Dominion (41 page)

‘Yes, they did. The Jews spoke Yiddish all over Eastern Europe.’ She smiled. ‘Our countries, they were such a babel of languages, everyone speaking at least a bit of three or
four.’ She asked softly, ‘Did your mother speak Yiddish?’

‘She put all that behind her, became Anglo-Irish. She said something though, just before she died. Neither my father nor I understood it.’

‘Do you remember it?’

David gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘It was seventeen years ago. I don’t know, it was something like, “Ik hobdik leeb”.’ He turned away, suddenly full of emotion. He
heard her repeat the words, with a different emphasis. ‘
Ich hob dich lieb.
’ He turned round. ‘That sounds like it. What does it mean?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking away. ‘I only knew a few phrases.’

The doorbell rang, making them both jump. Natalia went out, and David heard her light footsteps descending the stairs. She came back with Geoff. ‘Hello, old man,’ Geoff said with
forced cheerfulness. ‘How are things?’

‘I think Hubbold’s questioning people.’

Geoff took off his coat and hat, gave David a tight smile though his blue eyes were anxious. ‘It’ll be all right.’

The bell rang again. Minutes later David heard Jackson’s heavy footsteps accompanying Natalia back up the stairs. He came in, grim-faced, nodding to David and Geoff without smiling. He
took off his coat and hat, sat down heavily, then said to David, ‘You seem to have set some hares running, one way and another.’

David told him again what had happened to Sarah on Sunday, and about the missing file. Jackson listened, expressionless, putting in the occasional sharp question. When David had finished he sat
thinking for some moments.

‘I think your wife is safe,’ he said at length. ‘We’ve managed to trace that student couple. Most of those who got away – not that there were that many, anywhere
– have ended up with our people. Those Gentiles who’re willing to help them usually have some contact with us.’

‘What will happen to them?’

‘They’ll get new identities. The Jews won’t be the first people we’ve done that for, not by a long chalk. Now, is your wife quite sure nobody on this committee of hers
knew that she went off with this woman who was killed?’

‘She’s certain.’

‘You’ve put us to a lot of work, tracing those two students.’ He sighed. ‘And the other matter, putting secret papers in an open file, that’s worrying.’ His
hard, sharp eyes were angry now.

Geoff said, ‘David thought he was about to be caught, he had to act in a hurry.’

Jackson glanced at Geoff briefly, but did not reply. He turned back to David. ‘You say you think Carol Bennett’s been questioned?’

‘Yes, from the way she looked at lunchtime.’

‘How do you think she’ll have reacted?’

‘She won’t be pressured. She’ll say it wasn’t her, she doesn’t know how it happened. Which is true.’

‘Do you think she might make any connection between the missing papers and you?’

‘No. She’s no reason to. And her picture of me is – distorted.’

‘Try to behave normally with her. Don’t tell her about being questioned yourself, she might smell a rat if you do.’

‘I’m supposed to be going to a concert with her on Friday.’

‘I should cancel. Probably best if you and Miss Bennett aren’t seen around together.’

‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll think of some excuse.’

‘What should David do? If he is questioned again about the papers?’ Natalia asked.

Jackson stared hard at David again. ‘Say you know nothing about it. I’ve been in the Service nearly forty years, it’s not the first time something like this has happened.
They’ll go round in circles for a little while, asking everybody, then when nobody accepts responsibility for the mistake, eventually they’ll have to approach MI5 to deal with it,
what’s left of them these days. Unless they can find a scapegoat, someone they don’t like who could plausibly be responsible. Possibly Miss Bennett.’ He thought for a moment.
‘We’re safe for the time being. Enough time to deal with the immediate issue, which is Frank Muncaster. Can you hold your nerve, Fitzgerald, if you’re questioned again?’

‘Yes,’ David said. ‘I just deny everything, don’t I? But sooner or later they’re going to connect it to the fact I come in at weekends.’

‘You’re not the only one. And you’ve a twelve-year record of unblemished service, being loyal and unambitious, a happy family man.’ Jackson smiled, coldly.
‘Don’t forget the importance of that. It’s why we took you on.’

‘Yes. I’m used to lying,’ David answered quietly. He looked at Natalia, who glanced away.

