The Girl in Berlin (12 page)

Outside he commented: ‘Quite a looker.’

McGovern bought a midday edition of the
Evening Star
. The ‘Missing Diplomats’ again. Day after day it went on. They’d been seen as far apart as the mid-west and southern Italy. The speculation ranged from the sinister to the grotesque. McGovern was keen to talk to Kingdom about it, but he was unreachable.

They found a café, where they ordered cheese sandwiches.

‘That place is a front, Manfred.’

‘A front, sir?’

‘A laundering outfit.’

Jarrell frowned. ‘Money laundering?’

McGovern shook his head. ‘Laundering people. That’s what a front like that is for, or partly. Nothing criminal. It’s just a useful way of giving Party workers a veneer of respectability. Peace tours – that gave the game away. Whenever you hear about peace tours, Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, that sort of thing, you know it’ll not be a million miles away from the Communist Party.’

‘But how is it a front? Aren’t they really a travel agency?’

‘They certainly
are
a travel agency, but of a special kind. Holidays for comrades eager to travel to the Eastern bloc to see socialism at first hand; trade union tours to the Soviet Union. But they do something else more important. Say there’s someone who’s been working for the Party, been a Party bureaucrat, but now he wants a change, or he wants out, or the Party wants him to do something else, then when he applies for a job it’ll not look so good if all he’s ever done is work for the Communist Party. He’ll not get many job offers that way. So instead he works his passage via the Progressive Travel Agency or some other similar organisation. Then when he applies for another job, no-one will know he’s ever worked for the Party. He’s just been employed by a travel agency.’

‘Oh.’ Jarrell looked rather blank as he sipped his squash. After a while he said: ‘The girl, sir. Suppose I hung about and got her on her own. Would she talk some more, d’you think?’

‘She probably wouldn’t, Manfred, but I suppose it’s worth a wee try.’

When Jarrell returned to the office the following morning he looked rather pleased with himself. He hung his hat on the
hook behind the door and sat down. ‘Well, I saw Doreen Smith yesterday evening.’

‘You’ve seen her already? That was quick.’

‘I hung around outside the travel bureau at the end of the afternoon and waited till she came out. She was on her own. The owner didn’t seem to be there. We went for a coffee and got on like a house on fire.’

‘I’m thrilled, Manfred. Tell us about it.’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic, sir.’

‘I’m not.’ But McGovern had been, he knew, and the reason was that it was difficult to imagine his assistant chatting up a girl. But he swallowed his grin and tried to look serious.

‘She’s the friendly type, you know. Bit of a flirt, if you know what I mean,’ said Jarrell primly. ‘Turns out she was stepping out with Biermann. She said she knew he had a serious girlfriend, but she didn’t mind – it was just a flirtation, they weren’t going steady or anything. But I think she must be a bit sweet on him because I asked her if she had a photo of Biermann and she had. And Biermann
is
the bloke who was at the funeral with Harris.’

‘Good. Did you find out anything else useful, apart from about Biermann’s love life?’

‘It wasn’t difficult to get her talking. I kind of explained we were only interested in Eberhardt, we weren’t after Biermann and I think she thought telling me about him would persuade us he was really, you know, okay, in spite of being a communist. It was all about how marvellous he was, an idealist, wants to make the world a better place, that sort of thing. He used to be on the
Daily Worker
but then he decided he wanted to do something different, not sure what. I tried asking about Eberhardt and according to her Biermann knew him pretty well. His family knew him back in Germany, and they stayed in touch over here. Biermann visited him a lot. She said they used to discuss things, politics, mainly. Talkative young lady.
The only thing she was a bit evasive about was his holiday in Yorkshire, she wouldn’t say much about that.’

‘You’ll be seeing her again, I hope? You could maybe find out more. No mention of Harris, was there?’

Jarrell shook his head. Faint colour appeared on his cheeks. He was blushing. ‘I’ll do my best, sir. We didn’t make a definite arrangement, but we sort of left it I’d get in touch.’ He stood up and took a little turn round the room. ‘I tell you one thing, sir. The Alexander Biermann she was talking about sounded like a thoroughly good sort.’

