In the Mouth of the Tiger (130 page)

It was the strangest indoctrination conference imaginable. We sat around the open fire, mugs of tea in our hands, while Denis told Malcolm all about the Ultra business, and then about Operation Maugham. Malcolm asked questions, but what Denis said was the simple, transparent truth, and eventually Malcolm sat with his head slumped in his hands.

‘Why didn't they tell me?' he asked. ‘Why set me looking for something if they knew there was nothing there to find?'

‘The Secret Service is not like the police force,' Denis said gently. ‘Nobody shares information, so that we're always treading on someone else's tail. You're not the first in MI5 to unearth something that's so secret that not even your own D-G knows about it.'

‘But I bet I'm the first not to be indoctrinated as soon as I stumble on something. It's because they think I'm crackers, I suppose. Mentally unstable.' He suddenly straightened his shoulders and looked me in the eye. ‘Do I seem such a fruitcake to you, Nona?'

‘Norma,' I corrected automatically. ‘I think they have treated you badly, but I think I understand why. You are a dangerous man, Malcolm. Or at least you
seem
a dangerous man. It's . . . just something about you. The quickness of your moods. The rapid, determined way you move. I've even felt afraid of you myself at times. You must learn to relax a bit, become a bit more of a tabby cat than a tiger.'

Malcolm laughed, a healthy, normal laugh. ‘I'll never be a tabby cat, Norma. But perhaps I can learn to relax a bit. I think I've been different since my breakdown in Malaya. I try all the time to be crisp and positive, so that people don't know how unsure I am inside.'

It was getting late and we began to talk about practicalities. ‘You will have to come away with us tonight,' Denis said. ‘I'd like to keep you at the Manor overnight, but I don't think they'll let me. The police will want to take you in. But I'll get on to my solicitors first thing tomorrow and get them to arrange for a bail application as soon as possible. With a bit of luck we'll have you home for Christmas supper.'

‘There has been nothing in the papers,' I said. ‘If nobody knows what Malcolm's supposed to have done, can't we have it all hushed up?'

‘There's been nothing in the papers because they would have issued a D notice,' Denis said. ‘But there must be a warrant out, or they wouldn't have had Special Branch on the job.'

‘I don't mind a night or two in goal,' Malcolm said quietly. ‘As long as I know that the truth will come out in the end. After all, I was only doing my job. No doubt they'll try and throw the book at me for photographing the file, but I'll tell them that I didn't know who to trust and needed some insurance.'

‘Which is the simple truth,' Denis said. ‘I really don't think you should worry too much about keeping some photographs. After all, you didn't try to pass them on to anyone.'

We decided to drive Malcolm to the police station in Bournemouth, and all three of us shook on it like old friends agreeing to a social occasion. We were moving towards the front door when I heard a faint beating sound. At first it was no more than a vibration in the air, but it increased quickly so that we all stopped and looked at each other in puzzlement. Then suddenly it was a huge sound, shaking the house, and bright lights sprang into existence, moving and changing outside the windows.

‘Helicopters!' Malcolm said. Then he turned to Denis. ‘You tricked me. You kept me here until you could get your battleships to seal me off.' Then he looked at me, his face wrenched with pain. ‘I'll never learn, will I?'

‘We didn't give you away,' I said desperately. ‘They must have worked out where you were themselves, from the letter. After all, I did.'

Malcolm wasn't listening. He dragged aside the curtain. One helicopter had already landed on the gravel turning circle and a second was circling around the side of the house, its searchlight playing on the back garden. ‘A rat in a trap,' he said. ‘A damned stupid rat that should have known better.'

‘They gave me their word,' Denis said. He had to shout, because the noise was deafening. ‘It was on the basis of their word that I gave you mine. I promise you, Malcolm, that I didn't know this would happen.'

There were men pouring out of the helicopter, soldiers in full battle kit, and they fanned out across the front garden. A third helicopter was coming down behind the trees, its lights turning night into day.

‘You promised you'd give me my gun back if this proved a trap,' Malcolm said. ‘Are you going to stick to your word, or was it just the normal, standard lie?'

