Frankie's Letter (10 page)

Anthony raised his eyebrows. Considering he'd only met the man once, the assumption Sherston was going to immediately offer him bed and board seemed a bit cool. ‘How on earth am I going to manage that? And how are you, for that matter?'

Sir Charles smiled once more. ‘I'll see if I can swing it. As for you, Sherston's a newspaperman, yes? I made a point of running into him at the Garrick last night and you came up in conversation. I didn't know you'd met him, of course, but he was interested, and I offered to introduce you. After all, you've been in Germany. That's a pretty good inducement for any newspaperman. He'd love to get your story. You'll be surprised when he suggests it, of course, but a series of articles about your exploits as Herr Doktor Conrad Etriech should make good reading. Don't give them to him for anything less than an invitation to Starhanger.'

‘I can't blab to the newspapers!' said Anthony, horrified.

Sir Charles spread his hands out in enquiry. ‘Why not? You can't go back to Germany as Doktor Etriech so you might as well tell Sherston about the good doctor's doings. He'll invite you to Starhanger right enough.'

Anthony winced. The habit of secrecy was so ingrained that to talk to the popular press went against all his instincts. Sir Charles saw his expression. ‘Come on, Brooke. There'll be no pictures, of course. You'll be totally anonymous but we have to offer Sherston something to get you into Starhanger.'

Anthony didn't like it. Despite his respect for Sir Charles, he thought he was mistaken. That he was later shown to be right gave him no pleasure at all. He tried to pin down why he was so uneasy about the idea. After all, Sir Charles was his chief and should know what he was doing. Maybe, he thought, it came down to experience. Sir Charles was lacking the edge, the raw instinct for survival, that had developed during those months in Germany.

Anthony said as much but Sir Charles wasn't convinced. Reluctantly, Anthony allowed himself to be persuaded. ‘Well, if you're sure,' he said grudgingly. ‘You say Sherston knows about me?'

‘He's very keen to meet you,' said Sir Charles. ‘He's got a certain impression of me, which I don't want to disturb. Follow my lead, won't you?' He laughed. ‘Relax, man. No one will know it's you behind the stories in the papers unless you tell them so.'

‘Perhaps,' Anthony said dryly. He'd seen too much of the gossipy nature of London society to believe there was any such thing as a secret any more. Still, if Sir Charles believed it would work, it probably would, he reassured himself glumly, no matter how his feelings were lacerated in the process.

‘Now, once we're at Starhanger, there's another scheme I want to try.'

‘What's that?'

Sir Charles sat forward in his chair. ‘Cavanaugh was betrayed. He thought his betrayer was associated with Starhanger, but he could've been mistaken. With someone like Sherston involved we have to be completely certain. I want you to give out some false information once you're in Starhanger, something that's so delectable it's bound to be picked up and acted upon. If it's picked up, then we'll know that Starhanger is definitely where our gentleman operates from. Once we know that, we can start identifying exactly who he is.'

Anthony lit a thoughtful cigarette. This was more his sort of thing than Sir Charles's newspaper scheme. ‘You haven't worked out the details yet?'

‘No, not yet.'

Anthony knew what Sir Charles was after. They needed to sell Fritz a pup, but it had to be the right sort of pup. ‘What about troop movements?'

Sir Charles frowned. ‘Perhaps. I suppose we could invent a lot of troops massing for an attack and see if the Germans fall for it by bringing artillery to bear, but by the time we've warned any real troops to keep clear and posted observers to see what actually happens, we've involved a dickens of a lot of outsiders.'

‘What about a ship? If I put it about that a ship carrying a highly desirable cargo was to be in a certain place at a certain time, that'd do it.' Anthony could tell Sir Charles wasn't convinced.

‘We can't risk an actual ship,' objected Sir Charles. ‘We don't want another
Lusitania.
On the other hand, we need a real ship to observe the action. Maybe if we could have a dummy of some sort . . .' He shook his head impatiently. ‘We'd still need some crew on board, even if it's only two or three men, to make it look alive. If it was just a hulk, a U-boat wouldn't attack and if there is something there, any U-boat attack might be nothing more than coincidence. Besides that, it means involving the Admiralty. They might not cooperate and, as I said, the fewer people who know about our idea the better.'

