A Scattering of Light

Chapter 69

Chapter 69

After a few moments Anthony found his voice. "Strangely enough,” he said in response to my suggestion, “Tess was just saying when you came in that I should go to the press.”

"Victor always says to use the newspapers before they use you," Lady Rothschild remarked in her emphatic way.

I was gratified to hear that one of Anthony's most trusted friends (or so it seemed) was supportive of the same course of action I’d suggested. "It really might help to get out ahead of the story, so to speak."

Anthony's shoulders slumped. "My solicitor agrees with what you're both saying, and I'm almost convinced, but it's a terrifying prospect. And I wouldn't know where to start."

I considered how to frame my proposition. On reflection, the truth seemed as good an option as any. "I was stalked by a reporter yesterday, he tracked me down at my little breakfast hangout in the King's Road. He sat right down at my table and started talking about you."

Anthony's head jerked around suddenly, his expression fearful. "He didn't follow you here, did he?"

I smiled faintly. "No, I was very careful. I felt like a fool going through so many maneuvers, like a character in a Le Carré novel. But if anyone was following me, I lost him, I'm sure of that."

"Thank you," Anthony said humbly. "I know you wouldn't deliberately put me in harm's way."

My conscience stung a bit at these words but I pushed on. "In any case, the reporter who approached me works for the Times. He's asked for an exclusive, and I think you should consider it. Taking control of the story at this point might give you a significant advantage."

"I completely agree," said Lady Rothschild with the ironclad decisiveness of one who is seldom contradicted.

Anthony quaked visibly at the notion of such an interview, pressing his trembling fingers to his cheek. "But how would such a thing work?"

"I'd just need to make a call. Then presumably he'd be more than happy to meet you wherever you choose."

"Do it, Anthony. Stanch the flow," Lady Rothschild urged. I couldn't have asked for a more persuasive ally.

Anthony turned to his old friend. "Would you come with me, Tess?"

"Don't be daft, you know I couldn't," she blurted out. "Victor would never forgive me if I got mixed up in this story. You know he's terribly sensitive about the whole spy thing. They've tried to pin some things on him, you know, and it's absolute rubbish." There was a brief, damp silence. "I'm sorry to be so direct, but it's out of the question. Perhaps I could park myself somewhere nearby and offer you my shoulder afterwards."

Her tepid offer seemed to provide little comfort to Anthony. "Would you be there?" he asked in a rather small voice, turning to me.

I didn't hesitate. "Of course, if you'd like me to be."

"That's marvelous of you," said the lady. "Very kind. And of course you have so much less to lose."

Choosing to ignore the casual condescension of her remark, I flashed back to the reporter's promise to keep me out of the story if I convinced Anthony to talk. "Almost nothing," I agreed.

* * *

"I was just about to phone you," said Jonathan the Reporter (as I'd begun to think of him) when I called him a couple of hours later, shortly after returning from Hammersmith. "How's the old boy holding up?"

"How could you call me? You don't have my number," I said, electing to focus on a somewhat irrelevant detail rather than addressing the larger question.

"Don't be daft, I have everyone's number. By the way, I'm pretty sure your phone is bugged."

I swallowed hard. "Seriously?"

"Oh come on, Paul, surely you suspected it might be."

"I'm going to hang up now."

"Before you do," he continued calmly, "did he agree to talk to me?"

I rearranged some papers on the table before me. "Yes, but he's terribly anxious about it."

"I hope you told him I'll be as gentle as a lamb."

I cleared my throat nervously. "Look, I'm going to phone you from a pay phone in fifteen minutes." I was feeling paranoid now.

He sighed. "That's a bit silly but suit yourself."

I put down the receiver and placed the phone on the floor under my desk, as if that action might somehow limit its perceived invasiveness. Then I walked to a phone box in St. Luke's Street and dialed Jonathan's number again.

"How do you know my phone isn't tapped?" he asked, presumably just to be unpleasant.

"So yes," I went on from our earlier conversation, refusing to take the bait, "he said we could meet up tomorrow."

"We--as in the three of us?"

"He won't do it without my being there."

"Oh my," he said, "you've got that old pansy eating out of your hand."

I didn't like his tone. "If you're going to be unpleasant, let’s just forget it."

He hesitated, seemingly considering his options. "Okay, okay, sorry," he said, though he didn't sound remotely contrite. "Where and when?"

"I'll let you know."

"Oh god, you're killing me Paul. My boss needs to know that this is a serious lead. Tell me it is."

I took a deep breath. "I sat down with Blunt this afternoon and persuaded him to talk to you. He agreed to do it. I'm not sure what else you want."

"Your guarantee that it's going to happen."

"Look, I can't even guarantee that Blunt is going to wake up tomorrow morning, much less sit down for a cuppa with you. But he said he would, and you're going to have to trust us both that he will."

"I'm afraid I'm not the trusting type," he laughed.

"No kidding," I deadpanned.

"I know I'm coming off as a jerk, Paul, but I do appreciate what you've done."

I experienced a wave of fatigue. "I'm going now. Expect to hear from me about ten tomorrow morning. I'm hoping we can meet around noon."

"I know everything is super top secret here," he said sarcastically, "but can you give me some idea of where I'll be meeting the two of you?"

"I’m afraid I can’t,” I said, still annoyed by his tone.

“Oh for god’s sake…” he began.

I put down the receiver. He could wait.