Tango (13 page)

It was not like Box to be late. Men with clipped moustaches and polished shoes tended to be punctual. William glanced across at the massive studded wooden doors of the bank. They looked about
eighteen feet high. He remembered again that he had once seen Theresa slip out through the similarly high doors of the treasury. Perhaps they had been the bank doors, after all. What could she have
been doing in either? He felt another spasm of anger and jealousy, then thought of her set expression in the car and the flat tone in which she had asked if he disliked her. Whatever she was doing,
she didn’t like it and didn’t do it for herself. He felt warmly towards her, a feeling as dominant as the spasm of a moment before.

The great doors began to close. It was approaching lunchtime and closing when most people would wish it open was one of the ways in which the national bank maintained its dignity. Just before
the doors met with grim finality Box slipped through them and crossed the road.

He stood next to William, looking through the magazines on the rack. William was not to acknowledge him first; Box would speak when he judged it safe to do so. William continued reading about
the cricket.

Box picked up a copy of
Der Spiegel.
‘Anything important?’ he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

‘Quite important.’

‘Can you tell me here or do we need to discuss?’

‘We should discuss.’

‘Right. I’ve recce’d a place. Let me go first and you follow about twenty yards behind.’

‘
Señor
?’

The new voice startled them both. The proprietor held out his hands towards Box. ‘I hope you will not forget to pay,
señor
,’ he said in Spanish.

‘Pardon?’

The proprietor turned to William. ‘You are with him,
señor
?’

‘No, no, he’s a foreigner.’

‘You too.’

‘Yes, but he’s German – I think, judging by the paper.’

‘But you speak to him. I see you.’

‘He speak – spoke to me. He asked me something.’

‘
Señor
.’ The proprietor was an old man with a sour expression. He leaned across his counter. ‘Listen,
señor
. I don’t care what you are, I
don’t care what you do with each other. It is your business. But I tell you this: in this country there are many people who do not like people like you, who do not like men like you. They
beat you up. Sometimes they kill you. If you are wise you will prefer women. Now you must pay for the magazine. If someone has a paper for more than one minute, he pays. It is a rule.’

Box was still pretending to read
Der Spiegel
. ‘He wants you to pay for it,’ William said in English.

‘Why? I’m not buying it.’

‘You’ve been reading it for more than one minute. It’s the rule here, he says.’

‘I’m not sure the company will wear this. Foreign papers are four times their proper price.’

‘I bought mine.’

‘That’s all right. I can claim yours for you. Not sure about mine, that’s all.’ Box paid. ‘Not that I’m mean.’

‘No.’

‘Twenty yards, remember.’

Box left the shop with the magazine under his arm. William followed, watched by the proprietor. They walked towards the dock area and then after about ten minutes back again to the same street.
With a glance behind to check that William was still following, Box entered a small restaurant next to a ladies’ dress shop. As William reached the restaurant door it opened and Box stepped
smartly out. The door shut behind him.

‘Closed for lunch,’ he whispered.

‘It is a restaurant, isn’t it?’

‘Course it is. I recce’d it the other evening. Now they say they’re always closed for lunch. It’s not possible.’

‘It must be one that opens only for dinner. Some do. Yes, look – there’s a notice in the window.’

‘I’ll swear it wasn’t there before.’

‘Where now, then?’

‘Let me think.’ They stood staring at the underwear in the window of the dress shop. They were still within sight of the newsagent. ‘I don’t think we should do this for
very long,’ said William.

‘D’you know any other places?’

‘One or two.’

‘All right. You lead. I’ll follow.’

‘Mightn’t we just as well walk together now?’

‘Rather we didn’t. Might look odd. You never know what people are thinking.’

Maria’s seemed a sensible choice. It was not far, it was unlikely to be crowded during the day, it was particularly unlikely that the president and his entourage would be there again,
there were rooms enough for quiet conversation and there was a good chance that he would bump into Theresa, whom he had to contact anyway. His being seen with Box shouldn’t matter since he
could always explain him as a client.