He stroked his chin, thinking out the flaws. ‘I could do with something on a much smaller scale,' he said eventually. ‘Something we can control from beginning to end. And something, as well, where it's not obvious afterwards that the Germans have failed. If it's clearly a fake then they'll know we're on to them and I don't want to give our gentleman and his friends any more warning than I can help.'

This was going to be more difficult than Anthony had anticipated. ‘Let me think it over,' he said. ‘I might be able to come up with something.'

Sir Charles nodded. ‘Good man.' He glanced at his watch as the waiter approached. ‘It's after one. I imagine Sherston's here. Don't worry about the invitation. Follow my lead and with any luck it'll all come quite naturally. You're a club acquaintance of mine, by the way and I've been impressed by your adventures. Pitch it strong.'

‘All right,' said Anthony, with a feeling of distinctly modified rapture.

‘Mr Sherston's in the lobby, sir,' said the waiter.

Sir Charles put his glass on the table. ‘In that case, let's go and meet him, Colonel Brooke.'

P
atrick Sherston was standing by the fireplace in the lobby. He looked up as they entered, smiling as he saw Sir Charles. ‘Hello, Talbot. I'm sorry I'm late. I was held up by a minor crisis at the
Sentinel.
I hope it hasn't put you out.'

‘Don't apologize' said Sir Charles heartily. ‘This is the man I wanted you to meet, Sherston. Colonel Brooke, allow me to introduce Mr Patrick Sherston.'

Anthony remembered Sherston immediately. As they shook hands, he wondered how such a vigorous personality could have ever slipped his mind, even if, when he had seen him outside Swan and Edgars, his attention had been entirely taken up by the woman in blue. (Tara O'Bryan? Tara was a lovely name.)

Vigorous was a very good word to describe Sherston. He must have been, thought Anthony, in his early fifties, a strong, broad-shouldered man with a healthy, outdoor complexion, grizzled dark hair and piercing brown eyes with a commanding, let-me-mould-your-future expression in them. He spoke in a soft Irish brogue but the softness was deceptive.

Sherston was a man who was always going to amount to something. Anthony had seen the same look of authority in various ships' captains, a headmistress of a girls' school and assorted Prussian officers. Mr Sherston, thought Anthony warily, was a man who was accustomed to have people jump when he said so. Patrick Francis Sherston. Patrick
Frankie
Sherston?

‘Brooke told me he'd met you before, Sherston,' added Sir Charles, chattily.

Sherston drew back. ‘You'll excuse me, Colonel, if I say I can't quite recall it.'

‘Don't apologize,' said Anthony easily. ‘It was some time ago now. I was one of the hosts at a dinner given by the School of Tropical Medicine. You gave a speech about life in the Congo and so on, and we swapped notes about Africa afterwards.'

Sherston's face cleared. ‘Of course.' He looked at Anthony's uniform, his gaze resting on the green tabs of the Intelligence Corps. ‘Excuse me, Colonel, weren't you a doctor? I seem to remember you were engaged in research.'

Anthony appreciated the cleverness of the remark. Virtually everyone at that dinner had been a doctor engaged in research, but it made it seem as if Sherston really did remember him. ‘That was before the war,' he agreed. ‘I'd been to Lake Victoria, tracking down tsetse flies and their distribution.'

‘Ah yes. You were one of the experts I was wary of. I remember feeling quite intimidated by the audience I was facing.' He gave a short laugh. ‘I'm hardly an expert on Africa or tropical diseases. I was glad to get through it without being heckled.'

That, thought Anthony, was pure flannel. If a man was going to give a large amount of money to an impoverished university – all universities were impoverished in Anthony's experience – it would be sheer folly to find fault with even the most lacklustre speaker. ‘I thought you carried it off in great style.'

Sherston smiled complacently. Anthony had obviously given the expected response. ‘It's very kind of you to say so.' He glanced at Sir Charles. ‘Shall we go into lunch, Talbot?'

‘By all means,' agreed Sir Charles, leading the way across the lobby into the dining room. ‘I'm looking forward to this,' he added with a hint of civilized excitement. He put a hand on Sherston's arm. ‘Wait till you hear Brooke's exploits, my dear fellow.'

