals at Nuremberg at the end of the Great Patriotic War, and in later years he played a leading role in negotiations on behalf of the Soviet Chess Federation with respect to the organisation of international chess tournaments, and the participation of Soviet players in tournaments abroad.'

Ben closed the book with a smile. ‘This was published in 1955. It doesn't say what Grandmaster Stepanov got up to after that. We know that he died, apparently of natural causes, in Moscow in 1963. We have his obituary from the Soviet chess magazine
Sixty-Four
. There were also brief mentions in
Pravda
and
Izvestia
.'

‘It would be interesting to know what he did during the Great Patriotic War,' Wesley said. ‘Is there any light you can shed on that, James? You must have known him.'

‘Yes,' Digby replied, after a moment's hesitation. ‘I knew him reasonably well, I suppose. The first time I met him was at Nuremberg. I was an interpreter for the British prosecutors and he was with the Russian team, so we saw each other professionally and at parties given, usually, by the Americans, who had more money to spend on such things than we did. He wore a military uniform at Nuremberg, and he had the rank of captain, if I remember rightly. I met him many times in Moscow subsequently. But then we were talking about chess. I don't recall that he ever told me what he had done during the War. It would not surprise me in the least if he was in intelligence work of some kind. The Russians would have needed German speakers, just as we did, and linguists of Stepanov's quality would have been rare.'

Wesley thought for some time.

‘Was he the kind to be a solid Party man, would you say? Hollander's article suggests that by 1962 he was desperate to defect to the West.'

‘That was relatively recently,' Digby pointed out.

‘Yes, but if that is true, it must have been building for some time. Did you ever form any impression of him? By that I mean, did he seem to be a loyal servant of the Soviet Union, as the
Survey
suggests, or were there signs of restlessness, of his turning his eyes towards the West, perhaps? Did he ever say anything about that to you? After all you had known him for many years. It would have been much more logical to appeal to you than to Hollander, wouldn't it?'

‘Perhaps,' Digby replied. ‘But I don't know what was going on in his life. Perhaps he had some particular reason for approaching the Americans rather than the British.'

‘Did he know what work you had done during the War?' Ben asked. ‘Would he have known that you had connections with the Security Services at that time?'

‘I may have said something about it at some point. I couldn't go into any detail, of course, even then. I was still bound by the Official Secrets Act. He may well have guessed. So many of us in the chess world did that kind of work during the War; and we were both linguists.'

There was a silence for some time.

‘Mr Wood explained to me that all the Soviet grandmasters have some contact with the KGB, whether they want it or not,' Ben said. ‘He told me that they are only permitted to travel outside the Soviet Union for tournaments if the authorities are satisfied that they are loyal to the State, and are not likely to defect. He also said that their movements are closely monitored while they are abroad.'

‘That is quite correct,' Digby replied. ‘There is a very obvious presence at whatever tournament they compete in. You can't help but notice it. It is almost comical at times; they are so obvious. I am sure it is no fun at all for the Soviet players. They are discouraged from socialising with the rest of us. We have found ways, of course. When I went as a journalist, I was allowed to interview them. And there were some social events, opening and closing ceremonies and receptions and the like, when we could talk to them less formally. But Hollander was right about that. It would not be easy for a player to find a way to approach someone from the West and ask to defect; and it never happened to me.'

‘Did Wood have any insight into Stepanov?' Wesley asked.

‘Not really,' Ben replied. ‘He said you can't always tell whether a particular grandmaster is a genuinely loyal Party man or not.'

‘You can in certain cases, especially the ones from the outer
reaches of the Empire,' Digby insisted. ‘They have no natural allegiance to Moscow, and Stalin made a lot of enemies in the outer reaches of the Empire. Sometimes they can't hide the resentment, and they make comments when they think no one is listening. But not Stepanov. He was always the diplomat, always very controlled. Besides, he hailed from Leningrad. Whatever his real thoughts may have been, he knew how to keep them to himself.'

