There was little traffic this early on Saturday morning, which made it a rare pleasure to meander south in the Audi through the centre of London. Shops were just opening, and along Bayswater Road artists were hanging their pictures from the iron railings of Hyde Park ready for the weekly art sale. Liz drove south through Earls Court and over to the Hammersmith roundabout, then crossed the river at Chiswick with her window down, though a cloudless night meant a chill hung in the air.
Within a quarter of an hour she entered the leafy, affluent belt of the Surrey suburbs. The houses grew larger, as did their gardens, separated from each other by the occasional woodland or pony paddock. It always amazed her how many pockets of green had been preserved within twenty miles of Westminster.
At Twickenham she crossed the river again; the Thames was snake-like in this stretch. As she got further on, traffic started to build up in the high streets and on the outskirts of towns, as cars headed for the shopping centres, or ‘retail parks’ as they described themselves on the signposts.
After Shepperton she looked at Charles’s instructions and took a small road, then a smaller lane; she could sense the river was not far off. Taking a final left onto a track that ended in a cul de sac, she parked, and looked across a large lawn to a mid-sized Arts and Crafts house, with high wooden gables. A small sign on the front gate said Mill Run.
She walked along a path of paving stones with rose beds on either side, and up some steps to the front door. Ringing the bell, she waited until eventually she heard light steps approach in the hall. Then the door opened.
A woman stood in the doorway, wearing a simple blue cotton dress with an unbuttoned cardigan. She was thin -too thin; this must be Joanne. She had a handsome, gentle face, and her hair, chestnut turning grey, was tied back in a pony tail. Her eyes were a rich, deep blue and set wide apart, which made her look vulnerable.
‘Hello, I’m Liz Carlyle. Here to see Charles.’
The woman smiled. ‘I’m Joanne,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘Do come in. I’ve just put the kettle on.’
Liz followed her down a hall that stretched past a large oak staircase. The house seemed lived in, and comfortable.
In the kitchen a tabby cat lay asleep in a basket next to an enormous, ancient-looking Aga. There was a refectory table in the middle of the room, half-covered by sections of newspaper and a jar of marmalade. It was quiet, peaceful and sunny.
‘What a pretty cat,’ said Liz, wondering where Charles was.
‘That’s Hector, though he’s too old for the wars now. Coffee or tea?’
‘Coffee please,’ said Liz, and sat down at the table while Joanne filled two big blue and white striped mugs.
‘Charles had to go out,’ she explained, as she joined Liz at the table. ‘We’ve had a minor family emergency.’ She smiled to make it clear nothing dire had happened. ‘One of my sons broke his foot playing cricket. He’s decided to come home for the weekend so we can suffer with him.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Normally he’d walk here from the station, but his foot’s in a cast, so Charles went to fetch him. They’ll be back soon.’
Liz looked around the cosy room. It had old wooden cupboards, copper pots hanging from hooks along one wall, and a vast cork board covered with notes and phone numbers and a crayon drawing of a horse.
‘It’s very nice to meet you at last,’ said Joanne. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ She gazed penetratingly at Liz, but her voice seemed friendly.
‘Likewise, and I’ve seen your picture. Charles has one on his desk.’
‘Really?’ She seemed pleased. ‘I wonder which it is.’
‘You’re by a river, with a straw hat on. The boys are on either side of you, and each one’s holding an oar.’
‘Oh, I know that one. We bought them a little rowing boat once they knew how to swim. For a couple of summers they seemed to live on the water.’
‘I imagine the boys must have loved growing up here.’
She nodded. ‘Sam – that’s the one Charles is picking up – says he wants to live here when we’re gone. He’s the one who takes after Charles. He’s a worrier, though he doesn’t like to show it. Just like Charles.’
‘I must say he hides it very well.’ This was true; even in tense situations, Charles was a model of calm.
‘Does he?’ Joanne’s face brightened. ‘I wouldn’t know. I do know that he enjoys working with you.’
Liz didn’t know how to respond. ‘We were in different departments until recently.’
‘Yes, and he’s delighted to have you back again.’
It was said so frankly that Liz struggled not to blush.
Joanne went on, ‘It’s funny, sometimes I think life would be a lot easier if we moved into town – it’s quite a long commute for Charles. And as you probably know, I haven’t been very well the last few years. But Charles won’t hear of it. He says if he didn’t have the garden to come home to he’d go mad.’
She paused, and looked wistfully at the mug she held in her hands. ‘I know between his job and looking after me it must be an immense strain. I worry about him – and about how much he worries about me.’ She paused, then laughed and looked at Liz. ‘Have you ever been married?’