Anthony had to hand it to Sir Charles. He seemed subtly changed, not a leader anymore but a follower and of very much less account. ‘Much more exciting indeed,' Sir Charles added, consciously basking in reflected glory. It seemed perfectly natural that he would say it in that way.

‘Sir Charles said you'd been in Germany, Colonel,' said Sherston.

Anthony winced. He couldn't help it. He knew he was there to play a part but it still seemed wrong to blurt out the facts so openly. He saw Sherston register his discomfort. ‘People ought to be more careful,' he said, playing the stiff-upper-lipped hero. It was a useful pretence. He couldn't think what the devil to say. Sherston looked at him inquisitively. ‘Stories get about,' continued Anthony. ‘You never know who's listening.'

‘Oh, you're amongst friends,' said Sir Charles breezily. ‘There's too much of this secrecy nonsense if you ask me. Damnit, there's no Germans here. We ought to be proud of what we've achieved.' The waiter showed them to a table. ‘It's a great shame,' he continued, picking up the menu, ‘that the really thrilling stories of the war can't be told. When I think what Brooke's been up to . . .' He broke off, shaking his head. ‘Shall we have a bottle of the '98 claret? My doctor wouldn't approve, but a little indulgence never did a man any harm.'

Once again, Anthony mentally congratulated him. Without overdoing it, Sir Charles managed to convey the exact impression of a man who had had slightly too much to drink. He saw Sherston's smile of understanding.

‘An excellent choice, Talbot. Colonel, were you really in Germany?'

Anthony nodded reluctantly.

Sherston pursed his lips in a silent whistle. ‘How long for?'

‘Since last September.'

The expression on Sherston's face was, Anthony had to admit, flattering.

‘But that's wonderful!'

His admiration was so sincere Anthony had to get a grip on himself. Even if it was only a stunt for the press, he could see the role as a raconteur of My Thrilling Life being a damn sight easier than he'd anticipated.

Sherston picked up his napkin and sat with it held loosely in his hand. ‘Where did you get to?'

There was an almost imperceptible nod from Sir Charles. Anthony took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘I really shouldn't be telling you this, but I know it won't go any further. I started off in Berlin and ended up in Kiel.'

Sherston froze, his gaze drilling into Anthony. ‘The headquarters of the Imperial Fleet? My word, Colonel, you're a hero.'

‘I'm no hero,' said Anthony deprecatingly, deploying the stiff upper lip once more.

‘How on earth did you land up in Germany?'

‘I'd studied there before the war. That helped.' Talking of help, Anthony felt in need of some from Sir Charles, but he seemed to be concentrating solely on the menu.

‘I'm going to have soup and lamb cutlets,' said Sir Charles fussily. ‘I recommend the thick soup. They do it rather well. Look here, Brooke, it's all very well saying you're not a hero but we stay-at-home types have got to have someone to look up to, you know. From what I've heard if you aren't a hero, you're next door to it.'

‘But I'm not,' protested Anthony. So Sir Charles had come to his aid after all. He tried hard. ‘I had the occasional close shave, but that's all part of the job. I'll have the soup and steak and kidney pie.'

‘What sort of close shave?' asked Sherston. He waved a dismissive hand at the menu. ‘I'll have anything you recommend.'

‘You got on a U-boat, didn't you?' said Sir Charles, seeing Anthony's hesitation. ‘And didn't you dress up as a guard and join the hunt for yourself at one point?' He gave the order to the waiter. ‘This is the real stuff, Sherston. Brooke had to escape over the rooftops to shake off the Germans. Wasn't that after that newspaper chap you were telling me about died, Brooke?'

‘Terence Cavanaugh?' Anthony asked, picking up the fairly obvious cue. This was the story they had agreed earlier. They could hardly tell the truth about Cavanaugh. It would spark off far too many questions to say Cavanaugh, a neutral, had been shot, so, as far as the outside world was concerned, Cavanaugh was a journalist who'd died in an accident.

Anthony saw Sherston twitch at the name.

‘I know a Terence Cavanaugh,' said Sherston. ‘You say he's dead?'

‘I don't suppose it's the same chap,' said Anthony with a light-hearted laugh. ‘My Cavanaugh was an American. He must have been about fifty-odd or so. He was quite a character. He'd been everything from a ranch-hand to a prizefighter and threw in a bit of journalism to go with it.'