‘Yes, I see,' Wesley said. ‘Anything else, Ben?'

‘To change the subject slightly,' Ben said, ‘who would pay your fees and expenses as a journalist when you went abroad to cover tournaments?'

The abrupt change of direction appeared to take Digby aback.

‘Oh, whatever newspapers and journals were interested in my reports,' he answered. ‘I should add that I did not always charge very much. I had money from my practice at the Bar. I went to the tournaments because of my love of the game. Why do you ask?'

‘Mr Wood mentioned that he found it surprising that you were taking so much time away from your practice,' Ben replied.

Digby laughed. ‘Yes, so did my clerk, and he never let me forget it.'

* * *

As the consultation ended, Ben was the last to leave Wesley's room.

‘Ben,' Wesley said, as he was about to walk out, ‘that last question you put to James, about his travel expenses and so on, seemed rather pointed. Did Wood suggest that you raise the subject?'

‘Not exactly,' Ben replied. ‘But he made it clear that he was puzzled. James went abroad a great deal, many times to Russia to cover the Soviet championship. But he wasn't reporting for the leading newspapers or magazines on a regular basis. It was more the general interest magazines which would not usually have had much to do with chess. Wood seemed to think he could have done that kind of reporting just as effectively without leaving London. It seemed odd to him, and it seems a bit odd to me.'

Wesley shrugged. ‘It could have been his love of chess tournaments, couldn't it? He might have gone to soak up the atmosphere, and I daresay whatever reporting he was doing would have benefited from that. After all, one of the advantages of the Bar, once you get established, is supposed to be a certain degree of financial reward. There is nothing wrong with indulging one's interests now and then.'

‘No, I suppose not,' Ben admitted.

‘Does Wood have doubts about James, do you think?'

Ben thought for a few moments.

‘No, I don't think so. At least, he said nothing directly.'

‘Do you?'

Ben looked directly at his Head of Chambers.

‘To be honest, I'm not sure. But it has crossed my mind. Hasn't it crossed yours?'

Wesley smiled. ‘I think I will wait for Hollander's response to our Request for further and better particulars,' he replied. ‘With any luck, that will clear it up, one way or the other.'

* * *

She was waiting for him outside the clerks' room.

‘I'm sorry.' They said the words together at exactly the same moment, and then laughed, nervously, tentatively.

‘Come to my room,' Ben said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘I don't think Harriet is back from court yet; she had to go to Oxford. Do you have time? Does Barratt need you?'

‘No. I told him I would be back at the office in a few minutes.'

Ben closed the door, and they stood close together for some time before he offered his outstretched arms and she allowed him to pull her gently into an embrace. She raised her head from his shoulder to look into his eyes.

‘I was angry,' she said simply. ‘I was angry at the thought that a meeting is going to take place, at which I am not even entitled to be present; I am angry that a group of old men, men I don't even know, think they are entitled to decide the fate of my love life without even consulting me.'

He nodded.

‘I understand,' he said, ‘and I am sorry I didn't offer you more reassurance.'

She shook her head.

‘I can deal with being angry,' she replied. ‘I'm not really angry at you; it just came out that way because I can't shout at the old men. So I made myself angry at you, and I made both of us endure a few miserable days. I'm sorry.'

She reached out a hand and stroked his hair.

‘Ben, the important thing for me is to know where I stand in your life. I wouldn't blame you if you tell me that your practice has to come first. I would understand that. I just need to know.'

He kissed her on the forehead.

‘Jess, I love you,' he said. ‘I will not allow anything to come between us.'

‘But if you had to give up the Bar, you would hate me, it would never work …'

‘It's not going to come to that,' he replied.

‘But what if it did …?'

‘There is still Australia.'

‘No, come on …'

‘Jess,' he said, ‘do you love me too?'

‘Yes,' she replied simply.

‘Then trust me, please. I will not allow this to separate us. There will be a way, and we will find it. Together.'