might like to fasten something on to him, Miss Fielding.’
‘But you said “when”, nevertheless, Mr Buller.’
‘So I did.’ He studied her for a moment. ‘But before I went out West that time, to the Big … Grand … Tetons, you said to me, “Keep an open mind, Mr Buller: no matter what they say, or what they did, or why they did it … or what it did to them … keep an open mind, Mr Buller”, is what you said, as you put me on that Greyhound bus.’
Jenny smiled at him sweetly. ‘We were economizing at the time, Mr Buller. And you still said “when”.’
Buller gave her another long look. ‘And you may have been talking to someone who’s talked to someone I talked to.’
‘That could be.’ The sweet smile vanished. ‘You tell me, Mr Buller.’
Reg Buller sighed, and touched the pocket in which his pipe lay. ‘No names this time, Lady.’ Then he nodded. ‘All right, then. There have been one or two times, over the years, when there’s been some unpleasantness involving Mr David Audley, so they say.’
‘Not “unpleasantness”, Mr Buller.’ Jenny was Miss Fielding-ffulke now, with all her ancestors behind her. ‘And not just “one or two times”. David Audley has a long string of deaths behind him, so I am informed— reliably informed.’ Then she weakened deliberately, as she remembered that they were both on the same side. ‘Come on, Reg—you’ve been trying to frighten us out of our wits all along … even with the boiling water in Yellowstone National Park! So don’t bullshit us now.’ She brushed back the tangle of inadequately-combed hair. ‘According to my source he presided over an absolute bloodbath, somewhere down in the West Country, a couple of years ago—‘ She shifted to Tully ‘—right, John?’
‘Possibly.’ Not for the first time as Ian looked at John Tully he was reminded of Clive Ponting, whose face was also designed for very dry sherry as well as distasteful revelations.
‘But nothing in 1978—or 1977. And he was in Washington almost the whole of ‘78, into 1979.’ Buller looked to Tully for support. ‘He’s got a lot of friends in the CIA … so I am reliably informed—eh?’ Then he registered Tully’s expression. ‘And that wasn’t because I was “exceeding-my-bloody-brief”—I got that for free, as it happens.’
‘ All right !” Jenny called them all to order. ‘So, then … I will take him right now, and see how the land lies at the moment.’ She embraced both Tully and Buller together, but chiefly Tully. ‘John … I think I’d like to know who is out there, getting wet at the moment, if possible.’ She came to Ian. ‘And, as you are the historian among us, darling … and as Audley wasn’t doing anything naughty then … do you think you could dig up 1978 for us, Ian—? And, if you like, you can take Mr Buller with you, for protection.’
2
THE POSSIBILITY that he was being followed aroused in Ian what he assumed to be the classic symptoms of paranoia: a feeling of unaccustomed importance, verging on pride (‘Better put a tail on Robinson: he needs watching!’), moderated by a much less comfortable disquiet, which might easily develop into a persecution complex.
Of course, he’d been followed before, almost certainly. But that had been in Beirut, which hardly counted, because everyone who was anyone was followed there, by someone or other, and it would have been an insult not to be followed; in fact, he’d probably been followed by the Syrians, who had been protecting them both, who had been shadowing other and nastier followers, like the lesser fleas on the bigger fleas on the proverbial dog, and so ad infinitum .
Only, he hadn’t much liked the possibility then, and he liked it no better now, with Reg Buller’s final patronizing and belittling words of wisdom echoing in his ear—
‘No good looking for ‘em, because you won ’t see ‘em —not if they know their job. So no good tryin ’ to be clever,
‘But you said “when”, nevertheless, Mr Buller.’
‘So I did.’ He studied her for a moment. ‘But before I went out West that time, to the Big … Grand … Tetons, you said to me, “Keep an open mind, Mr Buller: no matter what they say, or what they did, or why they did it … or what it did to them … keep an open mind, Mr Buller”, is what you said, as you put me on that Greyhound bus.’
Jenny smiled at him sweetly. ‘We were economizing at the time, Mr Buller. And you still said “when”.’
Buller gave her another long look. ‘And you may have been talking to someone who’s talked to someone I talked to.’
‘That could be.’ The sweet smile vanished. ‘You tell me, Mr Buller.’
Reg Buller sighed, and touched the pocket in which his pipe lay. ‘No names this time, Lady.’ Then he nodded. ‘All right, then. There have been one or two times, over the years, when there’s been some unpleasantness involving Mr David Audley, so they say.’
‘Not “unpleasantness”, Mr Buller.’ Jenny was Miss Fielding-ffulke now, with all her ancestors behind her. ‘And not just “one or two times”. David Audley has a long string of deaths behind him, so I am informed— reliably informed.’ Then she weakened deliberately, as she remembered that they were both on the same side. ‘Come on, Reg—you’ve been trying to frighten us out of our wits all along … even with the boiling water in Yellowstone National Park! So don’t bullshit us now.’ She brushed back the tangle of inadequately-combed hair. ‘According to my source he presided over an absolute bloodbath, somewhere down in the West Country, a couple of years ago—‘ She shifted to Tully ‘—right, John?’
‘Possibly.’ Not for the first time as Ian looked at John Tully he was reminded of Clive Ponting, whose face was also designed for very dry sherry as well as distasteful revelations.
‘But nothing in 1978—or 1977. And he was in Washington almost the whole of ‘78, into 1979.’ Buller looked to Tully for support. ‘He’s got a lot of friends in the CIA … so I am reliably informed—eh?’ Then he registered Tully’s expression. ‘And that wasn’t because I was “exceeding-my-bloody-brief”—I got that for free, as it happens.’
‘ All right !” Jenny called them all to order. ‘So, then … I will take him right now, and see how the land lies at the moment.’ She embraced both Tully and Buller together, but chiefly Tully. ‘John … I think I’d like to know who is out there, getting wet at the moment, if possible.’ She came to Ian. ‘And, as you are the historian among us, darling … and as Audley wasn’t doing anything naughty then … do you think you could dig up 1978 for us, Ian—? And, if you like, you can take Mr Buller with you, for protection.’
2
THE POSSIBILITY that he was being followed aroused in Ian what he assumed to be the classic symptoms of paranoia: a feeling of unaccustomed importance, verging on pride (‘Better put a tail on Robinson: he needs watching!’), moderated by a much less comfortable disquiet, which might easily develop into a persecution complex.
Of course, he’d been followed before, almost certainly. But that had been in Beirut, which hardly counted, because everyone who was anyone was followed there, by someone or other, and it would have been an insult not to be followed; in fact, he’d probably been followed by the Syrians, who had been protecting them both, who had been shadowing other and nastier followers, like the lesser fleas on the bigger fleas on the proverbial dog, and so ad infinitum .
Only, he hadn’t much liked the possibility then, and he liked it no better now, with Reg Buller’s final patronizing and belittling words of wisdom echoing in his ear—
‘No good looking for ‘em, because you won ’t see ‘em —not if they know their job. So no good tryin ’ to be clever,
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