enough of the Branch.
He missed Jarrell; and in a way he missed Gorch. He didn’t think Moules understood the personal significance to him of Professor Quinault.
What had happened in Berlin … what had happened was that McGovern had brought about the downfall of Hegley Quinault’s great friend, the MI6 agent Miles Kingdom. While working for Kingdom, McGovern had discovered his past crimes against children. Kingdom had committed suicide. The spies had not forgiven McGovern for exposing their best interrogator. If there was one thing they didn’t like, it was having their dirty secrets aired in public. Worse, in their eyes, McGovern was responsible for Kingdom’s death. Quinault had taken his friend’s death particularly badly; it was said he’d blamed Special Branch in general and McGovern in particular.
Gorch had protected McGovern in spite of the spies’ hostility and made sure he got promoted after this defining episode. Yet the scandal had clung to McGovern, defining him as a man who put highfalutin notions of truth and personal integrity above the more weighty matters of state security.
More damaging, even, than the distrust of the secret services, had been McGovern’s own personal sense of doubt. For Kingdom had tricked him. McGovern had fallen for the disgraced agent’s surface charm and cynicism. He thought the less of himself as a result. His confidence was undermined.
That he was now surreptitiously to investigate Quinault, the man who had most resented his part in the Kingdom affair – and at the request of the very organisation whose favourite son Kingdom had been – was more than surprising. It was totally unexpected and therefore disturbing: ironic, but above all, sinister.
He even suspected it might be a trap they had set him for some devious purpose of their own. They might want revenge for Kingdom’s disgrace. Or perhaps they were using him to advance some private vendetta against the distinguished historian of ancient Rome. It was an unpleasant thought.
chapter 6
N IGHT HAD FALLEN BY the time McGovern left the railway station. Mist blurred the trees that stretched tall and bleak along one side of the suburban road. The golden squares of light from the neat, uniform houses on the opposite side seemed the more welcoming by contrast with the vague darkness of the park.
Towards the end of the road the houses changed, with curved windows, portholes and flat roofs. The eccentricity of the ocean-liner style had delighted Lily.
As soon as he opened the front door he heard voices and laughter. Lily and her friends Mike and Eveline from the art school sat in the sitting room. They looked up at him as he stood in the doorway. He wondered what brilliant discussion he’d interrupted.
Lily swept her long hair back from her face in that lovely familiar gesture of hers.
‘You’re early, darling. D’you want some tea?’ She lifted the teapot. ‘Oh, there’s none left. Sorry.’
‘I’ll get a beer.’ Although it was tea he wanted. He sat down on the sofa.
Mike grinned. ‘Solved any crimes today?’ The jocularity was awkward. ‘Murder and mayhem as per usual? The Soho stabbing …’
Eveline laughed. ‘Poor Jack. He’s only just got in. You don’t want to talk shop the minute you get home, do you?’
‘Nothing to report, I’m afraid. Not my case, anyway.’
‘I’ll make some fresh tea,’ said Lily.
With his wife out of the room, her guests valiantly kept the conversation going. ‘We were talking about having an exhibition,’ said Eveline. ‘Our new work.’
‘Sounds exciting,’ said McGovern, but he was still thinking about Professor Quinault.
‘It’s great Lily’s been made head of the art department at the school,’ said Eveline. ‘We’re lucky – of course it’s hard work at the college, but teaching art students is a lot easier than a horde of school kids who probably don’t even want to be there.’
‘I think they like her classes.’
Mike laughed. ‘A
He missed Jarrell; and in a way he missed Gorch. He didn’t think Moules understood the personal significance to him of Professor Quinault.
What had happened in Berlin … what had happened was that McGovern had brought about the downfall of Hegley Quinault’s great friend, the MI6 agent Miles Kingdom. While working for Kingdom, McGovern had discovered his past crimes against children. Kingdom had committed suicide. The spies had not forgiven McGovern for exposing their best interrogator. If there was one thing they didn’t like, it was having their dirty secrets aired in public. Worse, in their eyes, McGovern was responsible for Kingdom’s death. Quinault had taken his friend’s death particularly badly; it was said he’d blamed Special Branch in general and McGovern in particular.
Gorch had protected McGovern in spite of the spies’ hostility and made sure he got promoted after this defining episode. Yet the scandal had clung to McGovern, defining him as a man who put highfalutin notions of truth and personal integrity above the more weighty matters of state security.
More damaging, even, than the distrust of the secret services, had been McGovern’s own personal sense of doubt. For Kingdom had tricked him. McGovern had fallen for the disgraced agent’s surface charm and cynicism. He thought the less of himself as a result. His confidence was undermined.
That he was now surreptitiously to investigate Quinault, the man who had most resented his part in the Kingdom affair – and at the request of the very organisation whose favourite son Kingdom had been – was more than surprising. It was totally unexpected and therefore disturbing: ironic, but above all, sinister.
He even suspected it might be a trap they had set him for some devious purpose of their own. They might want revenge for Kingdom’s disgrace. Or perhaps they were using him to advance some private vendetta against the distinguished historian of ancient Rome. It was an unpleasant thought.
chapter 6
N IGHT HAD FALLEN BY the time McGovern left the railway station. Mist blurred the trees that stretched tall and bleak along one side of the suburban road. The golden squares of light from the neat, uniform houses on the opposite side seemed the more welcoming by contrast with the vague darkness of the park.
Towards the end of the road the houses changed, with curved windows, portholes and flat roofs. The eccentricity of the ocean-liner style had delighted Lily.
As soon as he opened the front door he heard voices and laughter. Lily and her friends Mike and Eveline from the art school sat in the sitting room. They looked up at him as he stood in the doorway. He wondered what brilliant discussion he’d interrupted.
Lily swept her long hair back from her face in that lovely familiar gesture of hers.
‘You’re early, darling. D’you want some tea?’ She lifted the teapot. ‘Oh, there’s none left. Sorry.’
‘I’ll get a beer.’ Although it was tea he wanted. He sat down on the sofa.
Mike grinned. ‘Solved any crimes today?’ The jocularity was awkward. ‘Murder and mayhem as per usual? The Soho stabbing …’
Eveline laughed. ‘Poor Jack. He’s only just got in. You don’t want to talk shop the minute you get home, do you?’
‘Nothing to report, I’m afraid. Not my case, anyway.’
‘I’ll make some fresh tea,’ said Lily.
With his wife out of the room, her guests valiantly kept the conversation going. ‘We were talking about having an exhibition,’ said Eveline. ‘Our new work.’
‘Sounds exciting,’ said McGovern, but he was still thinking about Professor Quinault.
‘It’s great Lily’s been made head of the art department at the school,’ said Eveline. ‘We’re lucky – of course it’s hard work at the college, but teaching art students is a lot easier than a horde of school kids who probably don’t even want to be there.’
‘I think they like her classes.’
Mike laughed. ‘A
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