Mightier Than the Sword (22 page)

“That can’t have been met with universal approval,” suggested Giles.

“He had to resign his commission, and he then took a job in Germany so he could be with her.”

“A true romantic.”

“But the story doesn’t have a romantic ending, I’m afraid. More John Galsworthy than Charlotte Brontë, because when the wall went up in 1961, my father was in Cornwall visiting his parents and we’ve never seen him since.”

Giles remained cautious. “That doesn’t make any sense, because if your father is a UK national you and your mother could make an application to visit Britain at any time.”

“We’ve made thirty-four applications in the past nine years, and those that were answered all came back with the same red stamp, rejected.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Giles. He then turned away, adjusted his headphones and listened to the remainder of the welcoming speech.

When the general secretary finally sat down an hour and twelve minutes later, Giles was one of the few people in the room who was still awake.

He left the conference chamber and joined a subcommittee to discuss the possible lifting of certain sanctions between the two countries. He had a clear brief, as did his opposite number, but during the meeting he had the distinct impression that his interpreter was including the occasional observation that came from the Stasi, and not from the minister. He remained skeptical and cautious about her, although when he looked her up on the briefing notes he saw that her name was Karin Pengelly. So it seemed she was at least telling the truth about her heritage.

Giles soon became used to being followed around by Karin as he moved from meeting to meeting. She continued to pass on everything said by the other side, without the expression on her face ever changing. But Giles’s responses were always carefully worded, as he still wasn’t sure whose side she was on.

At the end of the first day, Giles felt the conference had yielded some positive results, and not least because of his interpreter. Or was she simply saying what they wanted him to hear?

During the official dinner held at the Palast der Republik, Karin sat directly behind him, translating every word of the interminable, repetitive speeches, until Giles finally weakened.

“If you write a letter to your father, I’ll post it to him when I get back to England, and I’ll also have a word with a colleague in the immigration office.”

“Thank you, Sir Giles.”

Giles turned his attention to the Italian minister sitting on his right, who was pushing his food around the plate while grumbling about having to serve three prime ministers in one year.

“Why don’t you go for the job yourself, Umberto?” suggested Giles.

“Certainly not,” he replied. “I’m not looking for early retirement.”

*   *   *

Giles was delighted when the last course of the endless meal was finally served and the guests were allowed to depart. He said good night to some of the other delegates as he left the room. He then joined the ambassador and was driven back to his hotel.

He picked up his key and was back in his suite just after eleven. He’d been asleep for about an hour when there was a tap on the door. Someone obviously willing to ignore the Do Not Disturb sign. But that didn’t come as a surprise, because the Foreign Office had even issued a briefing note to cover that eventuality. So he knew exactly what to expect and, more important, how to deal with it.

He reluctantly got out of bed, pulled on his dressing gown, and went to the door, having already been warned that they would try to produce a lookalike of his wife, but twenty years younger.

When he opened the door he was momentarily stunned. Before him stood the most beautiful blonde, with high cheekbones, deep blue eyes, and the shortest leather skirt he’d ever seen.

“Wrong wife,” said Giles once he’d recovered, although he was reminded why he had fallen so hopelessly in love with Virginia all those years ago. “But thank you, madam,” he said as he took the bottle of champagne. He read the label. “Veuve Clicquot 1947. Please pass on my compliments to whomever. An excellent vintage,” he added, before closing the door.

He smiled as he climbed back into bed. Harry would have been proud of him.

*   *   *

The second day of the conference became more and more frenetic as the delegates attempted to close deals so they wouldn’t have to return home empty-handed. Giles felt quite pleased when the East Germans agreed to remove their import tariffs on British pharmaceuticals, and delighted, although he tried not to show it, when his French counterpart hinted that if the British government were to issue an official invitation for the French president to visit Britain in the new year, it would be seriously considered. He wrote down the words “seriously considered” so there could be no misunderstanding.

