A Delicate Truth A Novel

Toby’s agony aunt:
    ‘ Very sweet, very beautiful, and a ninny,’ she rules when she has heard him out. ‘Only a ninny marries a painter. As for you , you never could tell the difference between brains and beauty, and I suppose that still applies. I’m sure the two of you are perfectly suited,’ she concludes, with another hoot of laughter.
    ‘And the secret pulse of our great nation, Laura?’ Toby enquires lightly in return, since Laura has no known love life of her own that may be spoken of. ‘How are things in the oh-so-hallowed halls of the Treasury these days?’
    Laura’s generous face lapses into despair, and her voice with it:
    ‘Grim, darling, just appalling. We’re clever and nice, but we’re understaffed and underpaid and we want the best for our country, which is old-fashioned of us. New Labour loves Big Greed, and Big Greed has armies of amoral lawyers and accountants on the make and pays them the earth to make rings round us. We can’t compete; they’re too big to fail and too big to fight. Now I’ve depressed you. Good. I’m depressed too,’ she says, taking a merry pull at her Meursault.
    The fish arrives. Reverent quiet while the waiter takes it off the bone and divides it.
    ‘Darling, what a thrill,’ breathes Laura.
    They tuck in. If Toby is to chance his arm, this is his moment.
    ‘Laura.’
    ‘Darling.’
    ‘Who precisely is J. Crispin when he’s at home? And J standing for what? There was some scandal at Defence while Quinn was there. Crispin was mixed up in it. I hear his name all over town, I’m being kept out of the loop and it frightens me. Somebody even described him as Quinn’s Svengali.’
    Laura studies him with her very bright eyes, looks away, thentakes a second look, as if she isn’t comfortable with what she’s seen there.
    ‘Is this why you asked me to dinner, Toby?’
    ‘Partly.’
    ‘Wholly,’ she corrects him, drawing a breath that is nearly a sigh. ‘And I think you could have had the decency to tell me that was your fell purpose.’
    A pause while they both collect themselves. Laura resumes:
    ‘You’re out of the loop for the very good reason that you’re not supposed to be in it. Fergus Quinn has been given a fresh start. You’re part of it.’
    ‘I’m also his keeper,’ he replies defiantly, recovering his courage.
    Another deep breath, a hard look, before the eyes turn downward and stay there.
    ‘I’ll tell you bits,’ she decides finally. ‘Not all, but more than I should.’
    She sits upright and, like a child in disgrace, talks to her plate.
    Quinn walked into a quagmire, she says. Defence was in a state of corporate rot long before he came on the scene. Perhaps Toby knows that already? Toby does. Half its officials didn’t know whether they were working for the Queen or the arms industry, and didn’t give a hoot as long as their bread was buttered. Perhaps Toby knows that, too? Toby does. He has heard it from Matti, but doesn’t let on. She’s not making excuses for Fergus. She’s saying Crispin was there ahead of him and saw him coming.
    Reluctantly, she once more helps herself to Toby’s hand, and this time taps it sternly on the table to the rhythm of her words as she scolds him:
    ‘And I’ll tell you what you did , you evil man’ – as if Toby himself is Crispin now – ‘you set up your own spy shop . Right there inside the ministry. While everyone round you was flogging arms , you were peddling raw intelligence : straight from the shelf, direct to buyer , no stops between. Un spun, un tested, un pasteurized and above all untouched by bureaucratic hands. Which was music to Fergie’s ears. Does he still play music in his office?’
    ‘Mostly Bach.’
    ‘And you’re Jay like the bird,’ she adds, in a flurried answer to his earlier question.
    ‘And Quinn actually bought from him ? Or his company did?’
    Laura takes another pull of her Meursault, shakes her head.
    Toby tries again:
    ‘Was the stuff any good?’
    ‘It was expensive, so it had to be good, didn’t it?’
    ‘What’s he like , Laura?’ Toby insists.
    ‘Your minister?’
    ‘No! Jay Crispin, of course.’
    Laura takes a deep breath. Her tone becomes terminal, and even angry:
    ‘Just listen to me, dear, will you? The scandal at Defence is dead, and Jay Crispin is henceforth and forever banished from all ministerial and government premises on pain of death. A strong formal letter has been sent to him to that effect. He will never grace the