“You’re worse than my agent,” said Giles, laughing for the first time. He took a sip of beer and they sat in silence for some time, before he asked, “Is Karin really pregnant?”
“No, she’s not. Which made me realize that everything else Fisher had said about you was a pack of lies, and his only interest was revenge.”
“I wish she were pregnant,” said Giles quietly.
“Why?”
“Because it would be far easier to get her out.”
“Last orders, gentlemen.”
9
“WHAT A FUNNY old game politics is,” said Giles. “I’m marooned in the wilderness, while you’re the West German foreign minister.”
“But our positions could be reversed overnight,” said Walter Scheel, “as you know only too well.”
“That would take some change of fortune for me, as I’m not even standing in the by-election and my party isn’t in power.”
“But why aren’t you standing?” said Walter. “Even with my rudimentary knowledge of your parliamentary system, it looks as if Labour is certain to win back your old seat.”
“That might well be so, but the local party has already selected a capable young candidate called Robert Fielding to take my place. He’s bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with all the enthusiasm of a recently appointed school prefect.”
“Just like you used to be.”
“And still am, if the truth be known.”
“Then why did you decide not to stand?”
“It’s a long story, Walter. In fact, it’s the reason I wanted to see you.”
“Let’s order first,” said Walter, opening the menu. “Then you can take your time telling me why you could possibly need the assistance of a West German foreign minister.” He began to peruse the fare. “Ah, the dish of the day is roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. My favorite,” he whispered. “But don’t tell any of your countrymen, or mine for that matter, or my guilty secret will be out. So what’s your guilty secret?”
By the time Giles had fully briefed his old friend about Karin and his failure to be allowed back into East Germany, they were both enjoying a coffee.
“And you say she was the young woman who was in your hotel room when we had that private meeting?”
“You remember her?”
“I certainly do,” said Walter. “She’s interpreted for me in the past but never gave me a second look, although it wasn’t through lack of trying on my part. So tell me, Giles, are you willing to fight a duel over this young woman?”
“Name your weapon, and your second.”
Walter laughed. “More seriously, Giles, do you have any reason to believe she wants to defect?”
“Yes, her mother has recently died, and the East German authorities won’t allow her father, who’s English and lives in Cornwall, back into the country.”
Walter took a sip of coffee while he considered the problem. “Would you be able to fly to Berlin at a moment’s notice?”
“On the next plane.”
“Impetuous as ever,” said Walter as a waiter placed a brandy in front of him. He swirled it around in the balloon before saying, “Do you have any idea if she speaks Russian?”
“Fluently. It was her degree subject at language school.”
“Good, because I’m hosting a bilateral trade meeting with the Russians next month, and they just might agree—”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Just make sure she’s got a British passport.”
*
“My name is Robert Fielding, and I’m the Labour candidate for the Bristol Docklands by-election on May twentieth.” The young man tried to shake hands with a woman who was laden down with shopping bags.
“What are you doing about Concorde?” she asked.
“Everything in my power to make sure the plane will be built at Filton and not Toulouse,” said Fielding.
The woman looked satisfied. “Then I’ll be voting for you. But I’d rather have voted for him,” she said, pointing at Giles. As she walked away, the young man looked despondent.
“Don’t worry about her. On May twenty-first you’ll be the member and I’ll be history.”
“And Concorde?”
“You gave the only credible response. The French will put up a hell of a fight, but then they have every right to, and in the end I suspect the work will be divided fairly equally between the two countries. Just be sure you never spell it with an ‘e,’” said Giles. “You might have asked if her husband worked at Filton because I suspect that’s why she asked the question.”
“Of course. I should have thought of that. Anything else?”
“Perhaps Bob Fielding rather than Robert. Don’t want to continually remind your supporters that you went to a public school and Oxford.”
Fielding nodded and turned to the next passerby. “Hello, my name’s Bob Fielding, and I’m the Labour candidate for the by-election on May twentieth. I hope you’ll be supporting me.”
“Sorry you’re not standing, Sir Giles.”
“That’s kind of you, sir, but we’ve chosen an excellent candidate. I hope you’ll be voting for Bob Fielding on Thursday May twentieth.”