The Girl in Berlin (32 page)

McGovern was under no illusions about the situation Harris had created for himself. An idealist, a utopian – but surely just because he was unrealistic and reckless, he shouldn’t, couldn’t, just be left to rot in an East German jail. But he did not know what he could do about it. He could talk to Victor Jordan, to Kingdom, but he doubted they would be keen to help. In fact
they might blame
him
for not somehow reining Harris in. Or they might even say he should have manufactured some excuse for getting Harris arrested in the British sector, so that he could be quietly booted out of the country and returned to Britain. Of course there was no way he could have done that – although the British agents in West Berlin probably could have if they’d wanted to.

The only way to create any interest would be to leak it to the press, to make sure it wasn’t hushed up. ‘But perhaps,’ he said, searching for a more hopeful angle, ‘now that Hoffmann’s been arrested, when he’s tried, couldn’t a case be made that Harris was trying to prove he was up to no good? Might the East Germans relent and release him?’

Feierabend laughed. ‘Ah, but you haven’t heard the latest. Hoffmann won’t be tried. Something very strange has happened. He’s disappeared, been spirited away. The rumours are he’ll soon be in America, possibly under another name.’

‘You mean the Americans—’

‘He must have been very important to them,’ said Feierabend. He stood up. ‘I shall have to go soon. I am due to start work at lunchtime.’

‘So whose side are you really on?’ McGovern wasn’t ready to let him go.

Feierabend smiled. ‘I told you. I’m not on anyone’s side. Or rather, I’m everyone’s friend. And I have a suggestion to make, to prove it to you. Tomorrow they are hosting the World Youth Festival of Peace and Freedom in East Berlin. A million young people are going to march for world peace, against the Korean war and against colonialism.’ His tone was slightly satirical. ‘In spite of the propaganda it will be a sight worth seeing, I can assure you of that.’

‘I know all about that. They don’t like it over this side and are trying to stop the delegates from arriving in East Berlin. They think it’s an attempt to spark off some sort of uprising.’

‘They are unarmed young people!’

‘Perhaps they are secretly armed.’

Feierabend shook his head, smiling. ‘It could be, but they are delegates from all over the world – South Africa, the socialist countries, China … I could take you across,’ he suggested. ‘As I say, it will be something worth seeing.’

‘What, so that I can get kidnapped and roughed up again?’

‘That won’t happen, I promise you. Not if you’re with me.’

It was a risk McGovern thought it unwise to take, although he would have liked to see the parade.

In the event he saw it anyway, because Jordan managed to get him included in a group of Western diplomats who had been invited. Most of them refused, so there were plenty of spare places.

That was how, the following day, he found himself standing at Jordan’s side behind a window looking out over Marx Engels Platz. Fireworks crackled and spat and shot their garish blue and magenta into a sky that rapidly turned smoky red. Flags waved and fluttered everywhere as thousands of doves were released into the air and a Soviet plane tore across the city above them, while below, headed by a giant statue of Stalin carried like a god at the head of a Hindu procession, column after column swept forward. Wave upon wave of delegates followed the juggernaut, their banners proclaiming they came from all over the world. When showers of leaflets rained down on the march-past they appeared to cause some disturbance among the cheering crowds, but the parade continued relentlessly forward, wheeling and turning as it circled the square and then marched away to the East, a demonstration of the onward march of communism.

Harris would have been proud, McGovern thought, his doubts put to rest. But later some young pioneers broke away
from the parade and, evading the police, raced across the border into West Berlin and streamed towards the glitter of the Kurfürstendamm.

thirty-three

C
HARLES WAS ALONE IN
the house when the bell rang. He’d reached home in a state of euphoria. Finally the Navy was behind him. And in an unexpected celebration on the last night, Christopher, the man he’d been besotted with for months, had finally and amazingly succumbed.

At first he was too caught up in his memories of everything they’d done to notice the piece of paper on the hall table. It was only when he’d called out his mother’s name, had looked in the drawing room and then run up the stairs to her room and discovered the whole house was empty, that he’d made a more careful search for clues and found the note, which baldly told him Dad had had to take his mother back to hospital that very morning. ‘I’m sorry there wasn’t time to warn you.’