The house was open but quiet. A few people were drinking in the bar, a couple of girls sat on the big sofa in the hall, there were smells of food and the murmur of voices. Someone tinkled
intermittently on a piano.

Box stopped at the coat-stand in the hall. ‘What is this place?’

‘It’s Maria’s, the tango club – the one I told you about.’ William waited for protests on security grounds, but none came.

Box looked about him. ‘Quite nice. Where do they tango?’

‘In a room farther in. I don’t think they’re doing it now but we can have a look later. Should we get a drink and sit down? There are some armchairs through here.’

The figure sliding into vision from his left was, he realised too late, El Lizard. There was the usual horizontal projection of the neck and, on the end of it, the usual expression of
concentrated gloom.

‘
Buenas días, Señor
Wooding. I am delighted to see you back so soon. I must apologise for the incident the other night. I hope you were not too
inconvenienced?’

‘Not at all. I should apologise for my part.’ William wondered how the man knew who he was.

‘Some people do not know how to behave.’

‘That’s true.’

‘
Señor
Wooding . . .’ El Lizard’s voice reached greater depths and his neck veered to the left and downwards like a lop-sided crane jib. ‘I knew your
predecessor,
Señor
Wicks.’

‘Ah yes, I think I knew that.’

‘We used to have an arrangement regarding certain materials.’

‘I’m afraid they’re not in stock any more.’

‘So I understand. But if you were short of . . . originals’ – there was the slightest widening of El Lizard’s lips – ‘I could possibly help you out from my
staff. Some of them would pose quite well. It would also provide them with business during the slack periods.’

‘That’s very good of you but the company policy has changed, I’m afraid.’ William used to wish he could stop apologising whenever he refused anyone anything but now,
having accepted it as an ineradicable habit, he made the most of it. ‘Very, very sorry about that.’

El Lizard held up one long hand. ‘
Por favor, for favor, Señor
Wooding, you are very kind. I can help you to a drink?’

William asked Box what he would like, but before Box could reply El Lizard said in good English that he had everything available. He had never been caught out on drink.

‘A Guinness, please,’ said Box.

‘Certainly,
señor.
Draught or bottled?’

‘Draught, if you have it.’ Box’s eyes flickered about the hall. ‘And a private room, if you have one.’

Comprehension did not so much spread across El Lizard’s face as settle like a stone into the bottom of a pond. He nodded gravely. ‘Of course,
señores
, my apologies
for keeping you waiting.’

He turned to the two girls on the sofa. ‘These two are ready now, but we can quickly get others if you prefer.’

‘I think my friend meant lunch,’ said William in Spanish.

The dining room was near the room where the band had played. It was shabby and comfortable with an open fire and a white fluffy cat curled up on one of the tables. From the dance room the piano
still tinkled amidst talk.

‘I like this place,’ said Box.

‘Yes, it’s cosy.’

‘I say,’ Box rested his folded arms on the table and leaned forward. ‘Those two girls on the sofa – were they on offer?’

‘Yes.’

Tears filled Box’s colourless eyes. ‘Not a bad little aperitif, eh?’ He compressed his thin lips and closed his eyes as laughter shook him. He took off his glasses and dabbed
at the tears with his large white handkerchief. ‘In fact, if I weren’t a married man . . .’ He was shaken again by suppressed laughter.

‘You are married, are you?’

‘Very. There’s a Mrs Box in Bletchley.’

‘Children?’

‘Sadly not. Doesn’t seem to have been possible. You any?’

‘No.’

‘Early days, I suppose?’

‘I suppose.’

An elderly waiter poured unasked from a bottle of red wine and left them a bowl of bread. Four men came in and sat at one of the other tables.

‘They could be surveillance,’ Box said quietly. ‘Sensible if we look away from them when we’re talking.’ He turned sideways in his chair towards the wall.
‘You shouldn’t have addressed me in English in the hall there.’

‘I didn’t. It was the owner. You replied in English. You ordered a Guinness.’

‘You’re right. And it hasn’t come. My punishment for not replying in German. Wall, please.’ Box waited until William was facing the wall. ‘Grateful if you’d
pick me up on any little slips I make. I’ll do the same for you.’

