smile implied that Smith did not allow much to distress him.
‘Why me?’ Raven demanded, suddenly weary of playing games.
The grey man’s eyes widened innocently. ‘But, my dear Raven, I’ve just told you. You’ve the right background and qualifications. Moreover, we’ve established that you are a patriot.’
‘And why should I agree?’ Raven suppressed a cold shiver of anger.
‘Have I misjudged you?’ Smith sighed softly. ‘Curiosity. Boredom. Oh, yes, Dr Raven.’ The grey eyes glittered mockingly. ‘Or let us consider the lovely Ms Nancy Raven, whose biological clock is ticking loudly.’ He paused, fixing Raven with a beady eye. ‘That sound equates, in the minds of many men of your age, to the ringing of alarm bells. A signal to evacuate the building.’
‘I don’t have to listen to this.’ Raven started to get to his feet. He could feel the flush of anger flooding his cheeks.
‘Sit down!’ Smith snapped softly. ‘Behave yourself, man!’
Despite himself, Raven obeyed.
‘You’ll accept, Raven. You won’t be able to help yourself. Simply because, if you refuse, you will always wonder, if developments take an interesting turn, what part you might have played. The reason we selected you is because we knew that you would not refuse us, could not refuse us. You will accept, because the temptation to be on the inside is irresistible to a man of your sort. Inquisitive, restless, pig-headed, you are a driven man. Am I right?’
Raven’s silent fury escalated with the knowledge that the man before him spoke the truth.
Taking his silence as consent, Smith continued blandly, ‘One more thing: I said we should be grateful, but elastic expense accounts are guaranteed to bring out the beast in people. All too frequently, one observes that they foster delusions of grandeur. So, no soaring above the heads of men. We don’t just want the bird’s-eye view; we want the worm’s view of the grass roots.’ He clicked his fingers. The waiter appeared.
‘Due espressi, per favore.’ The grey man cocked an eyebrow at Raven. ‘I’m assuming you drink yours black. One never quite trusts a man who drinks it white at this time of day.’
Raven nodded resentfully. For once, he had been outmanoeuvred. God only knew what Nancy would say! ‘You were sounding me out just now. Why did you decide I was the man?’ he rephrased his earlier query, other unasked questions buzzing inside his head like disturbed wasps.
‘The way you spoke of Britain as “this country”, Dr Raven,’ James Smith said, sipping his mediocre wine gingerly, as though it were an unpalatable cough mixture and only a genteel upbringing prevented him from spitting it out on the red-chequered tablecloth. ‘Only those Britons who experience a genuine sense of national identity and social responsibility say “this country” in just the way you did a few minutes ago.’
Raven choked with outrage.
Smith, smiling broadly at last, tapped the stem of his wine glass, then, as if making up his mind to an unappealing duty, drained it in one and stood up, not waiting for the ordered espresso. ‘I’ll leave you to reflect, Dr Raven. But not for long. You’ll be back in your room at the Faculty this afternoon? Excellent! Someone will be in touch later today.’
He walked purposefully over to the bar. Raven watched him pay the bill and leave, acknowledging the waiter’s ‘Please come again, signore!’ with a backward wave, courteous yet indolent, like the flipper of some basking seal. It was obvious that for Mr James Smith the outcome of the discussion had never been in doubt. Someone, somewhere, knew more about Nat Raven than he was comfortable with.
‘Holy shit!’ grunted Raven under his breath, his anger mixed with a curious exhilaration and the first creeping sensation of apprehension.
London, England
November 1968
Raven
On the steep staircase leading to the annex of the East Asiatic Languages Department, I came upon the Worzel
‘Why me?’ Raven demanded, suddenly weary of playing games.
The grey man’s eyes widened innocently. ‘But, my dear Raven, I’ve just told you. You’ve the right background and qualifications. Moreover, we’ve established that you are a patriot.’
‘And why should I agree?’ Raven suppressed a cold shiver of anger.
‘Have I misjudged you?’ Smith sighed softly. ‘Curiosity. Boredom. Oh, yes, Dr Raven.’ The grey eyes glittered mockingly. ‘Or let us consider the lovely Ms Nancy Raven, whose biological clock is ticking loudly.’ He paused, fixing Raven with a beady eye. ‘That sound equates, in the minds of many men of your age, to the ringing of alarm bells. A signal to evacuate the building.’
‘I don’t have to listen to this.’ Raven started to get to his feet. He could feel the flush of anger flooding his cheeks.
‘Sit down!’ Smith snapped softly. ‘Behave yourself, man!’
Despite himself, Raven obeyed.
‘You’ll accept, Raven. You won’t be able to help yourself. Simply because, if you refuse, you will always wonder, if developments take an interesting turn, what part you might have played. The reason we selected you is because we knew that you would not refuse us, could not refuse us. You will accept, because the temptation to be on the inside is irresistible to a man of your sort. Inquisitive, restless, pig-headed, you are a driven man. Am I right?’
Raven’s silent fury escalated with the knowledge that the man before him spoke the truth.
Taking his silence as consent, Smith continued blandly, ‘One more thing: I said we should be grateful, but elastic expense accounts are guaranteed to bring out the beast in people. All too frequently, one observes that they foster delusions of grandeur. So, no soaring above the heads of men. We don’t just want the bird’s-eye view; we want the worm’s view of the grass roots.’ He clicked his fingers. The waiter appeared.
‘Due espressi, per favore.’ The grey man cocked an eyebrow at Raven. ‘I’m assuming you drink yours black. One never quite trusts a man who drinks it white at this time of day.’
Raven nodded resentfully. For once, he had been outmanoeuvred. God only knew what Nancy would say! ‘You were sounding me out just now. Why did you decide I was the man?’ he rephrased his earlier query, other unasked questions buzzing inside his head like disturbed wasps.
‘The way you spoke of Britain as “this country”, Dr Raven,’ James Smith said, sipping his mediocre wine gingerly, as though it were an unpalatable cough mixture and only a genteel upbringing prevented him from spitting it out on the red-chequered tablecloth. ‘Only those Britons who experience a genuine sense of national identity and social responsibility say “this country” in just the way you did a few minutes ago.’
Raven choked with outrage.
Smith, smiling broadly at last, tapped the stem of his wine glass, then, as if making up his mind to an unappealing duty, drained it in one and stood up, not waiting for the ordered espresso. ‘I’ll leave you to reflect, Dr Raven. But not for long. You’ll be back in your room at the Faculty this afternoon? Excellent! Someone will be in touch later today.’
He walked purposefully over to the bar. Raven watched him pay the bill and leave, acknowledging the waiter’s ‘Please come again, signore!’ with a backward wave, courteous yet indolent, like the flipper of some basking seal. It was obvious that for Mr James Smith the outcome of the discussion had never been in doubt. Someone, somewhere, knew more about Nat Raven than he was comfortable with.
‘Holy shit!’ grunted Raven under his breath, his anger mixed with a curious exhilaration and the first creeping sensation of apprehension.
London, England
November 1968
Raven
On the steep staircase leading to the annex of the East Asiatic Languages Department, I came upon the Worzel
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