Jackson stood, paced up and down the room as he sometimes did, while the others stayed seated. Geoff lit his pipe. They heard two pairs of footsteps ascending the staircase outside, and the door
of the prostitute’s flat door slammed shut. David heard a woman’s laugh. Jackson sat down again. He said, ‘Our friend Ben Hall at the asylum has been very nifty. They questioned
him about your visit on Sunday and he said so far as he’s concerned you were strangers, old chums he’d allowed Muncaster to contact by telephone. His descriptions of you are mildly
misleading.’ He shook his head, smiled coldly again. ‘They do have some steel, those Reds. Now, the danger, as it always has been, is that Muncaster spills the beans, but apparently
he’s on some sort of strike, won’t talk. Well, that suits us.’

‘I don’t imagine it suits Frank much,’ David said.

Jackson frowned. ‘Fortunately Hall can keep an eye on him.’

‘The suicide attempt,’ Geoff asked. ‘Was it serious, or just a cry for help?’

‘Oh, it was very serious, according to Hall. But we can’t rely on Muncaster staying quiet.’ Jackson took a deep breath. ‘The people at the top have said he is to be
lifted, and soon.’ He looked around the room. ‘They want the three of you involved. You’ve been to the asylum before, and Drax and Fitzgerald know him. You may be able to get his
co-operation.’

‘How would it be done?’ Natalia asked.

Jackson got up, began pacing the room once more. ‘Ben Hall will get himself on night duty. He can’t do it for a few days unfortunately, he doesn’t want to put in an urgent
special request in case it arouses suspicion. Apparently all the patients are drugged at night to get them to sleep and there’s only a skeleton staff. It will be down to him to get Muncaster
out, and you’ll be waiting in a car outside. You’ll take him down to the coast, short rides via a series of safe houses over two or three days. We’re fixing that up now. And an
American submarine will be waiting, at a point we’re arranging with the Yanks, to pick him up. Ben Hall will go with you. You’ll have to take leave – some sort of family
emergency.’ He stopped and looked between them, his tone suddenly gentle. ‘I won’t pretend there won’t be danger. But you’ll have false papers, cover stories, and so
far as we’re aware nobody knows that Muncaster is any more than just an escaped lunatic.’

‘We’re kidnapping him,’ David said. ‘That’s what it boils down to. Kidnapping Frank.’

‘For his own good,’ Natalia said. ‘His own safety.’

‘I know,’ David said, looking at her and then Jackson. ‘I know we have to do it.’

Jackson nodded. ‘Good. Ben Hall will keep him drugged, sleepy. He’ll be given new clothes. To other people he may just seem a bit subnormal.’ Jackson raised his eyebrows.
‘It’ll be several more days before we can get all the pieces on the chessboard, I’m afraid.’

David said, ‘And he’ll be taken to America. Then what?’

Jackson shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Questioned. Afterwards, perhaps given some scientific work, a new life. Ben Hall will go with him, his cover will be completely blown at the
asylum.’

‘Could Frank be locked up like his brother?’

‘His brother broke the law. Frank Muncaster’s circumstances are quite different.’

‘We’ve no way of knowing what they’ll do to him,’ Geoff said.

Jackson spread his hands. ‘What else can we do?’ He spoke angrily. ‘What other chance does he have?’

‘None.’ David thought a moment. He took a deep breath, then said, ‘What if I went on the submarine as well? With Sarah. Then we wouldn’t be a risk any more.’

Jackson stared at him. ‘What do think your wife would say to that?’

‘I think, now, she’d take any chance to get out of England.’

‘We can’t just do that, Fitzgerald,’ Jackson said impatiently. ‘If you go on the run, disappear from your job, there really will be a big enquiry, our whole network in
the Civil Service would be in danger. That’s a very last resort.’

‘I’m a danger,’ David said. ‘I’m a risk.’

Jackson said, ‘So far as getting Frank Muncaster out is concerned, you’re one of our biggest assets.’

‘What will you tell Sarah?’ Geoff asked.

‘I’ve got an old uncle out of town, I pretended he was ill when we went to visit Frank; I can say he’s died. I’ll say I have to go to Northampton to make
arrangements.’

Jackson said, ‘Good.’

David asked him suddenly, ‘What the hell is it that Frank knows?’

Jackson reflected a moment, then spoke quietly. ‘The world is at a tipping point. Hitler’s illness, the Germans losing the war in Russia, resistance growing everywhere, the new
American president. And what Muncaster knows, if the other side get hold of it –’ he held out a big, manicured hand, tipping it gently from side to side – ‘it could just tip
that balance the wrong way.’

