of Smiley, so that he had constantly to hover, shoulders and elbows lifted, waiting till the shorter man caught up. Then he promptly bounded off again, gaining ground. They completed two laps in this way before Lacon broke the silence.
“When you came to me a year ago with a similar suggestion, I’m afraid I threw you out. I suppose I should apologise. I was remiss.” There was a suitable silence while he pondered his dereliction. “I instructed you to abandon your enquiries.”
“You told me they were unconstitutional,” Smiley said mournfully, as if he were recalling the same sad error.
“Was that the word I used? Good Lord, how very pompous of me!”
From the direction of the house came the sound of Jackie’s continued crying.
“You never had any, did you?” Lacon piped at once, his head lifted to the sound.
“I’m sorry?”
“Children. You and Ann.”
“ No.”
“Nephews, nieces?”
“One nephew.”
“On your side?”
“Hers.”
Perhaps I never left the place, Smiley thought, peering around him at the tangled roses, the broken swings and sodden sandpits, the raw red house so shrill in the morning light. Perhaps we’re still here from last time.
Lacon was apologising again: “Dare I say I didn’t absolutely trust your motives? It rather crossed my mind that Control had put you up to it, you see. As a way of hanging on to power and keeping Alleline out”—swirling away again, long strides, wrists outward.
“Oh, no, I assure you Control knew nothing about it at all.”
“I realise that now. I didn’t at the time. It’s a little difficult to know when to trust you people and when not. You do live by rather different standards, don’t you? I mean you have to. I accept that. I’m not being judgemental. Our aims are the same, after all, even if our methods are different”—bounding over a cattle ditch. “I once heard someone say morality was method. Do you hold with that? I suppose you wouldn’t. You would say that morality was vested in the aim, I expect. Difficult to know what one’s aims are, that’s the trouble, specially if you’re British. We can’t expect you people to determine our policy for us, can we? We can only ask you to further it. Correct? Tricky one, that.”
Rather than chase after him, Smiley sat on a rusted swing seat and huddled himself more tightly in his coat, till finally Lacon stalked back and perched beside him. For a while they rocked together to the rhythm of the groaning springs.
“Why the devil did she choose Tarr?” Lacon muttered at last, fiddling his long fingers. “Of all the people in the world to choose for a confessor, I can imagine none more miserably unsuitable.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask a woman that question, not us,” said Smiley, wondering again where Immingham was.
“Oh, indeed,” Lacon agreed lavishly. “All that’s a complete mystery. I’m seeing the Minister at eleven,” he confided, in a lower tone. “I have to put him in the picture. Your parliamentary cousin,” he added, forcing an intimate joke.
“Ann’s cousin, actually,” Smiley corrected him, in the same absent tone. “Far removed I may add, but cousin for all that.”
“And Bill Haydon is also Ann’s cousin? Our distinguished Head of London Station.” They had played this game before as well.
“By a different route, yes, Bill is also her cousin.” He added quite uselessly: “She comes from an old family with a strong political tradition. With time it’s rather spread.”
“The tradition?”—Lacon loved to nail an ambiguity.
“The family.”
Beyond the trees, Smiley thought, cars are passing. Beyond the trees lies a whole world, but Lacon has this red castle and a sense of Christian ethic that promises him no reward except a knighthood, the respect of his peers, a fat pension, and a couple of charitable directorships in the City.
“Anyway I’m seeing him at eleven.” Lacon had jerked to his feet and they were walking
“When you came to me a year ago with a similar suggestion, I’m afraid I threw you out. I suppose I should apologise. I was remiss.” There was a suitable silence while he pondered his dereliction. “I instructed you to abandon your enquiries.”
“You told me they were unconstitutional,” Smiley said mournfully, as if he were recalling the same sad error.
“Was that the word I used? Good Lord, how very pompous of me!”
From the direction of the house came the sound of Jackie’s continued crying.
“You never had any, did you?” Lacon piped at once, his head lifted to the sound.
“I’m sorry?”
“Children. You and Ann.”
“ No.”
“Nephews, nieces?”
“One nephew.”
“On your side?”
“Hers.”
Perhaps I never left the place, Smiley thought, peering around him at the tangled roses, the broken swings and sodden sandpits, the raw red house so shrill in the morning light. Perhaps we’re still here from last time.
Lacon was apologising again: “Dare I say I didn’t absolutely trust your motives? It rather crossed my mind that Control had put you up to it, you see. As a way of hanging on to power and keeping Alleline out”—swirling away again, long strides, wrists outward.
“Oh, no, I assure you Control knew nothing about it at all.”
“I realise that now. I didn’t at the time. It’s a little difficult to know when to trust you people and when not. You do live by rather different standards, don’t you? I mean you have to. I accept that. I’m not being judgemental. Our aims are the same, after all, even if our methods are different”—bounding over a cattle ditch. “I once heard someone say morality was method. Do you hold with that? I suppose you wouldn’t. You would say that morality was vested in the aim, I expect. Difficult to know what one’s aims are, that’s the trouble, specially if you’re British. We can’t expect you people to determine our policy for us, can we? We can only ask you to further it. Correct? Tricky one, that.”
Rather than chase after him, Smiley sat on a rusted swing seat and huddled himself more tightly in his coat, till finally Lacon stalked back and perched beside him. For a while they rocked together to the rhythm of the groaning springs.
“Why the devil did she choose Tarr?” Lacon muttered at last, fiddling his long fingers. “Of all the people in the world to choose for a confessor, I can imagine none more miserably unsuitable.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask a woman that question, not us,” said Smiley, wondering again where Immingham was.
“Oh, indeed,” Lacon agreed lavishly. “All that’s a complete mystery. I’m seeing the Minister at eleven,” he confided, in a lower tone. “I have to put him in the picture. Your parliamentary cousin,” he added, forcing an intimate joke.
“Ann’s cousin, actually,” Smiley corrected him, in the same absent tone. “Far removed I may add, but cousin for all that.”
“And Bill Haydon is also Ann’s cousin? Our distinguished Head of London Station.” They had played this game before as well.
“By a different route, yes, Bill is also her cousin.” He added quite uselessly: “She comes from an old family with a strong political tradition. With time it’s rather spread.”
“The tradition?”—Lacon loved to nail an ambiguity.
“The family.”
Beyond the trees, Smiley thought, cars are passing. Beyond the trees lies a whole world, but Lacon has this red castle and a sense of Christian ethic that promises him no reward except a knighthood, the respect of his peers, a fat pension, and a couple of charitable directorships in the City.
“Anyway I’m seeing him at eleven.” Lacon had jerked to his feet and they were walking
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