Liz shook her head, and felt suddenly awkward.
‘Well, I recommend it.’
They sat silently for a moment, then Joanne cocked an ear. ‘They’re back,’ she said. A moment later Charles came into the kitchen followed by a gangly boy, who must have been sixteen or so. He wore a school uniform of blazer and grey trousers, but his right foot was encased in a plaster cast. The boy had inherited his mother’s large blue eyes, but otherwise took after Charles.
‘Hello, Liz,’ said Charles. ‘This is Sam.’
She got up and shook hands with the boy. Joanne said, ‘Why don’t you go into the garden, darling? Take your coffee with you, Liz. I’m so glad we had time for a chat.’
Outside the brisk air of the morning was turning mild, and Charles took off his coat and left it on a bench by the kitchen door. A wide herbaceous border ran down one side of the garden and a small ring of tall roses stood in the centre of the lawn.
‘How beautiful,’ she said.
‘I’m not sure I’d go that far,’ said Charles mildly. ‘But I’m glad you like it. We do have some help,’ he admitted.
‘I should think so,’ said Liz, thinking her mother would appreciate this garden. She stood still and listened. ‘What’s that noise?’
He stopped too, and listened. ‘Just a boat. The river’s on the other side of the garden. We don’t quite make it to the water, I’m afraid. There’s a public footpath over there. Still, it means we have access.’
He led her to a stone bench under a towering tree and they sat down. ‘So,’ he said, putting an ankle across his knee. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘We’ve had this Israeli, Kollek, under surveillance, as you know. Nothing untoward has come up, though on a couple of occasions he has gone to great lengths to lose A4. Wally said it was clear he knew what he was doing. I’m certain now he’s Mossad.’
Charles’s jaw set in anger. ‘We’ll have to make a protest about this.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not all. Two days ago Wally and his team followed him to the Oval.’
Charles smiled. ‘New Zealand. We slaughtered them.’ Across the garden, a blackbird was singing, somewhere in the upper branches of a hornbeam tree.
Liz handed him the manila envelope she had brought with her from London. Charles took his time, looking at the stills. Then he put them down on the bench between them. ‘I take it you know who that is?’
‘He was at the Gleneagles meeting in Downing Street.’
‘So you said.’ Charles leaned back and breathed out noisily. Hector the cat had appeared, and was moving slowly towards the hornbeam, where the blackbird continued to trill. ‘This opens up such a can of worms.’
‘I can see that,’ said Liz.
‘We’ve been looking at Brookhaven while you were away. Our assumption was there’d been a leak about the Syrian threat – we couldn’t see any other reason for someone to try and run you down. Brookhaven looked up to his neck in potential conflicts: Arabic speaker, time in Syria, and one of only two at the Grosvenor station who knew about the threat.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘It just goes to show you mustn’t jump to conclusions.’
Liz looked thoughtful.
‘Is there something else?’ asked Charles.
‘The Syrians are supposed to be at the heart of all this but I’m beginning to think that it’s actually the Israelis. There’s what Sami Veshara told you and now we see an undeclared Mossad officer meeting a CIA officer.’ The thought that the problem might include the Americans lay unspoken between them.
Charles said nothing. Hector had arrived at the base of the tree, and was looking up. The blackbird was a good thirty feet above his head, and the cat seemed to recognise the futility of his hunt, for he lumbered off towards the ring of roses. Charles laughed. ‘Look at him. He’s too old to catch anything, but still likes to pretend he can.’
He turned towards Liz, serious again. ‘The first thing I’d better do is ring DG – this is too important to wait. I think it’s fairly safe to predict he’ll want me to talk to Langley. It will have to be in person, given the circumstances.’
He pointed at the photograph, and Liz looked at it once again. It showed Kollek with his head down in the stands at the Oval, listening to his neighbour. When Wally Woods had first shown her the photo, she knew she had seen the neighbour’s face before, but for a moment hadn’t been able to place it. Then she had remembered, and an image had entered her head – of a middle-aged man, balding, and heavy-set, leaning across a conference table in Downing Street and announcing in the nasal tones of America’s Midwest, ‘To date we have received no specific negative information relative to the conference.’
Liz turned now to Charles. ‘You’ll have to go to Washington?’ she asked, suddenly mindful of Joanne. It didn’t seem a good time for her to be alone.
‘I don’t see I have much choice.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I can’t really talk to the CIA’s head of station here about whether he’s working for Israel.’
Charles got up from the bench. ‘Why don’t I show you the river? Then we can go inside. Joanne wants you to stay for lunch.’