As always happens on these occasions, meetings began to run late and to continue into the evening; so Giles ended up scheduling one before dinner, with an East German trade minister, one during, with his Dutch counterpart, and finally one after dinner with Walter Scheel, the West German foreign minister. He asked Karin to join them for dinner, having decided that if she was working for the Stasi, she was a better actress than Peggy Ashcroft. And if she agreed, he just hoped she’d let her hair down.

Karin reminded him that the Dutch minister spoke fluent English, and suggested that they might prefer to dine alone. But Giles thought it would be helpful for her to be there, just in case anything was lost in translation.

He couldn’t help wondering if any of his fellow delegates had noticed how often he had turned around during his afternoon session with the trade minister to look more closely at his interpreter, pretending to listen intently to her translation while in fact hoping to be rewarded with that smile. But when she turned up for dinner wearing a stunning off-the-shoulder red silk dress, which certainly hadn’t been purchased from a comrades’ cooperative store, with her auburn hair hanging loosely below her shoulders, Giles couldn’t take his eyes off her, although she continued to feign not to notice.

When he returned to his suite for the final meeting of the evening, Scheel wasted no time in pressing his government’s case. “Your import tax on BMW, Volkswagen, and Mercedes is hitting our car industry hard. If you can’t lift it, can you at least lower it?”

“I’m afraid that’s just not possible, Walter, as we’re only a few weeks away from a general election, and the Labour Party is hoping for large donations from Ford, BMC, and Vauxhall.”

“You’ll have no choice when you become a member of the EEC,” said the German, smiling.

“Amen to that,” said Giles.

“At least I’m grateful for your candid response.” The two men shook hands, and as Scheel turned to leave, Giles put a finger to his lips and followed him out of the room. He looked up and down the corridor before asking, “Who’s going to replace Ulbricht as General Secretary?”

“The Soviets are getting behind Honecker,” said Scheel, “and frankly I can’t see anyone beating him.”

“But he’s a weak, sycophantic man, who’s never had an original thought in his life,” said Giles, “and would end up being nothing more than a stooge, just like Ulbricht.”

“Which is precisely why the Politburo is backing him.”

Giles threw his hands up in the air. Scheel could only manage a wry smile. “See you in London after the election,” he said, before heading off in the direction of the lift.

“Let’s hope so,” murmured Giles. When he returned to his room, he was pleased to find that Karin was still there. She opened her bag, took out an envelope, and handed it to him.

“Thank you, Sir Giles.”

Giles looked at the name and address on the envelope, placed it in an inside pocket, and said, “I’ll post it to your father just as soon as I’m back in England.”

“I know my mother would appreciate that.”

“It’s the least I can do,” said Giles as he walked over to the side table, picked up the bottle of champagne, and handed it to her. “A small token of my gratitude for all your hard work. I hope you and your mother will enjoy it.”

“It’s very kind of you, Sir Giles,” she whispered, handing the bottle back, “but I wouldn’t get as far as the front door before the Stasi took it away from me,” she added, pointing at the chandelier.

“Then let’s at least share a glass together.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Sir Giles, considering—”

“Now that we’re on our own, I think you can call me Giles,” he said as he uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses. He raised his. “Let’s hope it won’t be too long before you’re reunited with your father.”

Karin took a sip and then placed the glass on the table. “I must go,” she said, and thrust out her hand.

Giles took it and drew her gently toward him. She pushed him away.

“This mustn’t happen, Giles, because then you’ll only think—”

He started to kiss her before she could say another word. As they kissed, he undid the zip on the back of her dress, and when it fell to the ground he took a pace back, wanting to touch every part of her body at once. He took her back into his arms and when they kissed again, her lips parted as they fell onto the bed. He looked into her brown eyes and whispered, “If you work for the Stasi, don’t tell me until after I’ve made love to you.”