O
N
T
HURSDAY AFTERNOON
, Sarah drove with David to Mrs Templeman’s funeral. It was held at an ugly modern church in Wembley,
not far from the stadium. On a wall nearby someone had painted a Resistance ‘R’; it made Sarah’s heart rise a tiny bit. A hearse was waiting at the churchyard gate, a
flower-covered coffin in the back. Sarah’s stomach clenched as she thought, the lid must have been nailed down after the autopsy, nobody would be allowed to see that ruined head. It was cold
for late November; as she walked up the path arm in arm with David she noticed frost on the grass around the graves. She remembered Mrs Templeman, on the train last Sunday, saying brightly,
‘
They say it’s the coldest November for years.
’ A little way off, two men in overalls stood by a newly dug grave, spades on the ground beside them, holding their caps as a
mark of respect. Sarah clutched David’s arm tightly, grateful to him for coming.

People in black were gathering in the doorway of the church. She recognized some from Friends House committees; others must be family and friends. She was introduced to Mr Templeman, a small,
thin man, his face white as paper under his Homburg hat. He seemed to have collapsed into himself with grief, leaning heavily on the arm of a woman who, from their resemblance, must be a sister.
Sarah thought, thank God the poor man has family; she remembered Mrs Templeman saying their son had died in the 1940 war. Mr Templeman shook her hand and smiled without recognition when she offered
her condolences; he must have forgotten speaking to her on the telephone. A top-hatted undertaker came and murmured quietly to the sister. She said, ‘Yes, we should go in now.’

Sarah glanced back down the path. The coffin was being unloaded from the back of the hearse. She looked at the houses opposite the church, wondering if there might be a Special Branch policeman
at one of those windows, watching who went in and out. David said, ‘Come on, darling.’ She turned and went into the church.

Sarah had been dreading the funeral, and that morning had occupied herself by doing some mending, then preparing lunch for David, who was coming home to pick her up. She put
the radio on, hoping the Light Programme might relax her a little, but when the doorbell rang she jumped.

On the doorstep was a man in his sixties, in cap and brown overalls. He touched his cap. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Mr Weaver. Weaver and Son. You asked us to estimate for some redecoration. Your staircase.’ Sarah had forgotten they were coming this morning. She asked him in and showed
him the torn, discoloured wallpaper where the gates had been. ‘We’ll need to change the wallpaper all the way up if it’s to look right,’ he said. ‘I won’t be
able to find an exact match.’

The man took measurements, then asked what sort of wallpaper she wanted. Sarah realized she had no idea. He produced a book of patterns and she chose something more or less at random.

‘Can I leave it with you now?’ she asked the man. ‘Only I’m getting my husband’s lunch.’

‘All right. I’ll send you an estimate.’ The decorator smiled. ‘What was it you had there, a child’s gate?’

‘Yes.’

‘Old enough to get up and down stairs now, is he?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah said quickly, ‘that’s right.’ Only a short time ago the man’s words would have brought her close to tears.

‘Well, I’ll get on,’ the man said. ‘I’ll let you have a full quote in a couple of days. Would you like it done before Christmas?’

‘As soon as possible, really.’

The cheerful dance music from the kitchen had stopped for the twelve o’clock news. At the end of the broadcast, as after every bulletin that week, the announcer asked any Jews not yet
relocated to attend at the nearest police station. Mr Weaver said, ‘Looks like some are still at large.’ He spoke neutrally, the way people did nowadays to someone whose political views
they didn’t know.

‘Yes,’ Sarah agreed. After closing the door she looked up the staircase. She felt somehow that Charlie had really gone now, disappeared into whatever place the dead went to.

The vicar at the funeral was dull, uninspired. He told the mourners he had known Mrs Templeman for years, praised her faith and good works and kindness. He said that she had
had a quick and painless end, for which all should be thankful. He promised she was safe now, in the arms of Christ Jesus. Sarah saw Mr Templeman wasn’t listening; he looked as though he
didn’t really know where he was. It had been like that for her and David at Charlie’s funeral. She glanced at her husband; he was looking at the minister with a sort of uncomprehending
anger. They sang a hymn, ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’
.
Her voice was shaky. David sang tunelessly in his heavy, flat baritone. Neither had ever been good singers, they used to
joke about it.