A Delicate Truth A Novel

need-to-know. What did you make of him?’ – not waiting for an answer. ‘Good bloke on a dark night, they tell me.’
    ‘I shall be happy to take your word for it.’
    Elliot , Toby is remembering, Albanian-Greek renegade  …  ex-South African Special Forces  …  killed some chap in a bar  …  came to Europe for his health .
    But by now the scenting British animal in Toby has parsed the visitor’s voice, and hence its owner. It is self-assured, middle to upper class, literate and non-combative. But what surprises him is its cheeriness. It’s the notion that its owner is having fun.
    The minister again, imperious:
    ‘And you’re Paul , right? That’s understood. Some sort of conference academic. Elliot’s got it all worked out.’
    ‘Minister, a large part of me has been Paul Anderson since our last conversation, and it shall remain Paul Anderson until my task is complete.’
    ‘Elliot tell you why you’re here today?’
    ‘I’m to shake the hand of the leader of our small British token force, and I’m to be your red telephone.’
    ‘That your own, is it?’ – Quinn, after a beat.
    ‘My own what, Minister?’
    ‘Your own expression , for Heaven’s sake. Red telephone? Out of your own head. You made it up? Yes or no?’
    ‘If it’s not too frivolous.’
    ‘It’s bang on the button, as it happens. I might even use it.’
    ‘I should be flattered.’
    Disconnect resumes.
    ‘These Special Forces types are inclined to get a bit uppity.’ Quinn, a statement for the world. ‘Want everything cut, dried and legalled before they’ll get out of bed in the morning. Sameproblem all across the country, if you want my view. Wife still doing all right, is she?’
    ‘In the circumstances, splendidly, thank you, Minister. And never a word of complaint, I may say.’
    ‘Yeah, well, women. What they’re good at, isn’t it? They know how to deal with that stuff.’
    ‘Indeed they do, Minister. Indeed they do.’
    Which is the cue for the arrival of party the second: another single pair of footsteps. They are lightweight, heel to toe and purposeful. On the point of casting them as Crispin’s, Toby finds himself quickly corrected:
    ‘Jeb, sir,’ they announce, coming to a smart halt.
     
    *
     
    Is this the drama queen who has fucked up Quinn’s weekend? Whether he is or not, with Jeb’s arrival a different Fergus Quinn takes the stage. Gone the sulky lethargy and in place of it enter the raunchy, straight-from-the-shoulder Glaswegian Man of the People that his electorate falls for every time.
    ‘ Jeb! Good man. Really, really great. Very proud indeed . Let me say first that we’re fully appreciative of your concerns, right? And we’re here to solve them any which way we can. I’ll do the easy bit first. Jeb, this is Paul, okay? Paul, meet Jeb. You see each other. You see me . I see you both. Jeb, you’re standing in the Minister’s Private Office, my office. I am a minister of the Crown. Paul, you’re an established senior foreign servant of long experience. Do me a favour and confirm that for Jeb here.’
    ‘Confirmed to the hilt, Minister. And honoured to meet you, Jeb’ – to a rustle of shaking hands.
    ‘Jeb, you will have seen me on television, going the rounds of my constituency, performing at Question Time in the House of Commons and all that.’
    Wait your turn, Quinn. Jeb’s a man who thinks before he answers.
    ‘Well now, I have visited your website, as a matter of fact. Very impressive, too.’
    Is this a Welsh voice? It assuredly is: the Welsh lilt with all its cadences in place.
    ‘And I in turn have read enough of your record, Jeb, to tell you straight off that I admire and respect you, and your men, plus I’m totally confident you’ll all do a really, really fine job. Now then: the countdown’s already begun, and very understandably and rightly , you and your men wish to be one hundred per cent assured of the British chain of command and control. You have last-minute worries you need to get off your chest: absolutely understood. So do I.’ Joke. ‘Now. Let me address a couple of niggles that have reached me and see where we stand, right?’
    Quinn is pacing, his voice darting in and out of the steam-age microphones hidden in the wooden panelling of his office as he swishes past them:
    ‘Paul here will be your man on the spot. That’s for starters. Plus it’s what you’ve been asking for, right? It is not proper or desirable that I, as a Foreign Office