understatement of the truth.)
‘I don’t mean your little bomb, duckie -‘
‘It wasn’t little.’ (She had shivered at the memory; even duckie was a painful reminder of things best forgotten.) (‘And don’t call me… that.’
‘Okay, Princess. But I mean … they hauled you off a job to come up here, didn’t they?’
‘So what?’
‘So I’ve got news for you. They took me off a job too. ’
‘I thought you were Colonel Butler’s Number Two? ’
‘His Number Two? That’s a laugh.’ (But he hadn’t laughed.) ‘More like his errand boy. He didn’t know what to do with me—he didn’t want me under his feet, but he didn’t trust me out of his sight either.’
‘He sent you to collect me.’
‘Oh sure. And to brief you. So I was safely away from the stake-out here, and he knew exactly what I was doing. An errand boy’s job … And when you got here he didn’t know what to do with you either—right?’
(She had had no answer to that: it had been no less than the truth.)
‘Come on, Frances—don’t be dim! This isn’t our scene—you weren’t selected and trained at great expense to carry bombs from one place to another, and I’m not a glorified taxi-driver-cum-public-relations-man. Forty-eight hours ago I was all packed for Washington, to be David Audley’s Number Two—packed and briefed. And I don’t know what you were tarted up for, but I’ll bet it wasn’t for a fancy-dress ball. But whatever it was, it was bugging you when I picked you up, so it has to be bugging you a lot more now—what the hell we’re supposed to be doing here?’
(Of course, it had been bugging her. So now it was all the more important to find out what he made of the nonsense.)
‘I thought we were here to catch O’Leary, Paul.’
‘Is that what you’ve been doing? All I’ve been doing is watch how Fighting Jack does his thing—I know a lot more about him than Comrade O’Leary, as of now, Princess.
Which may be highly educational, but hardly makes up for not being in Washington, I tell you.’
‘Well, don’t look at me, I don’t know—‘ (He had been doing just that: looking at her narrowly, really looking at her, not so much to check whether she was saying less than she knew but rather as though by adding her to himself, like two individually meaningless jigsaw pieces, he might catch a glimpse of the whole design.) ‘—and anyway I’m going home, thank God!’
‘Oh, no! He’s sending you home—Fighting Jack is. And that’s a very different thing …
You’re missing the point, Princess. And that’s not like you.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’
‘Not flattery. It’s just that I need straw to make my bricks.’
‘And I don’t?’
‘Sometimes you don’t, I’ve noticed. I was hoping this might be one of those times.’
‘Not this time. Why don’t you ask Colonel Butler?’
‘Ask Fighting Jack? You’re kidding!’
‘No, I’m not … kidding.’ (She had heard the anger in her voice under the weariness, but had no longer cared to conceal it.) (‘You seem to have some sort of bee in your bonnet about him, but I think he’s pretty damn good, what I’ve seen of him. So why don’t you stop bitching—‘ (Sod it! She had used that word again!) ‘—stop complaining and just ask him straight out?’
(He had laughed then.) ‘Oh, Princess—you are under par! That’s the whole point—that’s what is really odd about us being here, and we don’t know why—that’s bad enough. It doesn’t seem to make sense, but it has to somehow, that’s all … we just can’t work it out.’
‘Yes?’ (She had shivered again: the aftermath of fear was this bone-deep chill, a deja-vu of the grave.) ‘So what?’
‘Christ, Frances! He doesn ’ t know the answer either — like, he’s a convoy commander, and they’ve sent him a couple of battle-cruisers—‘
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Paul … spare me the naval history.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t even know
‘I don’t mean your little bomb, duckie -‘
‘It wasn’t little.’ (She had shivered at the memory; even duckie was a painful reminder of things best forgotten.) (‘And don’t call me… that.’
‘Okay, Princess. But I mean … they hauled you off a job to come up here, didn’t they?’
‘So what?’
‘So I’ve got news for you. They took me off a job too. ’
‘I thought you were Colonel Butler’s Number Two? ’
‘His Number Two? That’s a laugh.’ (But he hadn’t laughed.) ‘More like his errand boy. He didn’t know what to do with me—he didn’t want me under his feet, but he didn’t trust me out of his sight either.’
‘He sent you to collect me.’
‘Oh sure. And to brief you. So I was safely away from the stake-out here, and he knew exactly what I was doing. An errand boy’s job … And when you got here he didn’t know what to do with you either—right?’
(She had had no answer to that: it had been no less than the truth.)
‘Come on, Frances—don’t be dim! This isn’t our scene—you weren’t selected and trained at great expense to carry bombs from one place to another, and I’m not a glorified taxi-driver-cum-public-relations-man. Forty-eight hours ago I was all packed for Washington, to be David Audley’s Number Two—packed and briefed. And I don’t know what you were tarted up for, but I’ll bet it wasn’t for a fancy-dress ball. But whatever it was, it was bugging you when I picked you up, so it has to be bugging you a lot more now—what the hell we’re supposed to be doing here?’
(Of course, it had been bugging her. So now it was all the more important to find out what he made of the nonsense.)
‘I thought we were here to catch O’Leary, Paul.’
‘Is that what you’ve been doing? All I’ve been doing is watch how Fighting Jack does his thing—I know a lot more about him than Comrade O’Leary, as of now, Princess.
Which may be highly educational, but hardly makes up for not being in Washington, I tell you.’
‘Well, don’t look at me, I don’t know—‘ (He had been doing just that: looking at her narrowly, really looking at her, not so much to check whether she was saying less than she knew but rather as though by adding her to himself, like two individually meaningless jigsaw pieces, he might catch a glimpse of the whole design.) ‘—and anyway I’m going home, thank God!’
‘Oh, no! He’s sending you home—Fighting Jack is. And that’s a very different thing …
You’re missing the point, Princess. And that’s not like you.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’
‘Not flattery. It’s just that I need straw to make my bricks.’
‘And I don’t?’
‘Sometimes you don’t, I’ve noticed. I was hoping this might be one of those times.’
‘Not this time. Why don’t you ask Colonel Butler?’
‘Ask Fighting Jack? You’re kidding!’
‘No, I’m not … kidding.’ (She had heard the anger in her voice under the weariness, but had no longer cared to conceal it.) (‘You seem to have some sort of bee in your bonnet about him, but I think he’s pretty damn good, what I’ve seen of him. So why don’t you stop bitching—‘ (Sod it! She had used that word again!) ‘—stop complaining and just ask him straight out?’
(He had laughed then.) ‘Oh, Princess—you are under par! That’s the whole point—that’s what is really odd about us being here, and we don’t know why—that’s bad enough. It doesn’t seem to make sense, but it has to somehow, that’s all … we just can’t work it out.’
‘Yes?’ (She had shivered again: the aftermath of fear was this bone-deep chill, a deja-vu of the grave.) ‘So what?’
‘Christ, Frances! He doesn ’ t know the answer either — like, he’s a convoy commander, and they’ve sent him a couple of battle-cruisers—‘
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Paul … spare me the naval history.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t even know
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