John Le Carré - The Spy Who Came in from the Cold

"But Alec, you need contacts , don't you see? I know what it's like, I've been on the breadline myself. That's when you need to know people. I don't know what you were doing in Berlin, I don't want to know, but it wasn't the sort of job where you could meet people who matter, was it? If I hadn't met Sam at Poznan five years ago I'd still be on the breadline. Look, Alec, come and stay with me for a week or so. We'll ask Sam around and perhaps one or two of the old press boys from Berlin if any of them are in town."

"But I can't write," said Leamas. "I couldn't write a bloody thing."

Ashe had his hand on Leamas' arm. "Now don't fuss," he said soothingly. "Let's just take things one at a time. Where are your bits and pieces?"

"My what?"

"Your things: clothes, baggage and what not?"

"I haven't got any. I’ve sold what I had—except the parcel."

"What parcel?"

"The brown paper parcel you picked up in the park. The one I was trying to throw away."

Ashe had a flat in Dolphin Square. It was just what Leamas had expected—small and anonymous with a few hastily assembled curios from Germany: beer mugs, a peasant's pipe and a few pieces of second-rate Nymphenburg.

"I spend the weekends with my mother in Cheltenham," he said. "I just use this place midweek. It's pretty handy," he added deprecatingly. They fixed the camp bed up in the tiny drawing room. It was about four-thirty.

"How long have you been here?" asked Leamas.

"Oh—about a year or more."

"Find it easily?"

"They come and go, you know, these flats. You put your name down and one day they ring you up and tell you you've made it."

Ashe made tea and they drank it, Leamas sullen, like a man not used to comfort. Even Ashe seemed a little subdued. After tea Ashe said, "I'll go out and do a spot of shopping before the shops close, then we'll decide what to do about everything. I might give Sam a tinkle later this evening—I think the sooner you two get together the better. Why don't you get some sleep— you look all in."

Leamas nodded. "It's bloody good of you"—he made an awkward gesture with his hand—"all this." Ashe gave him a pat on the shoulder, picked up his army mackintosh and left.

As soon as Leamas reckoned Ashe was safely out of the building he left the front door of the flat slightly ajar and made his way downstairs to the center hall, where there were two telephone booths. He dialed a Maida Vale number and asked for Mr. Thomas' secretary. Immediately a girl's voice said, "Mr. Thomas' secretary speaking."

"I'm ringing on behalf of Mr. Sam Kiever," Leamas said. "He has accepted the invitation and hopes to contact Mr. Thomas personally this evening."

"I'll pass that on to Mr. Thomas. Does he know where to get in touch with you?"

"Dolphin Square," Leamas replied, and gave the address. "Good-bye."

After making some inquiries at the reception desk, he returned to Ashe's flat and sat on the camp bed looking at his clasped hands. After a while he lay down. He decided to accept Ashe's advice and get some rest. As he closed his eyes he remembered Liz lying beside him in the flat in Bayswater, and he wondered vaguely what had become of her.

He was wakened by Ashe, accompanied by a small, rather plump man with long, graying hair swept back and a double-breasted suit. He spoke with a slight central European accent; German perhaps, it was hard to tell. He said his name was Kiever—Sam Kiever.

They had a gin and tonic, Ashe doing most of the talking. It was just like old times, he said, in Berlin: the boys together and the night their oyster. Kiever said he didn't want to be too late; he had to work tomorrow. They agreed to eat at a Chinese restaurant that Ashe knew of—it was opposite Limehouse police station and you brought your own wine. Oddly enough, Ashe had some Burgundy in the kitchen, and they took that with them in the taxi.

Dinner was very good and they drank both bottles of wine. Kiever opened up a little on the second: he'd just come back from a tour of West Germany and France. France was in a hell of a mess, de Gaulle was on the way out, and God alone knew what would happen then. With a hundred thousand demoralized colons returning from Algeria he reckoned fascism was in the cards.

"What about Germany?" asked Ashe, prompting him.

"It's just a question of whether the Yanks can hold them." Kiever looked invitingly at Leamas.

"What do you mean?" asked Leamas.

"What I say. Dulles gave them a foreign policy with one hand, Kennedy takes it away with the other. They're getting waspish."

Leamas nodded abruptly and said, "Bloody typical Yank."

"Alec doesn't seem to like our American cousins," and Ashe, stepping in heavily, and Kiever, with complete disinterest, murmured, "Oh really?"

Kiever played it, Leamas reflected, very long. Like someone used to horses, he let you come to him. He conveyed to perfection a man who suspected that he was about to be asked a favor, and was not easily won.

After dinner Ashe said, "I know a place in Wardour Street—you've been there, Sam. They do you all right there. Why don't we summon a cab and go along?"

"Just a minute," said Leamas, and there was something in his voice which made Ashe look at him quickly. "Just tell me something, will you? Who's paying for this jolly?"

"I am," said Ashe quickly. "Sam and I."

"Have you discussed it?"

"Well—no."

"Because I haven't got any bloody money; you know that, don't you? None to throw about, anyway."

"Of course, Alec. I've looked after you up till now, haven't I?"

"Yes," Leamas replied. "Yes, you have."

He seemed to be going to say something else, and then to change his mind. Ashe looked worried, not offended, and Kiever as inscrutable as before.

Leamas refused to speak in the taxi. Ashe attempted some conciliatory remark and he just shrugged irritably. They arrived at Wardour Street and dismounted, neither Leamas nor Kiever making any attempt to pay for the cab. Ashe led them past a shop window full of "girlie" magazines, down a narrow alley, at the far end of which shone a tawdry neon sign: PUSSYWILLOW CLUB—MEMBERS ONLY. On either side of the door were photographs of girls, and pinned across each was a thin, hand-printed strip of paper which read Nature Study. Members Only.

Ashe pressed the bell. The door was at once opened by a very large man in a white shirt and black trousers.

"I'm a member," Ashe said. "These two gentlemen are with me."

"See your card?"

Ashe took a buff card from his wallet and handed it over.

"Your guests pay a quid a head, temporary membership. Your recommendation, right?" He held out the card and as he did so, Leamas stretched past Ashe and took it. He looked at it for a moment, then handed it back to Ashe.

Taking two pounds from his hip pocket, Leamas put them into the waiting hand of the man at the door.

"Two quid," said Leamas, "for the guests," and ignoring the astonished protests of Ashe he guided them through the curtained doorway into the dim hallway of the club. He turned to the doorman.

"Find us a table," said Leamas, "and a bottle of Scotch. And see we're left alone."

The doorman hesitated for a moment, decided not to argue, and escorted them downstairs. As they descended they heard the subdued moan of unintelligible music. They got a table on their own at the back of the room. A two-piece band was playing and girls sat around in twos and threes. Two got up as they came in but the big doorman shook his head.

Ashe glanced at Leamas uneasily while they waited for the whisky. Kiever seemed slightly bored. The waiter brought a bottle and three tumblers and they watched in silence as he poured a little whisky into each glass. Leamas took the bottle from the waiter and added as much again to each. This done, he leaned across the table and said to Ashe, "Now perhaps you'll tell me what the bloody hell's going on."