William told him about the visit to the factory, about Ricardo’s identification of him and all his predecessors as British spies and about the president’s command to bring Theresa
that night. Box sat without expression for some time after William had finished: He clenched and unclenched his hands, then half turned to the wall.

‘You’ve been blown, no doubt about that. People often get the right answer for the wrong reason. On the other hand, it sounds as if it’s almost an open secret. No one minds. At
least, not yet. The factory business sounds nasty, though. Party representative and all that. The beast is beginning to show itself. Wait till London hears. Make these embassy people look pretty
silly. Now this chappie of yours – Ricardo – is he all right?’

‘His heart’s probably in the right place.’

‘Bit of an unguided missile, eh? Works well under supervision, that sort of chap? Knew a lot of them in the Army. But tonight’s the urgent thing. The president wants his way with
your lady-friend. Obviously, you must be there, to talk to him.’

‘Would he want that?’

‘No. But our planning should be guided by what we want, not by what he wants. Question is, whether I should be there too. Would that make too big a party, do you think?’

‘It might be rather a surprise for him.’

The elderly waiter reappeared with full bowls of soup in his trembling hands. He left some on the tablecloth and some on William’s trousers.

‘Did we order this?’ asked Box.

‘I don’t think there’s a menu.’

‘What is it?’

‘Meat soup.’

‘Is that common here?’

‘Universal.’

It was hot and thick. Box dipped his bread in it. William dipped bread in his wine, remembering the incident in the covered market. He hoped it might mean he would see her.

The waiter shuffled over again and muttered, ‘
Disculpen la molestia, señores.
’ He took away the soups and gave them to two of the men at the other table. William and
Box were left holding their spoons.

‘What was that for?’ asked Box.

‘I’ve never known it happen before.’

The waiter reappeared with two more soups which he put before them and shuffled away again.

‘If we keep these to the end we’ll have had more than our share,’ whispered Box. ‘I’d had about a quarter of that other chap’s.’

The soup was followed by steak, chips, tomatoes and mushrooms, with a little offal. Box’s eyes widened.

‘You didn’t order this specially, did you?’

‘No.’

‘Not bad, is it?’

Another bottle of the nameless red wine appeared. ‘How much do you think this stuff costs?’ Box asked.

‘About the same as the
Telegraph
in England.’

‘Not bad.’

Between mouthfuls of steak Box said that the ‘blowing’ of William added urgency to everything. Fortunately, he had found an ‘SH’ – Safe Hole – in which to
hide the EE(C) kit. The danger was that, since it seemed to be an open secret that William was a British spy – through no fault of William’s or the company’s – a watch on
William might lead to him, Box, hence to the EEC kit. It was more than his life was worth to have that compromised to the enemy. A further urgency was that the country appeared to be slipping ever
deeper into the morass of Marxism-Leninism and, if the president had even half a mind to stop it, he should be helped to do so now. They should find a way to talk frankly to him that night.

‘I don’t imagine he’d welcome that,’ said William. ‘After all, he’s – you know—’

‘Not during, no. Before or afterwards. Not sure which would be better. He might be inclined to agree to all sorts of things in the heat of anticipation but he might on the other hand be
irritated and impatient. Afterwards he might be relaxed and persuadable or, having got what he wanted, indifferent and dismissive. All animals are sad after coition, Aristotle said. He might even
have us arrested if he’s very sad. Touch and go, you see.’

William did not want to think about it. He looked down at his
Telegraph
, where his interest was caught by a front-page announcment of an inside feature on South American economic
problems and their political ramifications. He stopped eating and opened the paper.

‘What I’m really looking forward to,’ said Box, this time not waiting until he had finished his mouthful, ‘is the reaction in London when we convince them that this place
really is going to the dogs.’

‘They don’t need convincing. It’s all in the paper here. That’s just what it says. Look.’ The feature predicted economic stagnation under a rigid socialist
framework.

Box shook his head when he had finished reading. ‘Unfortunate, yes, but not too serious. Real-world stuff, you see. Journalism. No interest in Whitehall. Unless there’s a
scandal.’