‘Don't be stupid,' Denis shouted. ‘If you have a gun in your hand they'll shoot you down. Stick close to us and they can do nothing.'

Malcolm drew himself up stiff and straight and held out his hand. ‘I gave you my gun because you promised to give it back if this turned out to be a trap. If you keep your word I'll surrender quietly. If you don't, I'll know it was all a trick and I'll make a break for it. I'd have nothing to lose.'

There was a burst of noise as another helicopter descended on the house, its searchlight raking the windows so that we were half blinded. In the mad glare I saw Denis stand up too. He took Malcolm's gun from his pocket and handed it across. ‘As a pledge, Malcolm . . .' he began, but Malcolm immediately reversed the gun and fired. The bullet caught Denis low and in the middle of the chest, flinging him back so that he crashed
against the settee and slumped to the floor.

It happened so fast that it seemed to me that time itself had been abridged. No time to speak, or move, or even think.

I knelt by Denis's side and lifted his face. He was conscious and gave me a smile, lopsided but real. Malcolm had dropped on his knees beside us, his face stricken. ‘I thought it was another trick,' he said. ‘I thought he
must
have unloaded it.' Then his voice changed, became a parody: ‘You're all right, Denis, aren't you, old man?'

‘Not as bad as it looks,' Denis grunted. ‘Told you that German gun of yours has no punch.' But it obviously wasn't all right. A thin, dark trickle of blood ran from his mouth and down his chin.

Malcolm straightened up. ‘I really have torn it now, haven't I?' he said, shaking his head. ‘I think I really must be mad.' He looked at me, searching for forgiveness or at least understanding. I stared back, with nothing at all to offer. ‘If Denis dies, I'll find you wherever you are, Malcolm,' I said. ‘And I will kill you.'

He got up and checked the pistol. I thought he was going to shoot me too, but instead he gave a sort of half salute, and then started walking towards the door.

‘Don't be a fool,' Denis called out. ‘They'll shoot you if you go out there with a gun. Wait here with us.'

Malcolm hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. ‘I have to go, Denis,' he said. ‘I don't want to rot in some asylum. But I'm not very brave, so don't make it harder than it is.'

I saw it all through the window, and despite everything it seemed rather fine. Malcolm strolled towards the helicopters firing his little gun at their searchlights. The Walther PPK is an accurate weapon, and he put most of them out one by one. When the soldiers started shooting at him he didn't return their fire but simply stood there until he was brought down, to lie tangled and awkward in the changing shadows.

Chapter Forty-Five

T
hey operated on Denis twice in the next thirty-six hours, and I spent the time sitting in a dingy waiting room at the Bournemouth General Hospital, fearing every set of footsteps that drew near.

Sir Stewart Menzies came down from London and sat with me for a while. ‘The raid wasn't my idea,' he said. ‘There was a flight of Sikorsky S-51s training with the Special Air Service people on Salisbury Plain, and when they worked out where Bryant was the local Chief Constable thought it was too good a chance to miss. I hope sincerely that Denis doesn't think I broke my word.' He was clearly lying, because you don't invoke military aid in support of the civil power without the Home Secretary's authorisation, and in any case his eyes told me the truth. But I didn't argue. Denis and I had passed beyond all that nonsense: the need to lie and the need to justify, and the guilt that goes with it. So I just smiled and gave him absolution, and he went back to London perhaps a little happier than he deserved.

They came on the evening of Boxing Day and told me that Denis had contracted septicaemia, and that he wasn't expected to live. ‘I'm afraid it's pretty bad,' the doctor said, a small pinch-faced man who looked down at some papers in his hand rather than at me. ‘A generalised infection of the blood. We are trying a new antibiotic, but you must be prepared for the fact that he is most unlikely to survive the night.'

‘Isn't there anything anyone could do?' I asked.

The doctor didn't answer directly. ‘If we can get him through tonight, he might have a fighting chance. But tonight is the problem. Shock is a dreadful thing. I think he might be holding on just for you.'

I couldn't help it – tears welled up in my eyes. ‘Can I sit with him?' I asked, and the doctor looked at me and nodded. ‘It might even help,' he said.
It was the first time his eyes had lifted from his papers.

