Майкл Ридпат - The Diplomat’s Wife

‘Are you wearing a wire, Phil?’ Swann asked eventually.

‘He is,’ said the civil servant.

‘Uncomfortable, aren’t they?’ Swann said to Phil. ‘Just wait till you take it off. The tape they use rips off all your chest hair.’

‘You were talking about Dick Loxton,’ the civil servant said.

‘We were.’

‘And how he met you in a pub in Pimlico in 1939 and passed on information about the Molotov — Ribbentrop Pact.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Information that you didn’t pass on to anyone in London.’

‘Oh, I can assure you I did,’ said Swann. Phil had to hand it to him; he was keeping his cool. But he had just confirmed that Dick had indeed followed Emma’s instructions back in 1939. Dick wasn’t the mole, and it looked very likely Kenneth Heaton-Smith was.

‘We’ve checked the old files,’ said the civil servant. ‘There is no record of you mentioning your conversation with Mr Loxton to anyone.’

‘It will be in the files somewhere,’ said Swann. ‘Just a question of looking in the right places.’

The civil servant scanned the bar, which was becoming crowded. ‘We really need to discuss this further, Kenneth, but this isn’t a good place to do it. Why don’t you come with me and Roger?’

Phil, and Swann, glanced up at Roger, who was in his late thirties, broad-shouldered and very fit-looking. Phil wouldn’t want to have an argument with Roger. And neither did Mr Swann.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Goodbye, Phil.’ And they were gone.

Ten minutes later, his wire expertly and painfully removed in an electrician’s van in the pub car park where the civil servant and his entourage had been listening to it earlier, Phil returned to the pub. Dick was waiting for him with two pints lined up on the bar.

‘Turns out you’re not a Russian spy, after all,’ said Phil, accepting his gratefully.

‘That’s good to know,’ said Dick.

‘Was that bloke “C”?’

‘Couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Dick. He raised his glass. ‘To Emma.’ He paused. ‘And Hugh.’

‘To Grams,’ said Phil. ‘And her brother.’ He took a sip.

Nothing tasted better to him at that moment than a good English pint in a good English pub on a summer afternoon.

I should like to thank Hugh Chawner for his help with Spain, Geoff Skingsley for his help with France and Colin West for his help with the Gaelic.

Thanks are also due to my agent, Oli Munson, to Susannah Hamilton, my editor, and to Richenda Todd and Liz Hatherell for their copy-editing and proof-reading. And to my wife Barbara for accompanying me on the arduous research trips required to write this book.