Len Deighton - Spy Line

'What is it, Tessa?'

'Your friend Jeremy is looking for you.' She twirled around to enjoy again the fleeting shadows she made.

'Who is Jeremy?'

'You mean, Jeremy who, darting.' She laughed shrilly at her joke. 'Jeremy thing!' She clicked her fingers. 'Jeremy the cultivated ape. Know you not the couplet: He doth like the ape, that the higher he climbs the more he shows his ars . Francis Bacon. You think I'm an untutored wanton, but I went to school and I can quote Francis Bacon with the best of you.'

'Of course you can, Tessa. But you seem a little high yourself.'

'And the more I show my arse? Is that what you mean, Bernard, you rude sod?'

'No, Tessa, of course not. But I think it might be a good idea to get you back to your hotel. Where's Dicky?'

'Are you listening to me, Bernard? Jeremy the ape is desperate to find you. He is going mad. He is in fact going ape!' More laughter; soft but shriller, and a suggestion that hysteria was not far away. The signal has come and you must go.'

'Is that what Jeremy the ape said?'

'The signal has come and you must away.'

'Tessa!' I shook her. 'Listen to me, Tessa. Get a hold of yourself. Where is the ape now?'

'He was trying to get into one of Werner's three-piece lounge suits – blue with a pin stripe – but Werner got angry and wouldn't let him borrow any clothes. They were both shouting. Werner doesn't like him.' She smiled. 'And Werner's suits are too big.'

I said it slowly. 'Where is Jeremy the ape now?'

'You're not going without me. The car's here. Van. Ford van, alovely shade of blue. Diplomatic plates. Outside in the rain. Jeremy the ape is driving. They make good drivers, apes. My father employed one for years. Then he started wanting extra bananas all the time. They can be awfully tiresome, apes. Did I tell you that?'

Outside, the rain was falling in great steel sheets, hammering the road and pounding upon the roof of the Ford van. Jeremy Teacher, still in gorilla costume, was in the driver's seat. He was soaking wet. I asked him what was happening and had to shout to make myself heard above the sound of the rain and thunder. 'Get in,' he said.

'What's happening?' I said for maybe the fourth time.

'What the hell do you think is happening?' he said furiously. 'The bloody signal came through three and a half hours ago!'

'You said a VW van.' He shot me a poisonous look. 'I haven't got my passport,' I said, my mind racing as I thought of all the other things I didn't have.

'Get in! I've got the passports here.' The prospect of going through the checkpoints dressed as a gorilla had obviously put him in a foul temper.

It was then that I noticed that Tessa was dancing about in the rain. She was drenched but she seemed oblivious of the arresting sight she offered as the thin material clung tightly to her body.

It was Tessa dancing round the Ford Transit – added to the sight of a gorilla gunning it while arguing volubly with a civilian who might have been his keeper – that brought other revellers out into the street. They made an astonishing sight in their costumes, and although some of them had umbrellas, many were as indifferent to the downpour as Tessa was.

Werner came too, struggling under the weight of my father's suitcase. He opened the rear door to put it inside and as he was doing so Tessa pushed him aside and climbed into the van, slamming the door with a crash that made the metal body-work sing.

'Let's go!' shouted Teacher.

'Tessa's in the back,' I said.

He looked round and shouted, 'Get out of there, Tessa.'

'I'm coming with you,' she cooed.

'Don't be silly. You haven't got a passport,' said Teacher with a calm politeness that was commendable under the circumstances.

'Oh yes I have,' she said triumphantly. She had produced it from somewhere and was holding it up in front of her to show him. 'Dicky said I was to carry it everywhere while I was here.'

'Get out, you stupid bitch!' He revved the engine as if hoping that would persuade her but it didn't. It simply confirmed that the engine was not firing properly. I had doubts that it would ever complete the journey.

'I won't. I won't.'

'For Christ's sake get her out of there,' shouted Teacher to me.

'Who the hell do you think you are,' I said. 'You get her out.' I recognized one of Tessa's bloody-minded moods and decided to let the intrepid Mr Teacher earn his pay.

He looked at his watch. 'We must go.' With a string of curses he opened his door and got out, but as the rain hit him and soaked his hairy gorilla outfit he changed his mind and climbed back into the driver's seat again.

'Come on, Tessa. We're leaving.'

'I'm coming too,' she said.

'No, you're bloody not!' said Teacher. He switched the heater on to full. His damp costume was obviously chilly.

Then Dicky arrived on the scene. He was dressed as Harlequin, the carefully decorated face, chequered costume and imposing hat a favourite for Germany 's Fasching celebrations. He spotted Tessa and dutifully told us that she was in the back of the van. Teacher gave a loud and angry sigh. Then get her out of it,' he said, abandoning his usual respectful attitude to those set in authority over him.

By now there seemed to be dozens of people in bizarre costumes milling around the van, although in the darkness and the relentless rain it was difficult to be sure who they really were. But they formed such a crush that getting through them, getting the door open and getting Tessa out would be physically difficult even if no one objected to Tessa being manhandled. And if I knew anything about the effects of alcohol on the male psyche, any sort of struggle with Tessa would be enough to start a riot.

There was a flash of lightning. Hordes – in ever more amazing garb – spilled into the street. The commotion round the van had become the party's new attraction. A rain-soaked Frederick the Great was waving both hands in glee, while Barbarossa, his false beard bedraggled, offered his hat to a Roman maiden to protect her coiffure.

I saw the Duchess. She was dressed as a witch, in a pointed hat and a long black gown with occult symbols on the skirt of it. That damned cat was with her despite the heavy rain, its eyes glowing angrily in the darkness. The Duchess was standing in front of the van and began making solemn gestures with her wand. A roll of thunder came in on cue.

'What's that old cow doing?' Teacher asked.

'I think she's casting a spell,' I replied.

'Jesus Christ!' said Teacher, aggravated beyond control. 'Has everyone gone insane?'

Before the Duchess had finished her incantation Harlequin stuck his painted face through the window of the van and said, Teacher is in charge. Remember that, Bernard.' I ignored him. He grabbed my shoulder and in the voice of an exasperated parent talking to a naughty child, he said, 'Look here, Bernard! Do you hear what I said?'

I looked at Dicky's elaborately made up face and his cold little eyes. Years and years of repressed resentment welled up in me. The way in which he'd been promoted over my head, the pompous things he said, his pretentious lifestyle, his readiness to cuckold poor old George and make jokes about it. Now emotion took precedence over common sense. Whatever the consequences, now was the time to react. I pulled my fist back and gave him a solid punch on the rouged nose. Not hard, but it was enough to send him reeling back into the roadway just as another car came past. With incredibly quick response the driver swerved with a sharp squeal of brakes and avoided him. I turned to see him through the window. Dicky still staggered back, hat askew, feet splayed wide apart. His arms were flailing to keep balance, but he fell backwards into the road and his big cocked hat came off.

'Go! Go! We'll sort it out at the checkpoint,' I yelled.