Alan Hillgarth arrived just before I went into Denis, and hugged me. ‘Mary and I are praying,' he said, ‘and I'm staying here as long as you need me.'

So I sat with Denis in his little room crammed with medical equipment. At first he didn't seem to recognise me, lying with his eyes on mine for a long moment without any sign or movement. But then he lifted his head a little. ‘Took your own sweet time, didn't you?' he said gruffly, and smiled his slow, incomparable smile.

At first we talked about what we'd do when he came home. Or rather I talked and Denis put in the odd wry word. ‘There's so much to see all around us at Almer,' I said. ‘We've hardly scratched the surface. When you get back we'll make a bit more of an effort. Heaven's above, we haven't even seen the Bradbury Rings! They go back to Neolithic times, you know. Stone Age princes died there, fighting on the earthen ramparts for their people. And Vespasian is said to have stormed the place when the Romans took England. We'll take a picnic and spend an afternoon telling the children all its history.'

‘Bore them silly,' Denis said. ‘Boys and girls need action. What about sailing on the Solent? We haven't done that yet.' I could see it was difficult for him to speak, and put my finger gently on his lip in the way he did to me.

‘Of course we'll go sailing on the Solent,' I said, ‘in our new boat. Oh, I do wish that summer would hurry up. There is so much to do.'

I babbled on, frothy and bright, spurred on by a growing pain in my heart as I saw Denis tiring. Then I realised that he didn't want to talk about tomorrow, but about the years ahead. So I calmed myself, and sipped some tea the nurses had brought, and talked about real things. The children's education, the stud farm, whether we should buy a flat in London while prices were still low.

‘I think the children should each have a profession,' Denis said, so softly that I hardly heard him. ‘The world is changing.'

I thought about that at bit, then nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think that Tony should study to be a naval architect,' I said. ‘That's certainly where his interests lie. Bobby will want to be a Test cricketer, but we'll be firm, and make him study medicine, or law. I think Frances could be anything she wants to be. She's inherited your brains.'

The nurses came in at that point, and went over poor Denis like mechanics swarming over a broken-down car. They gave him something for
pain, and after that he seemed more relaxed, even sleepy, and he left the talking entirely to me. Somewhere in the background, I heard a radio broadcasting the sounds of Big Ben tolling midnight. But in our room time wasn't relevant because we were years and years into the future.

‘They will all be married at St Mary's,' I said. ‘We'll insist on that. Tony first, of course. I suspect she'll be a modern girl, perhaps studying at the Slade, and we probably won't like her to begin with because of her smart clothes and her artistic friends. But then we'll fall in love with her, and look on in admiration as she and Tony take London by storm.'

Denis raised an eyebrow and I knew exactly what he wanted to ask. ‘
Lots
of children,' I said, warming to my task and peering deeper into the future. ‘Happy little people, all mad keen on boats and riding. Bobby and Frances will have them too. We'll be besieged at Christmas time, with dozens of little feet running everywhere. You'll have to barricade yourself in your study.'

I paused as a nurse adjusted a pillow I had brought in from the Manor, and wiped Denis's face with a cold, wet cloth. And then I continued, chatting softly and smiling into my husband's tiring eyes.

‘I suspect Bobby will live nearby,' I said. ‘He can be a bit of a busybody, and he'll want to keep an eye on us as we grow old.' I paused, and sighed in a happy, comfortable way. ‘It's going to be nice growing old together, don't you think?' I asked. ‘We won't be any trouble to anyone because you'll keep fit walking the dogs, and I'll be kept on my toes by the grandchildren. We might
look
old to others, my darling, but in the evenings we'll toast each other in the firelight, and seem to each other as young as we ever were.'

‘Frances?' Denis whispered. He needed me to account for everyone.

‘Oh, Frances,' I said. ‘Frances will be the first woman vice-chancellor of Cambridge University, I'm quite sure of that. We'll visit Cambridge just to sit with her at High Table and bask in her reflected glory. Of course, while we're up there we'll take the opportunity to drop in on the Haymarket sales. I'll have to be firm though, Denis, and stop you buying another stallion because I won't see our darling Richelieu outshone.'