A Perfect Spy

A long silence followed but Brotherhood’s patient smile did not tire. “Tell me something. What’s that Union Jack doing out there?” he suggested. “Does it have a meaning at all, or is it just a big flower for the garden?”

“It’s a scarecrow for keeping off foreigners and bogies.”

As if he were producing a photograph of his family, Brotherhood drew out his green card, the one he had shown to Sefton Boyd. Syd drew a pair of spectacles from his pocket and read it back and front. A train thundered past but he appeared not to hear it.

“Is this a con?” he asked.

“I’m in the same business as that flag,” Brotherhood said. “If that’s a con.”

“Could be. Everything could be.”

“You were Eighth Army, weren’t you? I understand you picked up a small medal at Alamein as well. Was that a con, too?”

“Could have been.”

“Magnus Pym is in a little bit of trouble,” said Brotherhood. “To be perfectly honest with you, which I always am with people, he seems to have temporarily disappeared.”

Syd’s small face had tightened. His breathing became harsh and quick. “Who’s disappeared him, then? You? He hasn’t been messing with Muspole’s boys, has he?”

“Who’s Muspole?”

“Friend of Rickie’s. He knew people.”

“He may have been lifted, he may have gone into hiding. He was playing a dangerous game with some very bad foreigners.”

“Foreigners eh? Well he had the parley-voo, didn’t he?”

“He was working under cover. For his country. And for me.”

“Well he’s a silly little bugger then,” said Syd angrily and, hauling a perfectly ironed handkerchief from his pocket, dusted his shiny face. “I’ve no patience with him. Meg saw it. ‘He’ll go to the bad,’ she said. ‘There’s a copper in that boy, you mark my words. He’s a natural grass. Born to it.’”

“This wasn’t grassing, this was risking his neck,” said Brotherhood.

“That’s what you say. That’s what you think perhaps. Well you’re wrong. Never satisfied, that boy wasn’t. God wasn’t half good enough for him. Ask Meg. You can’t. She’s gone. She was a wise one, Meg was. She was a woman, but she had more sense in one eye than you and me and half the world together. He’s been playing both ends against the middle, I know. Meg always said he would.”

“How did he look when he came and saw you?”

“Healthy. Everyone does. Roses in his nasty little cheeks. I always know when he wants something. He’s charming, like his dad. I said, ‘A bit more mourning would become you by the look of you.’ He wouldn’t hear of it. ‘It was a beautiful service, Syd,’ he says. ‘You’d have loved it.’ Well, that was smoke up my arse for a start. ‘They was packed together like sardines and there still wasn’t room for them in the church.’ ‘Moonshine,’ I said. ‘They was in the square outside, they were queuing down the street, Syd. There must have been a thousand people there. If the Irish had let a bomb off, they’d have deprived this country of its finest brains.’ ‘Was Philip there?’ I said. ‘Course he was.’ Well, I mean he couldn’t have been, could he, or they’d have had it in the papers and the telly. Well, I suppose he could have gone incognito. I’m told they do that a lot these days, thanks to the Irish. He had a friend once. Kenny Boyd. His mum was a lady. Rick had a how d’you do with his aunt. Maybe he went to young Kenny. He might.”

Brotherhood shook his head.

“Belinda? She was straight, always, although he bilked her. He could go to Belinda any time.”

Brotherhood shook it again.

“I mean, a thousand mourners,” Syd objected. “Creditors, if you like. Not mourners. You don’t mourn Rick. Not really. You heave a bit of a sigh of relief, to be frank. Then you look in your wallet and thank old Meg there’s still a bit left over for yourself. I didn’t tell Titch that. It wouldn’t have been appropriate…. Did Philip go? Did you hear anything about Philip going?”

“It was a lie,” said Brotherhood.

Syd was shocked. “Ah now, that’s a bit hard, that is. That’s copper’s talk. Magnus was conning me, put it that way, same as his dad did.”

“Why?” said Brotherhood.

Syd didn’t hear.

“What did he want?” said Brotherhood. “Why would he take so much trouble to con you?”

Syd was overacting. He frowned. He pursed his lips. He dusted the tip of his brown nose. “Wanted to see me right, didn’t he?” he said too brightly. “Flannel me along. I’ll go and chat up old Syd. Make him feel nice.’ Oh we was always friends. Great friends. A father to him I was, quite often. And Meg was a truly incredible mother.” Perhaps with old age he had lost the liar’s art. Or perhaps he had never quite had it in the first place. “He just wanted a social, that’s all. Comfort, that’s what it comes down to. I’ll comfort you, you comfort me. He was always fond of Meg, you see. Even when she saw through him. Loyal. I’ll say that.”

“Who’s Wentworth?” Brotherhood said.

Syd’s face had slammed tight as a prison door. “Who’s who, old boy?”

“Wentworth.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I know a Wentworth. More a place. Why, is a Wentworth giving him trouble then?”

“Sabina. Did he ever mention a Sabina?”