Zion by Colin Falconer Page A

order by the use of greater force. Talbot saw the Anglican bishop flush with embarrassment while the Private Secretary concentrated on his food, appalled at such indiscretion.
    Talbot was unable to adopt the same diplomatic silence. “But surely,” he said to Chisholm, “we must accept part of the blame.”
    Chisholm’s face was a portrait of derision. “The only mistake we’ve made is letting our bayonets get blunt.”
    “You sound like Himmler.”
    “What’s your solution, then? Let them walk all over us?”
    “When this trouble started in 1936, the Jews exercised commendable restraint while the Mufti of Jerusalem was exhorting the Arab population to even greater feats of violence. As a result he got his way. I am afraid both sides learned a very grave lesson from us: that violence would be rewarded.”
    “Even more reason to show them that’s not the case now.”
    “I believe it is incumbent on us to find a just and equitable solution. You won’t find one on the end of a bayonet.”
    “But Henry,” another voice said, and to Talbot’s dismay he realized it belonged to his own wife, “surely we cannot be seen to tolerate these dreadful Haganah people. I’m only a woman, of course, but it seems to me they are making us look quite ridiculous.”
    The other army men flushed and found something of great interest on their plates. This unfettered criticism of their best efforts had all but rattled the windows.
    Chisholm grinned at Talbot in triumph. “Your wife has hit the nail on the head, Henry. After all, we let them come here in the first place, and now they’ve turned on us. What’s the old saying about biting the hand that feeds you?”
    It was pointless to argue further. He had already said too much. Besides, it was not the Jewish problem that weighed on him tonight; it was his personal failure. A traitor and a cuckold, he thought. The absurdity of it all! I have betrayed the two things I no longer love - my wife and my country. Both have shown me they are harlots yet still I cling to them. I was always taught that the very essence of a gentleman was to be British, and to be respectable. I have tried to be both these things but I am ruled by fools and married to a tramp.
    What am I going to do?
     
     
     
    The Hill of Evil Counsel
     
    First Secretary Reginald Chandler waved Talbot to a seat. “Come in, Henry. Sit down, sit down. Take the weight off.” He fussed with the papers on his desk, then sat back, entwining his fingers over his ample paunch. Sunlight from the window at his back shone on the pomander in his thick grey hair.
    Chandler was one of the old school; he had received his first overseas posting when Queen Victoria was still on the throne. Talbot sometimes imagined he could see dust in the creases of his face. He was due to retire in just four more months and some of Talbot’s colleagues joked that he was to be crated up and shipped back to the British Museum - as an exhibit. “Getting warmer, I do believe,” Chandler said.
    “Yes, sir. Summer’s on its way.”
    “Well, Henry, what can I do for you?”
    “I wanted your advice, sir.’
    ‘My advice?’
    ‘Something has come to my attention, and I’m not quite sure what I should do about it.’
    ‘Continue.’
    “As you know, my wife Elizabeth plays bridge with some of the women from Katy Antonius’s set. One of the women let slip that her husband had come across a former SS officer, here in Jerusalem.”
    Chandler’s bluff good humor evaporated. “I see.”
    “I don’t know how much credence to give such a rumor, but I thought I should report this immediately so we can check its veracity.”
    “Have you told anyone else about this?”
    “No, sir. Of course not.”
    “Good. That’s the way we’ll leave it then.”
    “Sir?”
    “Look, Henry, I don’t like this any more than you, but … well, I’m afraid we’ll have to keep this under our hats.’
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Don’t be an ass. You