'But I won't be delighted. Not even a wronged husband wants to see the other man in the Old Bailey. And in Bret's case, I have no real evidence. As far as I know, Fiona was never unfaithful to me.'

'If you don't hate him for betraying you, then hate him for selling out to the Communists. In that sort of hatred I'll join you.'

'Your father was one of our agents, wasn't he?'

'How did you find out?'

'I just guessed. There always has to be some special reason for the daughter of a foreign national to get into the Department.'

'My uncle and my father… the secret police took my uncle away. They killed him in the police station. They were looking for my father.'

'You don't have to talk about it,' I said.

'I don't mind talking about it. I'm proud of him. I'm proud of both of them. My father is a dentist. London sent him dental charts – it was part of his regular correspondence with other dentists – and he used the dental charts to identify agents. The dental surgery was a perfect cover for messages to be passed, and the secret police never succeeded in infiltrating the organization. But all the agents had met my father. That was the big disadvantage – everyone in every cell knew my father. The police finally got his name from someone they picked up photographing the frontier. He talked. They made a mistake and arrested my uncle because he had the same name. He managed to keep silent until my father and mother got away. I hate the Communists, Bernard.'

'I'm going to have a drink,' I said. I took off my jacket and tie and kicked off my shoes. 'Whisky. Would you like one?'

'No thanks, darling.'

I went into my study and poured myself a stiff drink. When I got back to the bedroom, Gloria had combed her hair and plumped up the pillows. I went on undressing. I said, 'Dicky is having an affair with Tessa, and Daphne's found out about them.'

'She told you that?'

'A friend of hers saw them in a hotel.'

'There are always wonderful friends who'll bring you bad news.'

'It's difficult, isn't it? You become a party to a secret and suddenly you have a terrible responsibility. Whatever you do is likely to be wrong.'

'You're talking about that Cabinet memo, aren't you?'

'Perhaps I am.'

'You did nothing,' she said.

'It looks as though I didn't have to. The Department knows about Bret. Daphne actually mentioned the Cabinet memo.'

'What does she want you to do?'

'Daphne? She wants to talk to George. She says she's going to name Tessa in a divorce action.'

'Is she serious?'

'You tell me.'

'That would ruin Dicky's career, wouldn't it?'

'It depends. If it looked like becoming the messy sort of divorce that got into the newspapers, then the Department would get rid of Dicky very quickly.'

'Does Daphne know that?'

'She's very bitter.'

'She's put up with a lot.'

'Has she?'

'You told me that Dicky was constantly unfaithful to her.'

'Did I?'

'Of course you did. And everyone in the office has noticed the way he's been dandying up on certain evenings. And his wife is always phoning asking where he is.'

'Everyone knows that?'

'All the girls know.'

'Does his secretary talk about it?'

'You mustn't ask me questions like that, darling. I can't be the office stool pigeon.'

'I don't like the idea of a secretary who talks about her boss. It's a short step from that to official secrets…'

'Don't be pompous, darling. Dicky gives her a rotten time. I think she's wonderfully loyal under the circumstances.'

19

I don't know whether Bret Rensselaer was officially ordered to keep away from Erich Stinnes or even discouraged from doing so, but obviously someone from the Department had to keep in touch with him. Had he been left at Berwick House and neglected, there was always the chance that London Debriefing Centre would encourage the Home Office to take him over.

When Stinnes suddenly stopped talking to the interrogator, the matter became urgent. I was sent to talk with Stinnes. There was a note initialled by Bret waiting on my desk. I don't know who chose me for the job, but I suppose there weren't many on the shortlist of suitable visitors.

It was pouring with rain when I arrived at Berwick House. The formalities that had greeted Bret Rensselaer's Bentley on my previous visit were waived for my second-hand Rover. No pulling to the side after entering the outer gate – just a quick look at my card and a perfunctory salute.

There was no one to see that I parked in the visitors' marked space in the courtyard and no sign of the Governor or his Deputy anywhere. Instead of the main entrance I used the back door. The duty clerk knew me by sight and he swivelled the visitors' book for my signature and offered me his Parker pen. Judging by the blank spaces in the book they didn't have many visitors at Berwick House these days.

Erich Stinnes wasn't locked up. At certain specified hours he was permitted to exercise in the grounds. When it rained he could come down into the great hall and look through the leaded windows at the bare rosebushes. He had the freedom of the first floor, but I had to notify the key-room clerk that I was going up there. The clerk stopped eating his cheese sandwich long enough to write out the chit that permitted me to leave again. When he passed it to me the chit was marked with his greasy fingerprints. I'm glad that hadn't happened to Bret.

'Not like Netting Hill Gate, is it, Erich?' I said.

'It's good enough,' he said. They'd moved him to Number 4, a large comfortable accommodation at the front. He had a sitting room with a sofa and two armchairs, a coloured print of the Battle of Waterloo, and a medieval electric fire. He had a tiny 'kitchen' too, although it was really no more than an alcove equipped with sink, cooking ring, some pans, crockery and an electric kettle.

'Are you going to make me a cup of tea?' I said. 'It's very warm in here – do you want me to open a window?'

'They will bring some tea at four,' he said. 'You must know that by now. No, don't open the window. I think I have a chill.'

'Shall I get the doctor to look at you?'

'No doctors. I have a horror of them.' His voice was flat and cold like his eyes. There was some sort of change in the atmosphere since our last meeting. He was suspicious of me and didn't bother to hide it.

'Still drawing landscapes?' I asked. I took off my raincoat and put it on a hook behind the door.

'There's not much else to do,' he said. The whole building was well heated and it was warm in this room, but the electric fire was fully on, and in addition to his grey flannels and dark-green shirt Stinnes wore a heavy sweater. He was sitting on a big chintz-covered sofa and there were several London newspapers beside him. They'd been folded and refolded as if every word in them had been read.

He was able to be very still. It was not the easy stillness that comes with relaxation or the tense stillness that concentration produces, but something else – some quality that couldn't be defined, something that enabled him to remain always the onlooker no matter how involved he truly felt. He was always the sun; everything moved except him.

I took off my jacket and sat in the chair opposite him. 'The interrogator went home early yesterday,' I said. 'And early the day before that.'

'Some species of bird are born able to sing, but others have to learn to sing from their parents.' There was no jocularity. It sounded like something he had ready to recite for me.

'Is that an ornithological fact or are you trying to tell me something, Erich?' In fact I knew it was true. Stinnes had told me before. He was fond of displaying such expertise.

'It was inevitable that you should try to find some way to blame me,' he said.