A Delicate Truth A Novel

it was,’ he replied jauntily. ‘And still is. The big chief himself. And if you’d pass that message upstairs rather sharply, I’d be obliged.’
    One of the men left the cubicle. The other stayed and smiled.
    ‘Come by train then, did you?’
    ‘I did.’
    ‘Nice trip, was it?’
    ‘Very, thank you. Most enjoyable.’
    ‘That’s the way then. My wife comes from Lostwithiel, actually.’
    ‘Splendid. A proper Cornish girl. What a coincidence.’
    The first man had returned: but only to escort Kit to the featureless room where he now sat, and had sat for the last half-hour, inwardly fulminating but resolved not to show it.
    And now at last his patience was rewarded, for who should come bustling up to him grinning like a schoolgirl but Molly Cranmore herself, his long-time buddy from Logistical Contingencies, wearing a name tag and a bunch of electronic keys round her neck and holding out her hands and saying, ‘Kit Probyn, what a lovely, lovely surprise!’ while Kit in return was saying, ‘Molly, my God, of all people, I thought you’d retired aeons ago, what on earth are you doing here?’
    ‘Alumni, darling,’ she confided in a happy voice. ‘I get to meet all our old boys and girls whenever they need a helping hand or fall by the wayside, which isn’t you at all , you lucky man, you’re here on business, I know. Now then. What kind of business? You’ve got a document and you want to hand it personally to God. But you can’t because he’s on a swan to Africa – well deserved , I may add. A great pity because I’m sure he’ll be furious when he hears he missed you. What’s it about?’
    ‘I’m afraid that’s something I can’t tell even you, Molly.’
    ‘So can I take your document up to his Private Office and find the right minion for it? – I can’t? – not even if I promise not to let it out of my sight in the meantime? – not even then. Oh dear,’ she confirmed, as Kit continued to shake his head. ‘So does it have a name, your envelope? Something that will set bells ringing on the first floor?’
    Kit debated the question with himself. A cover name, after all, was what it said it was. It was there to cover things up. Ah, but was a cover name of itself something to be covered up? If so, then there would have to be cover names for cover names, ad infinitum. All the same, the idea of blurting out the hallowed word Wildlife in the presence of a Greek prelate and two irate ladies was more than he could stomach.
    ‘Then kindly tell them that I need to speak to his highest authorized representative,’ he said, hugging the envelope to his chest.
    Getting there , he thought.
     
    *
     
    Toby, meanwhile, has sought instinctive refuge in St James’s Park. With the silver burner pressed to his ear, he is hunched under the very same plane tree from which, just three years earlier, he dispatched his futile appeal to Giles Oakley, informing him that a fictitious Louisa had walked out on him and begging his advice. Now he is listening to Emily, and noting that her voice is as calm as his own.
    ‘How was he dressed?’ he asks.
    ‘The full monty. Dark suit, best black shoes, favourite tie and a navy raincoat. And no walking stick, which Mother takes as an omen.’
    ‘Has Kit told your mother that Jeb’s dead?’
    ‘No, but I did. She’s distraught and very scared. Not for herself, for Kit. And, as always, practical. She’s checked with Bodmin station. The Land Rover’s in the car park and they think he bought a senior citizen’s day return, first class. The train was on time out of Bodmin, and arrived on time in Paddington. And she’s rung his club. If he shows up, would they please get him to ring her? I told her that wasn’t good enough. If he shows up, they should ring her. She said she’d call them again. Then she’ll call me.’
    ‘And Kit hasn’t been in touch since he left the house?’
    ‘No, and he’s not answering his cellphone.’
    ‘Has he done this kind of thing before?’
    ‘Refused to speak to us?’
    ‘Thrown a tantrum – gone AWOL – taken matters into his own hands – whatever.’
    ‘When my beloved ex-partner waltzed off with a new girlfriend and half my mortgage, Dad went and laid siege to their flat.’
    ‘Then what did he do?’
    ‘It was the wrong flat.’
    Resigned to returning to his desk, Toby glances up with apprehension at the great bowed windows of his own Foreign Office. Joining the unsmiling throng of black-suited civil servants