‘Idealists
are
good people, Jarrell. Haven’t you discovered that yet? They’re always working for the betterment of mankind. The trouble is, mankind just wants to go to the dogs in as pleasant a way as possible.’

twelve

T
OMMY’S BATH WAS READY
, but when Dinah tried to remove Tommy’s vest he stiffened his body and started to yell. The sound of the doorbell was both a relief and a nuisance.

‘Who on earth can that be, Tommy? Did Daddy forget his key?’

But Alan never forgot his key.

She hurried downstairs, still holding the child. ‘Colin, how lovely … unexpected—’ Tommy, hoisted against her shoulder, had forgotten to cry now. He stared at Colin and stretched out a hand as if in blessing.

‘Is Alan around?’

‘No, he’ll be back in a while, I’m not sure when … You’ll have to make do with me, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m disturbing you.’

‘Of course you’re not. Tommy’s just having his bath. Come upstairs. You can watch. We can talk. And then I’ll get you a drink.’

Colin perched on the lavatory seat lid in the steamy bathroom, while Dinah knelt and rubbed soap over Tommy’s slippery body. Tommy sucked his rubber duck and then bounced it on the water.

‘Big splash Tommy!’ Dinah looked up at Colin. ‘He loves the water.’

‘He’s a dear little chap.’ It was the first time she’d seen Colin smile.

Dinah wrapped Tommy in a towel. ‘Why don’t you go downstairs? I’ll just get him into his pyjamas. He can play a bit more. It’s really his bedtime, but it won’t hurt him to stay up a bit later for once.’

Colin seemed bony and huge in the crowded bathroom. When he stood up he nearly knocked over the pail of dirty nappies. It was better once they were downstairs in the sitting room.

‘Is a cup of tea all right? I don’t think there’s anything stronger.’

Once they were settled with their tea she sat back in the armchair with Tommy on her lap. ‘You seem a bit worried, Colin. Is something the matter?’

‘I think I’m being followed.’

Dinah stared at him. She did not believe him. He wasn’t seeing things in the right perspective. He must be exaggerating.

‘I can see you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I’m sure of it. I’ve seen this red-haired man more than once. Carroty red. Unmistakeable.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I wondered if Alan – I mean, I know he has contacts. He knew this Guy Burgess character, didn’t he?’

‘Not really. He’d met him once or twice, that’s all. But what are you saying, Colin? What has that got to do with it? And how could Alan help?’

‘I don’t suppose he can. It’s just that I thought he might know one or two chaps in MI5 and could find out what’s going on.’

Dinah was jigging Tommy on her lap. She played with his toes. ‘This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed at home …’ But all the while she was thinking and thinking,
thoughts winging through her mind in a dark cloud of dread.

‘He doesn’t know the first thing about MI5, Colin. He’d never even mentioned Guy Burgess until all this happened. Anyway I don’t understand. Why should anyone from MI5 be following you?’ She observed Colin from over Tommy’s head. He hadn’t changed. He’d always been so troubled and unhappy. She’d had endless sympathy for him back then, but now with her adult life, a wife and mother, she was a little impatient. Colin just had to grow up and not go around endlessly trying to save the world.

After a bit Colin said: ‘Of course I’ve been in touch with Party members in Berlin. Germans I mean. Why shouldn’t I? It seemed quite a normal thing to do when I arrived. But now I’m beginning to wonder if … does MI5 think I’m some kind of spy? I suppose it’s a crime to be a communist these days. This bloody Cold War.’

Dinah loved the feel of Tommy’s warm little body close to hers. She kissed his ear. ‘Oh, Colin, why should anyone think you’re a spy?’ She hugged Tommy and felt sad herself and weary with all the talk of war.

‘Well, I’m sure I’m being followed.’

If only Alan were here. He might have been able to talk some sense into Colin. Colin was over-dramatising everything and feeling sorry for himself. She wished he’d go away. She couldn’t stand pitying him. It made her feel hopeless and impatient because it was all so wrong and so stupid.

Tommy wriggled and wriggled. He began to rub his eyes. He was tired. He needed to go to bed. Dinah hoisted him up against her shoulder and rocked and patted him quiet. ‘So you’re in touch with the communists over there?’

He sat up straighter. ‘Why shouldn’t I be? They’re running a legal government. I’m
living
in East Germany anyway.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you shouldn’t be.’

