The More Deceived by David Roberts Page A

There was a girl at the Slade I was keen on – a model actually – but . . . What’s this to do with anything?’
    ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was just trying to get a feel for the department. You all get on together?’
    ‘I suppose so,’ McCloud said dubiously.
    ‘Do you socialize out of the office?’
    ‘Not at all.’
    ‘You never see Mr Younger out of hours – apart from the odd pint in the pub?’
    ‘No. We get on all right, as I said, but we have different interests. He wouldn’t know his Picasso from his Matisse, if you take my meaning. He’s sporty and I’m the opposite.’
    ‘So you have no idea what might have happened to Westmacott?’
    ‘None at all, old man. He’s not the sort of cove that anything ever happens to, if you follow me. Dull as ditch water, I would have said.’
    Edward immediately took to Harry Younger. He was a clean-shaven, clean-limbed, dark-haired young man who confessed to being twenty-three years of age. He was the most junior member of the department apart from Miss Williams. He said how much he hated being stuck in an office all day.
    ‘But you are very young to have such an important job.’
    ‘Is it important? It certainly ought to be but really, you know, it’s all guesswork. Anyway, we know the score. Germany is building a huge air force and we have a very small one. You’ve got to admire what they have achieved. While we have to put up with idiots like Baldwin and Chamberlain, they have . . . I mean, I’m not saying I like what Hitler is doing but, well, he does lead.’
    Edward looked at him quizzically. ‘You admire Hitler?’
    ‘No, of course not. What he’s doing to the Jews . . . well, that’s not right. I’m just saying . . . I’m just saying the Luftwaffe’s going to be a worthy enemy. I know as much about the German air force as anyone, damn it. It’s what I’m here to study and evaluate, so I know what I’m talking about. Look, I’ve been reading this book – as part of my job, you know. It’s by a chap called Guido Mattioli – an Eyetie. It’s called
Mussolini Aviator, and his Work for Aviation.
Rotten title but it’s true Musso was always hot about war in the air. I wrote down a couple of sentences which made sense to me.’ He rifled through his pockets and produced a crumpled piece of paper from which he proceeded to read. ‘“No machine requires so much human concentration of soul and will power as a flying machine to make it work properly. The pilot understands the fullest meaning of the word ‘control’. Thus it seems that there is an intimate spiritual link between Fascism and Flying. Every airman is a born Fascist.”’
    ‘You don’t really believe that?’ Edward asked, startled.
    Younger looked at him and said hurriedly, ‘No, of course not. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m a patriot. As soon as war breaks out, I’ll join the RAF and get myself killed
doing something,
if you understand me. I sometimes feel I’ll go mad here, helping compile reports on our weaknesses and the enemy’s strengths and then watching as they are either ignored or made to prove the opposite of what they mean. Oh, sorry, I didn’t intend to sound off like that. Hey, I say, didn’t I watch you make a century at Lords during the Eton and Harrow match . . . when was it? 1922? I was just a kid but it stuck in my mind.’
    Edward was embarrassed but agreed it might have been him. ‘Were you at . . .?’
    ‘No! I was at some tinpot place you would never have heard of but I play cricket whenever I can get away.’
    ‘I must get you down to play for the Cherrypickers. It’s a team made up of all us old men who can’t quite believe we’re not still young. We need some young blood.’
    ‘I’d like that, sir,’ he said, his face lighting up. The automatic ‘sir’ made Edward feel his age. To this young man he was ancient.
    ‘What do you think of Westmacott and have you any idea where he might be?’ Edward asked hurriedly.
    ‘I have