Rip Tide

Peggy shrugged. ‘I don’t think they know that either. She was a long-standing asset of Six, doing some undercover investigation for the Athens Station. I gather Bruno selected her himself.’ Which made it even worse for him, thought Peggy. Hard though it was – because he was so insufferable – you nonetheless had to feel sorry for Bruno Mackay. One month in his new job and an agent dead.

Liz seemed to share her feelings. She asked, almost as an afterthought, ‘What was the undercover investigation?’

Peggy looked expressionlessly at her as she said, ‘Working in some charity, I believe.’

‘Not UCSO?’

Peggy nodded.

Liz was shaking her head angrily. ‘They say a leopard doesn’t change its spots… but I thought, just for a moment, Geoffrey Fane might have changed his and gone straight. I see I was wrong.’

Chapter 22

Liz was sitting at her desk, still fuming that Geoffrey Fane had put an agent into UCSO without telling her, when the phone rang. It was Fane’s secretary.

‘Hello, Liz. You wanted to see Geoffrey. He’s suggesting lunch. Can you do tomorrow?’

Liz groaned to herself. She’d originally wanted a short meeting in his office, so they could bring each other up to date. Now she wanted to make a formal complaint about his duplicity. She certainly didn’t want to sit exchanging pleasantries in a public place. But, in typical Fane fashion, he had forestalled her.

She sighed. ‘OK. Where does he want to meet?’

‘The Athenaeum. Twelve-thirty.’

‘The Athenaeum? I thought his club was the Travellers.’

‘It is. But he’s just joined the Athenaeum as well and he’s doing most of his lunching there at present.’

‘How grand,’ said Liz sardonically. Fane’s secretary laughed and rang off.

The following morning Liz dressed with more care than usual for a working day, since she wasn’t going to be outfaced by Geoffrey Fane with his two smart clubs. The idea was to look charming and demure.

There had been a time, several years ago, when Liz had been afflicted by wardrobe chaos. In those days, not long after she’d acquired her first flat in the basement, she’d found it impossible to keep both her domestic life and her busy working life in order. On a morning like this she might well have found all suitable garments either stuck in a non-functioning washing machine or waiting in a pile to go to the cleaner’s.

But, along with her rather larger apartment, she had inherited a helpful lady, who not only cleaned the flat but also took her clothes to the cleaner’s and managed the washing machine. So today when she opened her wardrobe she actually had a choice. It was a lovely sunny day and after a moment’s thought she selected a pretty silk skirt, a pink linen jacket and a pair of kitten-heeled shoes that she’d bought for a friend’s wedding.

That should do, she decided, hoping to lull Geoffrey Fane, so that when she revealed that she knew about the agent he’d put into UCSO without telling her, he’d be caught completely off guard. She was looking forward to seeing his face then.

Not even the prospect of Fane could dampen Liz’s spirits this morning. Martin was coming to London for the long Bank Holiday weekend. He had an early-afternoon meeting, coincidentally with MI6, but they planned to meet up later in a Pimlico wine bar near the headquarters of both Services. Then home to Liz’s flat. If the weather stayed fine on Saturday, they might drive down to Wiltshire where Liz’s mother still lived in the gatehouse of the former estate where Liz’s father had been estate manager and where Liz had grown up.

By mid-morning the sky was overcast but the cloud looked unthreatening. Liz decided to walk to the Athenaeum. The deckchairs in St James’s Park were occupied by optimistic lunch-hour sunbathers, waiting for the cloud to clear. She crossed the Mall and climbed the long flight of stairs, her light skirt fluttering in the sharp breeze that had sprung up, and emerged on to Waterloo Place, where the Athenaeum Club stood four-square and confident, a pristine white stucco Georgian building with classical columns and a blue and white frieze set high up along its façade.

As she climbed the steps to the entrance, Liz realised with some annoyance that she felt nervous. She was not an habituée of the Pall Mall clubs, which she found dauntingly grand, and this one seemed grander than most. As she pushed open the tall semi-glazed door, Liz combed her hair into some sort of order with her fingers. Inside, was a tall pillared hall leading to a magnificent double staircase. Moonlike, high on the wall, a large round clock dominated the space below. Classical statues loomed to right and left of her.