Andrew Taylor - The Second Midnight

Kendall got to his feet. ‘Then I wonder if you’d consider myself and Stephen – my eldest boy. He’s a bright lad – and good at languages too. St Paul’s, you know.’

‘I’ll mention your name, of course. Naturally I can’t promise anything – it’s not my department.’

Michael showed Kendall out. When he got back to the sitting room, he found Dansey jabbing the coals with a poker.

‘I think I’ll take that drink now, Stanhope-Smith.’

Michael crossed to the sideboard. ‘What do you think of Kendall’s offer?’

‘I think we can get along quite well without the services of Captain Kendall or his wretched son. Even if he has been to St Paul’s. We may be moving on to a war footing but there are limits.’

Michael handed Dansey a small whisky and soda. ‘About the other son: shall I approach the Embassy through the FO or get on to SIS?’

‘Neither.’ Dansey finished his drink in a single swallow and wiped his moustache with his handkerchief. ‘Now I must be off. If necessary you can get hold of me through the PM’s office.’

‘But we can’t just abandon the boy.’

‘Why not? He’s of no importance. Kendall’s not going to make a fuss, especially if he thinks you might give him a job. Even if he did make a fuss, we could muzzle him with the Official Secrets Act.’

‘But we do have a moral obligation—’

‘Our moral obligations, as you choose to put it, lie elsewhere, Stanhope-Smith. Getting that boy out would be a purely sentimental gesture. I’m sorry, but the risk is unacceptable. The FO wouldn’t cooperate for a start: they’ve had to tread very carefully in Prague for the last fortnight. And I’ve no intention of compromising either SIS or Z. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the Germans have already got the boy and his communist hosts under observation.’

‘We could send in a nursemaid to bring the boy out – an amateur like Kendall.’

Dansey picked up his hat and coat. ‘When I need your advice I shall ask for it. Don’t bother to come down: I’ll see myself out.’

When Dansey had gone, Michael kicked the sofa until the pain forced him to stop. He had known before that he was involved in a dirty business; but this was the first time that Dansey had rubbed his nose in it quite so hard.

For a moment he toyed with the idea of resignation. But that would rebound on his godfather’s head, especially at a time like this when the country was readying itself for war. Michael tried to ignore the thought that it would also be financial suicide: his rent was due tomorrow, on the first of the month; both his tailor and his wine merchant had presented him with extraordinarily large bills; and Betty Chandos was proving an expensive hobby.

But he had to do something – anything to prove to himself that he had not sold his soul entirely to Uncle Claude. He picked up the telephone and dialled the number of a house in Queen Anne’s Gate. He used the private line to the flat, rather than the switchboard number for the rest of the building. Dansey would be furious, but with luck he wouldn’t hear about it until it was too late.

‘May I speak to Admiral Sinclair? It’s Michael Stanhope-Smith.’

He breathed a sigh of relief when the secretary said his godfather was in. If he didn’t do it now, he suspected that he would never find the courage to try again.

‘Uncle? It’s Michael. I’ve found two possible new boys for you. I wonder if you could let them know downstairs.’

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