19

G
ILES WAS SITTING
on the front bench in the House of Commons listening to the foreign secretary deliver a statement to the House on the Test and County Cricket Board’s decision to cancel South Africa’s England tour, when he was handed a note from the chief whip.
Could I have a word with you following the statement?

Giles always felt that a summons from the chief whip was rather like being called to the headmaster’s study: more likely to be a caning than paeans of praise. Although the chief whip doesn’t sit in the Cabinet, his power is disproportionate to his rank. He was the company sergeant major who was there to make sure the troops were kept in line so the officers’ lives ran smoothly.

As soon as the foreign secretary had answered the last question from the member for Louth about strengthening government sanctions against South Africa’s apartheid regime, Giles slipped out of the chamber into the members’ lobby and strolled across to the chief whip’s office.

The chief’s secretary was clearly expecting him because he was ushered through to the inner sanctum without having to break stride.

As soon as Giles entered the office, he knew from the look on the chief’s face that it had to be a caning, not paeans of praise.

“Not good news, I’m afraid,” said Bob Mellish, taking a large buff-colored envelope from a drawer in his desk and passing it to Giles.

Giles opened the envelope with trembling fingers and pulled out a set of black and white photographs. He studied them for a few moments before he said, “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m not sure I understand you.”

“I just don’t believe Karin was working for the Stasi.”

“Then who else can it have been?” said the chief whip. “Even if she wasn’t on their payroll, God knows what pressure they must have put her under.”

“You have to believe me, Bob, Karin just wasn’t like that. I realize I’ve made a complete fool of myself and let the government and my family down badly. But one thing I’m certain of, Karin is not to blame.”

“I must confess, it’s the first time the Stasi have used photographs. They’ve only ever sent tapes in the past. I’ll have to brief the Foreign Office immediately.”

“I can assure you, we never discussed any government business,” said Giles. “And if anything, she was even more frightened of being caught than I was.”

The chief whip raised an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, I have to deal with the here and now. I’m assuming these photographs are already in the hands of one of the tabloids, so you’d better prepare yourself for an unpleasant phone call. And I have only one piece of advice, Giles—tell Gwyneth before the news breaks.”

“Should I resign?” said Giles, as he gripped the edge of the desk to try to stop his hands shaking.

“That’s not for me to decide. But don’t do anything too hasty. At least wait until you’ve seen the PM. And let me know the moment the press get in touch with you.”

Giles took one more look at some of the photos of himself and Karin, and still refused to believe it.

*   *   *

“How could you, Giles? To fall for such an obvious honey trap,” said Gwyneth. “Especially after Harry told you what happened to him in Moscow.”

“I know, I know. I couldn’t have been more stupid. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”

“Didn’t you give me or your family one moment’s thought when this little tart was seducing you?”

“She wasn’t a tart,” said Giles quietly.

Gwyneth was silent for some time before she asked, “Are you saying you knew this woman before all this happened?”

“She was my interpreter.”

“So it was you who seduced her, and not the other way around?”

Giles made no attempt to contradict her. It would have been one lie too many.

“If you’d been set up, or drunk, or just made a fool of yourself, Giles, I might have been able to live with it. But you’d clearly given it some thought before…” She stopped mid-sentence and rose from her chair. “I’m going down to Wales this evening. Please don’t try to get in touch with me.”

Giles sat alone as dusk settled over Smith Square and considered the consequences of having told Gwyneth the truth. Not much point if Karin had been nothing more than a Stasi whore. How easy it would have been for him to tell his wife that Karin was just a tart, a one-night stand, that he didn’t even know her name. So why hadn’t he? Because the truth was, he’d never met anyone quite like her before. Gentle, humorous, passionate, kind, and bright. Oh so bright. And if she didn’t feel the same way about him, why did she fall asleep in his arms? And why did she make love with him again when they woke in the morning, when she could so easily have stolen away in the night, having done her job? Instead, she chose to take just as big a risk as him and was probably suffering the consequences every bit as much as he was.