She’d never relapsed so soon before. Charles was frightened, with a fear too deep to contemplate, and which manifested itself simply as a kind of paralysis. He sat silent and motionless on his bed for a long time and then decided to telephone his old school friend, Oliver. Anything to take his mind off it. He looked at his watch. It was nearly four. Perhaps they could even play tennis. But the effort of descending the stairs to the telephone was too much for him. He continued to sit on his bed. He was nearly, but not quite, crying. The lump of tears was stuck in his throat.

He was still seated on his bed when the front doorbell rang. He took his time descending the flights of stairs through the lofty house, walking slowly, slowly downwards, hoping that whoever it was would have given up and gone, but when he opened the door he saw it was Aunt Elfie’s boyfriend.

Kingdom looked quite disconcerted. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be at home. For good now, is it?’ He entered the house without waiting to be asked. ‘I was expecting to find Judy here. I’m very sorry to hear your mother’s unwell again. Rotten business. Your aunt telephoned to say they’d be staying here for a while. You don’t mind if I come in and wait. She won’t be here until later, she asked me to entertain Judy, who’ll be here very soon. She’s coming straight round after her tennis lesson. I thought she’d be here already. I brought some ice cream.’ He handed Charles a damp parcel wrapped in newspaper. ‘Would you mind awfully putting it in the fridge? I don’t know my way around,’ he said, advancing relentlessly into the drawing room.

Seized with dull resentment, but incapable of objecting – as if he could have anyway – Charles did as he was told and then climbed wearily back up from the basement kitchen. He drifted into the drawing room. His only wish was for the man not to be here. But he
was
here. He wasn’t going to budge. He was waiting for Judy and then for Aunt Elfie. He’d be here for ever. Charles knew he couldn’t stay himself, because they’d have to make conversation and the conversation would inevitably be about his mother. He had to get away, get out. Still, out of pride, he made himself act in a proper way as host.

‘Would you like a drink, sir? I’m sure there’s some about. A whisky and soda perhaps.’ He couldn’t believe Kingdom didn’t sense his violent resentment. Kingdom, however, seemed pleased, utterly unaware of Charles’s near-hysterical tension.

‘Thank you. Very kind.’

Charles produced the drink from the sideboard in the
dining room. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to go out, sir. Meeting a friend.’

‘Don’t worry about me. Judy will soon be home and she can keep me company. It’ll be a chance to get to know her better.’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind, then …’

‘Of course not, of course not. You go along. By the way, you haven’t forgotten what I said to you last time we were both here?’

‘No, sir,’ Charles said, wondering what it had been.

‘You’ve plenty of time to play the field – in all senses of the word – while you’re up at Oxford. But after you come down I really did mean it when I said come and see me. I’m sure we can find you something.’

As Charles hurried along Regent’s Park Road towards Camden Town he saw Judy coming in the opposite direction. She was wearing a white tennis dress and gym shoes and carrying a racquet.

‘Hullo, Charles!’ Her face lit up. He could see she was thrilled to see him. ‘I’m so glad you’re home. I didn’t expect you to be here. I didn’t really want to have to stay here again, moving about all the time’s such a nuisance.’

‘Well, as you see, I have to go out. But your mother’s friend, Mr Kingdom, called round. He’s still there, so you won’t be alone.’

‘Oh?’ She looked surprised and then she smiled. ‘That’s nice. Uncle Miles is awfully friendly, I don’t really feel shy with him.’ She twirled her racquet as she spoke.

‘Have a good time,’ said Charles carelessly. ‘I’ll be back later on.’

But when he returned, drunk, some hours later, the situation had unexpectedly changed.

thirty-four

A
LAN WAS SUSPICIOUS OF
the club environment. He regarded himself as a pub rather than a club man and disliked the lethargic atmosphere of Kingdom’s club. The brown room slumbered in the amber light of early evening and contrasted painfully with the vitality of the Gluepot or the Stag’s Head.

Kingdom was late. When he finally arrived he made no apology: ‘I think I’ll order a bottle of champagne.’

‘
Champagne
! Is there something to celebrate?’

Kingdom laughed. ‘It’s my birthday.’

