'Away from the office, you mean?'

'You know what the old man is like. He's getting old and eccentric. He pops up here and there, like a jack-in-the-box. That's why he's always had two duty drivers. There were days when he was not in the office at all. The Thursday and Friday before the weekend that Fiona came out. On those days the D-G didn't come in to the office at all as I remember it.'

'It's been great, Harry. But I must be getting along,' I said, getting to my feet.

'I wish I could give you more details.'

'It was just idle curiosity,' I said. 'But I suppose we'll never know the whole story.'

'Not many people know the whole story about anything,' said Harry.

'Can I help with the washing up?'

'I have a machine,' said Harry.

'I'll see if the kids want to use the bathroom.'

As I got to the back door Harry touched my arm. 'You should have been given the German Desk, Bernard. Everyone said so. But the old man was against it.'

I opened the back door and shouted, 'Sally! Billy! We're leaving now. Come and say thank you to Uncle Harry.' The clouds had become a cauldron of molten lead, silvery-gray cumulus boiling and swirling around the red blobby parts. And yet the sky behind the clouds remained clear blue, as if from some other day and some other season.

'They treated your Dad badly,' Harry said softly as we watched the children slowly and reluctantly getting out of his old car. 'The D-G was afraid that giving you the German Desk would seem as if the Department was trying to make amends for that past wrong they did your Dad, and for God knows what else.'

'We couldn't have that,' I said sarcastically.

'No, that would never do. You won't stay for tea?'

'I must get back on the road,' I said.

The children arrived breathless, having run from the end of the garden. 'Do you want to use the bathroom?' I asked.

'What does a Frenchman eat for breakfast?' Billy asked Harry Strang. He'd already used his joke on me.

'I don't know,' said Harry, playing along with him.

'Huit heures bix,' said Billy and laughed. Sally laughed politely too. 'Weetabix,' Billy repeated, in case we had missed the joke. Harry produced a fine baritone laugh.

'It's a long drive to Grandma,' I said.

'It will seem even longer if he tells us all his corny jokes,' Sally said.

'Dad said he likes corny jokes,' said Billy. 'I save them for him. Isn't that right, Dad?'

'There's no joke like an old joke,' I said.

'That's right,' said Harry. 'It's like friends.' He looked at me as if trying to decide whether our friendship had anything going for it.

Billy went upstairs to the bathroom while Sally cleared away the dishes on the table. Harry began putting his swords back into the cupboard where they belonged.

'Lovely kids, Bernard. They are a credit to you. I thought your boy would have been keen on the swords.'

'He is,' I said, 'but he hates white gloves.'

'You can't handle them with your bare hands,' said Harry, who was not renowned for joke recognition. 'The acid perspiration would destroy the blades.' Harry looked at each sword lovingly as he put it away. 'Yes, nice kids. Count your blessings, Bernard.' Harry's voice was different now; warmer and more trusting. 'I wish my marriage had lasted, but you can't have everything. It took me a long time to realize that, but it's true.'

'When did the heavy-glove men come here, Harry?' I said. 'Am I a lot too late?'

'Don't be silly, Bernard.' The shutters came down with a clang and his face was blank.

'Yesterday? Last week? What did they say they would do? They can't touch your pension can they?'

'Careful how you drive, Bernard. Those Frenchmen, in the big trucks coming from the ferry, drive like maniacs. Sometimes I wonder if it's all that vin rouge.'

'How do they do it? I've often wondered. High-level, low-level, or anonymous? Do they send one of those bastards from Internal Security?'

He smiled another of those mirthless smiles. It completely prevented one reading anything into his expression; maybe that's why he did it. 'I miss the old man,' he said. 'I enjoyed my time working on the top floor. And Sir Henry is a gentleman of the old school. Even during the hectic days when your wife was coming out, he went down to pay his respects to Uncle Silas. He kept in touch to make him feel he was still a part of things.' Harry looked at me. 'Uncle Silas was sick. He'd fallen off a horse, they said.'

'He was too old for horses.'

'That's what I thought,' said Harry sharply, as if I had suddenly solved a mystery that had puzzled him.

I knew it was as far as Harry would go. In reversed circumstances — with a pig farm and pension in the balance — it was perhaps more than I would have risked for him.

As we were departing, Harry's young farmhand came up the path carrying a bucket of newly dug potatoes. He was very muddy and looked perished with the cold, but he wore the same gentle bemused smile that he'd worn when showing us his favorite porkers.

'Come along, Tommy!' Harry shouted to him. 'Come in and get warm. I'm brewing up some tea.'

6

Mayfair, London.

'What a lovely idea — to take the children to see your mother. How is she?'

'She's fine,' I said.

It was typical of the polite exchanges that enabled our happy marriage to continue so smoothly. Fiona didn't really think it was a lovely idea that prompted me to take our children to visit my mother. She thought it a stupid, inconsiderate exploit that was done to worry my mother-in-law and annoy my father-in-law while leaving her to soak up their dismay, anger and resentment. And my mother was not fine. She was anything but fine. She was in a nursing home that she didn't like, and the only time I saw flashes of the mother I remembered was when she was showing her annoyance about being incarcerated far from her friends and the home she loved. But despite everything my mother said, she was seriously infirm and incapable of living on her own. I'd taken the children to visit her only because I thought she would be dead before another year was past.

'Good,' said Fiona, and smiled to show me that she could read my mind. She was wearing her magnificent fur coat. She became almost animal in that soft glistening sable. It made her remote and exotic; so that I found it difficult to remember that this lovely creature was my wife.

'Shall we go out for dinner?' she said. She'd been with the D-G almost all day, and I could see she'd had her hair done and put on her extra-special makeup for him. She was standing by the stove top reading an almost indecipherable note left there by Mrs. Dias. The indomitable Mrs. Dias had cooked our meals, minded our children, washed, swept and cleaned for us — and piled up astounding hours of labor — back when we lived in Duke Street, before Fiona had pulled her defection stunt. Now Fiona had tracked her down and persuaded her to work for us again. I'm sure the smart Mayfair address, in an apartment block with lords and ladies and recording stars, was an enticement for Mrs. Dias, who was, like most domestic workers throughout history, a resolute and uncompromising snob.

'We said we'd economize this month,' I said.

Fiona was still reading the note. She'd let her nails grow longer and today they were painted, albeit in a natural pink color. She looked up. 'I can never read her handwriting. Sometimes I think some of the words must be Portuguese.' Then, 'I'm sorry, I forgot about the economy drive. I had no time to shop, I'll dig something out of the freezer.'