‘No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. And anyway I
don’t see much of any – well, activists, you know. Everyone’s too busy rebuilding the country.’

Tommy had started to grizzle. ‘He’s tired. I need to get him to bed.’ Dinah stood up, the child balanced against her shoulder.

‘I mustn’t keep you. I’d better be off. Alan won’t be back till later, you said.’

‘I suppose you could try the Stag’s Head – near Broadcasting House. He sometimes has a drink there after work. Or the Gluepot. That’s another pub he goes to.’ Alan had said he’d be back around eight. Dinah didn’t want to say that, in case it was taken as an invitation to stay for another hour or so, but guilt forced her to add: ‘You’re welcome to wait here, of course.’

‘I think I’ll push off. Thanks all the same.’ Now he sounded annoyed, resentful, but it wasn’t her fault that Alan was late. She didn’t like it either. Once Tommy was in bed she felt lonely, but loneliness was better than Colin in this mood.

She stood on the doorstep. By the little gate he paused and raised his hand. ‘It was lovely to see you, Dinah. I’m sorry—’ But sorry for what she wasn’t quite sure as he disappeared along the alley that led to the road by the churchyard. She put Tommy to bed and then started on the dirty nappies.

Edith was often to be found these days in the pubs around Broadcasting House frequented by the Third Programme crowd. Even when there was no hope of going back to the flat with his mistress (he often wondered why that word was in itself exciting), Alan found it enjoyable in a masochistic way to be there with her, their secret liaison carefully concealed, he hoped, from the circle of men that invariably surrounded her. Of course it was true that the conversations in the saloon bar usually focused on Third Programme matters and so could at a stretch be described as work by other means, but Edith was a more pressing reason for his presence.

He’d noticed that she seemed especially to fascinate older men, and this made him wonder if he himself was getting old, but that was stupid, he was only thirty-five and hadn’t even reached his prime. Actually their affair, while not exactly common knowledge, wasn’t quite as secret as it ought to have been, yet that also excited him. He was the one who had been chosen. On the other hand, when the affair went through moments of tedium and irritation, he reflected that it was hardly a triumph to have been preferred above a bunch of scruffy intellectuals.

On this particular evening they were gathered in the familiar saloon bar of the Stag’s Head with its oak-panelled walls, inlaid rather strangely with squares of tartan, each different, and the name of the clan to whom the tartan belonged written in gilt gothic lettering. He wondered if the decor was meant to reference the monarch of the glen.

Edith barely looked at Alan, she was holding forth about T.S. Eliot. He sometimes felt she was a little too keen on playing the role of dedicated poetess. He’d secretly have preferred a woman who was more muse than genius and as he listened to her views on Eliot, he was longing to kiss the pink neck where it rose from her blue angora jumper.

A group of car salesmen nearby discussed the economy and the price of petrol. Alan realised he felt bored. He finished his drink and decided to leave. There was no point in lingering here. He placed his glass on the mahogany counter and bade a casual farewell to the company in general, careful not to single Edith out.

As he approached the door it was pushed open.

Colin saw Alan at once and grabbed his arm. ‘Were you just leaving? Glad I caught you. Dinah said I might find you here.’

‘Dinah did?’

‘I’ve just come from Hampstead … I need to talk to you—’

Alan looked round furtively. Perhaps Dinah knew more
than she let on. Perhaps she’d guessed … but surely not. She knew he had a drink from time to time. There was nothing to fear. ‘Well … I don’t want to be too late – Dinah’s awfully good about my long hours. But as you’re here – of course. What can I get you?’

They found a corner away from Alan’s friends, although Alan noticed out of the corner of his eye that Edith and one or two of the others looked across inquisitively. ‘What’s this all about then?’

Colin, smoking furiously, poured out a confused story, which Alan found hard to follow. The main point seemed to be that Colin thought he was being followed.

‘I just don’t understand why anyone should be following you,’ Alan said. ‘What would they think you’re doing?’

Yet he remembered Kingdom’s interest in Colin and began to feel Colin was not being straight with him, that he was holding something back. Nor was it clear to him what was driving his friend away from Berlin and back to London. ‘Why are you really marrying this German girl?’ he asked. ‘Are you really in love with her? I mean … in the old days …’ He couldn’t bring himself to be explicit.