Christopher Priest - The Separation

‘[We will make the arrangements for you. In the Third Reich all things are possible!]’ His voice had taken on a bantering quality, which gave it a threatening undertone. ‘[What else is there for you to do in Berlin, while you are here? You will come with us when we leave in a few minutes. You will enjoy the rest of the evening. There will be no women, no one to interrupt what we wish to do. You understand, of course! We all have a good enjoyment and you can show me how you stroke. I your little boat shall be!]’

He laughed again, his eyes squeezing momentarily closed beneath his jutting eyebrows. I felt a wave of confusion, embarrassment, uncertainty, fear. His associates were watching for my reaction.

Hess tipped up his glass and finished the fruit juice. As he placed the glass on the table beside me, leaning forward so that his shoulder pressed against me, Selwyn-Thaxted materialized beside me with marvellous deftness.

‘Ah, Sawyer,’ he said. ‘I see you need another drink.’ My tankard of champagne-Guinness was still almost full, but Selwyn-Thaxted took it from me and put it down on the table. He flipped the lid closed. ‘[The ambassador has specifically asked if it would be possible to meet you, Sawyer,]’ he added loudly in German, for Hess’s benefit. ‘[Nothing formal. Do come with me straight away.]’

Hess was looming beside us.

‘[We have decided already to leave, my gentleman,]’ he said to Selwyn-Thaxted, then looked directly at me with his dark, worrying eyes. ‘[Come, we will depart, I think!]’

‘[The ambassador presents his compliments, Herr Deputy Führer,]’ said Selwyn-Thaxted. ‘[With your permission he asks if he might have a private audience with you also, but in a few minutes’ time?]’

‘[That is not possible.]’

‘[Then His Excellency will not insist.] Come, Sawyer.’

With his hand firmly gripping my upper arm, Selwyn-Thaxted led me at a relaxed pace across the ballroom, then through a pair of double doors to a small room adjacent to the hall. He closed the doors behind him, cutting off most of the noises of the reception.

‘May I assume you will be staying on in Berlin until the closing ceremony?’ he said.

‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible.’ I told him about my brother’s unexplained but urgent need to set off for home, to which Selwyn-Thaxted listened intently. He thought for a moment, staring at the ornately woven Persian carpet.

‘Yes, I think that’s probably wise,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what your brother has in mind, but as far as you are concerned it’s probably sensible not to see Herr Hess again.’

‘May I ask why you encouraged me to meet him?’

‘He asked for you by name. We also knew that you are a fluent German speaker, which suggested there might be an extra dimension that would possibly be useful.’

‘It was small talk,’ I said.

‘Nothing at all of any interest?’ Selwyn-Thaxted asked mildly.

‘In what respect?’

‘Well, did he happen to mention anything about Chancellor Hitler’s plans, for instance?’

‘No, that didn’t come up. He is intrigued that my brother and I look so much alike. And he said that Herr Speer was interested in rowing.’

Selwyn-Thaxted smiled fleetingly. ‘I don’t think we knew that.’

‘Is it important?’

‘Probably not . . . but you never know’ Without being obvious about it, he was already steering me towards the door. ‘I’m grateful to you, Mr Sawyer. I hope you didn’t mind speaking to him.’

‘No, sir.’

In the outer hall Selwyn-Thaxted asked one of the undersecretaries to conduct me out of the building by way of the main entrance.

By this time it was twilight but the air remained warm. I saw a line of open-top Daimlers waiting in Unter den Linden, ready to collect Hess and his colleagues, but of the Nazis themselves there was no sign. I walked quickly along Unter den Linden in the direction of Brandenburger Tor, beyond which I had agreed to meet Joe. I saw the van from a distance: the two shells were lashed once more to the roof. As I walked closer I saw Joe himself, pacing impatiently. He greeted me without more than a gruff acknowledgement and went quickly to the driver’s side.

In no time at all we were driving at speed through the darkening streets of Berlin, going north. I said nothing. Night fell as we left the outskirts of the city and headed out into the German countryside, using the new autobahn that led towards Hamburg. It was not the same road as the one on which we had arrived. I mentioned this to Joe. He made no reply.

The Air Ministry car made several more stops during our long drive south from the hospital: for fuel, for Gilbert Strathy to make a telephone call, and finally for a snack and a cup of tea in a pleasant market town somewhere on the way. Without road signs it was difficult to recognize towns if you did not already know them. Neither of the other men commented on the route. After our final stop I fell into a doze, rocking uncomfortably in the back of the car, my head lolling forward. I was in that peculiar state of non-sleep that it is possible to achieve while travelling, in which you remain partly aware of your circumstances yet able somehow to rest. I heard the other two men discussing me, presumably thinking I might not hear them.

I heard Mr Strathy say, ‘I’ve managed to arrange a place for Group Captain Sawyer to stay tonight. It’s a great asset that he doesn’t need nursing.’

‘Is he staying where we’re going?’

‘No, that wasn’t possible. He has to be in London after this. There’s a room in the Officers’ Mess at Northolt. He could make that his base for as long as he needs.’

‘Northolt’s still a long way’

‘I know, but it’s the best I could do. I have to return to London, so I can give him a lift as far as Northolt. After that, Downing Street will have to take over.’

I dozed on, interested but not interested, feeling exhausted after the long drive, with my left leg starting to hurt like mad, my neck stiff. The unfamiliar uniform, which at first had felt like a good fit, now proved to be cut too tightly under my arms and at my crotch. The fabric felt prickly where it pressed against uncovered skin: my legs, my neck, my wrists. I waited until the other two fell silent again, then popped an eye open surreptitiously looking through the passenger window on my side. It was dark and the car was moving slowly, the shielded headlight beams throwing only a restricted glow forward. I thought sympathetically of the young driver in her glassed-off compartment at the front: she had been driving all day along narrow, difficult roads without town or direction signs, without many traffic signs, now without daylight. She too must be exhausted.

Mr Strathy reached over and gently touched the back of my hand, to rouse me.

‘Are you awake, Sawyer?’

‘Yes, I am,’ I said, instantly alert. I realized that I had been dozing more deeply than I had thought. I felt myself plunged back into reality. The car, the other occupants, bulked large around me. The engine noise sounded much louder. I was aware of a draught flowing from the door and playing around my leg.

‘We will be arriving shortly,’ Strathy said. ‘I thought you would like time to compose yourself.’

‘Where are we?’

‘We are about to drive through Wendover, which is not far from Chequers. I’m able to inform you now, Group Captain Sawyer, that the P.M. has asked to see you. Naturally, we could not tell you before.’

‘The Prime Minister?’ I said. ‘Mr Churchill has asked to see me? I can’t believe he even knows I exist.’

‘Mr Churchill knows, I do assure you.’