‘Personally I’ve reached the age when the last thing I want to celebrate is getting older.’

‘Believe me, it can only get better. You feel younger all the time,’ said Kingdom with manic recklessness.

‘You seem bloody pleased with yourself.’

‘Actually, there is some bad news. So we might just as well get drunk. Colin Harris has been arrested.’

‘Don’t tell me – not in East Germany.’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Kingdom let it sink in.

The barman brought the champagne. They watched the ceremony of its opening. The cork was extracted silently, with only a whiff of smoke from the bottle.

Alan watched, mad with impatience. As if he hadn’t enough to worry about.

‘How did it happen?’ He listened with near horror as Kingdom described the situation: the strike, the cautious response of the East German government towards its own people and their tactic of blaming Western infiltrators. It had been a simple matter to target Harris as an example.

Alan groaned. ‘Oh, God! The imbecile. He was always such a fool.’

‘Well, now he’s in real trouble. Very convenient for the East German government. They can use him for their own ends. A bloody great propaganda coup.’

Alan gritted his teeth. ‘Is there anything I should do?’ The last thing he wanted at the moment was to have to undertake a mercy mission to the German Democratic Republic.

‘Our people over there will give him every assistance. They’ll do everything they can to keep it under wraps, they want to avoid a diplomatic incident at all costs. They’ll be negotiating. It would only complicate matters if you got involved. There wouldn’t be anything you could do. You wouldn’t be allowed to visit him, which might have cheered him up a bit, I suppose. Good of you to think of it, though. But look, I’ve had to tell you, for obvious reasons, but for God’s sake, keep it to yourself. We don’t want it in the news. Well, not more than it has to be. If it gets linked with Burgess and Maclean the balloon will go up.’

‘But it isn’t linked … is it?’

‘No. But what I mean is, the press could construct a link. That it’s spurious wouldn’t help. It would look bloody terrible for us.’

‘By “us” you mean your outfit.’

‘Of course.’

‘That’s all you care about, isn’t it. You don’t care about the country. Your reputation, that’s all that matters.’ The momentary flash of insight came from Alan’s relief at having
got away with an expression of goodwill that entailed no consequences, which was offset by the acute irritation Kingdom’s bombastic good spirits was causing him.

‘We
are
“the country”. Without us, this country would have been overrun by communism long ago.’

This was so absurd that Alan forgot his ill humour, forgot Colin and forgot his troubles with Dinah long enough to taunt: ‘So why aren’t the missing diplomats behind bars?’

‘That was an accident. We trusted them. We couldn’t have known. Good God, Wentworth, Burgess and I went to the same school!’

So that was how it worked, Alan thought. With breathtaking arrogance and wilful blindness. Pointless to argue with such stony self-assurance.

‘Everything possible will be done to help Harris.’

‘I certainly hope so.’ It was an effort to say it, but he added: ‘I want to do what I can. I’m sure there is something I could do. Even money …’

‘Don’t get ideas about publicity. Don’t start thinking that stirring things up at Broadcasting House will do any good.’

Alan smiled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But I must say it seems like rather a good idea to me.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘You say publicity will only make things worse. But I don’t agree. It can only help, surely. Colin’s a romantic. He could be portrayed as an idealist, fighting for the heroic strikers, fighting for the true socialism the East German government has betrayed. Or simply against the Stalinist state.’

Kingdom refilled their glasses with champagne, but his celebratory mood had evaporated. ‘Be careful, Wentworth. It’s so easy to go too far. Don’t taunt the beast. It’s dangerous.’

Alan tried to frame a defiant reply, but before he had thought of anything, Kingdom added: ‘How’s your wife these days?’

It gave Alan a grim satisfaction to be able to reply: ‘She
could be better. She found out I was having an affair.’ It was as much as to say to Kingdom: you’ve got no hold over me whatsoever now. Not that you ever had really.

Kingdom raised his eyebrows faintly. ‘Unfortunate,’ he murmured.

Briefly Alan considered the possibility that it had been Kingdom, after all, who’d somehow alerted Dinah. But no – she’d found out for herself, no doubt with the help of bloody Reggie. He only hoped Reggie hadn’t told her about the time he’d made a pass at
her
.