Len Deighton - Spy Line

She was right. She usually is.

It was easy to know when Dicky was having a new love affair. I suppose it is easy for the casual observer to know when any husband is having a new love affair. There was that tiger look in his eye, that stiffened sinew and summoned-up blood that Shakespeare associated with Mars rather than Venus. His detailed evaluation of expensive restaurants had become even more rigorous. The plats du jour of some of the favoured ones were sent to him each morning on the fax. And there were jokes.

'Ye Gods, Bernard! As far as ethnic food goes – the less authentic the better!' He looked at the fingernail he'd been biting and gave it another brief nibble.

He'd been striding around his office, pausing sometimes to look out of the window. He was jacketless, with his waistcoat unbuttoned, a dark blue shirt and a white silk bow tie. His shoes were black patent leather of a design that simulated alligator hide.

Dicky had mentioned his planned weekend in Berlin several times. He said he was 'mixing business with pleasure' but then immediately changed the topic of conversation by asking me if it would be a good idea if Pinky came to work here in London. I found the idea appalling but I didn't say so. Answering that sort of question in London Central was fraught with dangers. Almost everyone here was related to, or at school with, someone else in the building. It could easily turn out that Pinky was Dicky's distant cousin or shared nannies with the D-G's son-in-law, or some such connection. 'Fiona said she couldn't spell,' I told him.

'Spell!' said Dicky, and gave one of those little hoots of laughter that indicated how ingenuous I was. 'Even I can't spell properly,' he said, as if that clinched the matter for all time.

I felt like saying, well, you can't bloody well do anything properly, but I just smiled and inquired whether Pinky was asking for a transfer.

'Not officially, but she was at school with your sister-in-law.' A tiny smile. 'It was Tessa who mentioned it to me, actually.' When I didn't react Dicky added, 'At my dinner party.'

'It's a small world,' I said.

'It is,' said Dicky. There was an audible sigh of relief in his voice as if he'd been trying to make me admit to that fact all the morning. 'And strictly between the two of us, Tessa is also going to be in Berlin next weekend.'

'Is she?'

'Yes,' he ran a fingertip around his mouth as if showing me where it was. 'As a matter of fact, she…' He looked at his watch. 'Look here, can you hang on for a cup of coffee?'

'Yes, thanks.' I'd enjoyed many cups of coffee with Dicky in his office but that didn't mean that the Kaffeeklatsch was part of his everyday routine. Dicky usually cloistered himself away from the hurly-burly to have his coffee. It was, he said, a time for him to wrestle with his thoughts, to struggle with difficult ideas, a time to confront his innermost self. Invitations to join him in his spiritual melee were not extended lightly or without thought of recoupment. I can truly say that most of the worst experiences of my life sprang from some notion, order, favour or plan that I first encountered over a cup of Dicky's wonderful coffee.

With coffee Dicky smoked a cheroot. It was a bad habit, smoking – a poison really – he was trying to cut himself down to three a day. I suppose that's why he didn't offer one to me.

'The fact is…'started Dicky, sitting back in his swing-chair, coffee in one hand and cigar in the other, 'that is to say, an important detail of next week's trip is that I need your help and cooperation.'

'Oh, yes?' I said. This was an entirely new line for Dicky, who had always denied his need for anyone's help or cooperation.

'You know how much I depend upon you, Bernard.' He swivelled an inch or two from side to side but didn't spill his coffee. 'Always could: always can.'

I found myself looking for the fire escape. 'No,' I said, 'I didn't realize that.'

Delicately Dicky placed his cigar in the cut-glass ashtray and used his free hand to tug at one end of his bow tie so that it came unknotted. On the wall behind him there was a framed colour photo of Dicky and the D-G in Calcutta. They were standing at a stall offering a huge array of crude portrait posters. Lithographs of famous people from the Ayatollah and all the Marxes to Jesus Christ and Laurel and Hardy surrounded Dicky and his boss. They were all looking straight ahead: except Dicky. He was looking at the D-G.

'I don't want to hurt Daphne,' said Dicky, as if suddenly deciding upon a new approach. 'You understand…'

He left it there and looked at me. By now I was beginning to guess what was coming, but I wasn't going to make it easy for him. And I wanted time to think. 'What is it, Dicky?' I said, sipping my coffee and pretending not to be giving him my whole attention.

'Man to man, Bernard, old sport. You see what I mean?'

'You want me to go instead?'

'For God's sake, Bernard. You can be dense at times.' He puffed at his cigar. 'No, I'm taking Tessa.' A pause. 'I've promised and I'll have to go through with it.' He added this rider woefully as if a call of duty prevailed over his personal wishes. But then he fixed his eye on me, and, with a quick glance towards the door to be sure he wasn't overheard, he said, 'For the weekend!' He said it fiercely, through almost gritted teeth, as if my failure to understand was about to cause him to run amok.

'We all go? Gloria too?'

He shot to his feet as if scalded and came round to where I was sitting. 'No, Bernard; no, Bernard; no, Bernard. No!'

'What then?'

'You come along. You stay at Tante Lisl's but for all practical purposes you are in the hotel suite with Tessa.'

'For all practical purposes? Surely for all practical purposes you will be there with Tessa.'

I'm not in the mood for your bloody comedy,' he barked. But then, remembering that I was designated to fulfil an indispensable role in his curious scenario, he became calm and friendly again. 'You check into the hotel. Okay?' He was standing by the lion's skin rug and now he gave the head of it an affectionate little kick with the toe of his shiny patent leather shoe. He'd always been an animal lover.

I said, 'If it's just the propriety of it, why don't you check in under an assumed name?'

He became huffy. 'Because I don't care to do that,' he said.

'Or get Werner to let you have a room at Lisl's?'

I watched his face with interest. I don't think even Lisl herself would put the hotel high on a list of Berlin accommodation suitable for a lovers' tryst.

'Jesus Christ! Are you mad?' I saw then that he was nervous. He was frightened that the desk clerk at some big hotel would challenge him in some way and he'd be revealed not just as an adulterer but as a bungling adulterer. Certainly Tessa in such a situation would not make it easy for him. She'd revel in it and make the most of it. 'Lisl's,' he said. 'What a thought.'

He chewed a nail. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised at this aspect of Dicky. I'd discovered long ago that womanizers like him are often uneasy and incapable when faced with the minor logistics of such adventures: hotel bookings, plane tickets, car rentals. The sort of man who will boast of his doings to all comers at his club will go to absurd lengths in attempts to deceive the concierge, the waiters or the room maid. Perhaps that's why they do it.

'Well,' I said. 'You won't…'

He cut me short. He wasn't going to let me give him a negative reply. Dicky was a grandmaster at squeezing the right sort of replies from people. Now would come the softening up: a barrage of incontrovertible platitudes. 'Your sister-in-law is one of the most remarkable women I've ever met, Bernard. Glorious!'

'Yes,' I said.