A Matter of Honor

“Where did you

eventually take him to lunch?” asked Adam, enjoying the game.

“I offered him a shepherd’s pie at the Green Man, but the bloody fellow became quite snotty. It seems he and the empress had to pop along to Harrods to be measured up for a new throne. Would have gone along with him, of course, but my boss wanted his wastepaper basket emptied, so I missed out on the Harrods deal as well.”

“So what are you up to today?”

“I shouldn’t let you in on this,” said Lawrence, peering at the photograph of Ted Dexter, the defeated English cricket captain, “but the governor of the Bank of England wants my views on whether we should devalue the pound from $2.80 to $2.40.”

“And what are your views?”

“I’ve already explained to the fellow that the only two-forty I know is the bus that runs between Golders Green and Edgware, and if I don’t get a move on, I’ll miss my beloved 14,” said Lawrence, checking his watch. Adam laughed as he watched his friend slam his briefcase shut and disappear out of the door.

Lawrence had changed considerably over the years since he had left Wellington. Perhaps it was that Adam could only remember him as school captain and then leaving with the top classics scholarship to Balliol. He had seemed so serious in those days and certainly destined for greater things. No one would have thought it possible he would end up as an investment analyst at Barclays District and Commonwealth Office. At Oxford contemporaries had half-joked about him being a cabinet minister. Was it possible that one always expected too much of those idols who were only a couple of years older than oneself? On leaving school their friendship had grown, and when Adam was posted to Malaya, Lawrence never accepted the army report that said his friend was missing, presumed dead. And when Adam announced that he was leaving the army, Lawrence asked for no explanation and couldn’t have been kinder about his unemployment problem. Adam hoped that he would be given the chance to repay such friendship.

Adam fried himself an egg and a couple of rashers of bacon, as there wasn’t much more he could do before nine-thirty, although he did find time to scribble a note to his sister, enclosing a check for fifty pounds.

At nine-thirty he made a phone call. Mr. Holbrooke—Adam wondered if he actually had a Christian name—couldn’t hide his surprise at receiving a call from young Mr. Scott. Now that my father is dead, I must be old Mr. Scott, Adam wanted to tell him. And Holbrooke sounded even more surprised by his request. “No doubt connected in some way with that envelope,” he muttered, but agreed to put a copy of his father’s will in the post that afternoon.

Adam’s other requirements could not be carried out over the phone, so he locked up the flat and jumped on a bus heading up King’s Road. He left the doubledecker at Hyde Park Corner and made his way to Lloyds Bank on Pall Mall, where he joined a line at the foreign exchange counter.

“May I help you?” asked a polite assistant when he finally reached the front.

“Yes,” said Adam. “I would like fifty pounds in Swiss francs, fifty pounds in cash, and a hundred pounds in traveler’s checks.”

“What is your name?” she inquired.

“Adam Scott.”

The girl entered some calculations on a large desktop machine before cranking the handle round several times. She looked at the result, then disappeared for a few moments to return with a copy of the bank statement Adam had received in the morning post.

“The total cost, including our charges, will be £202.1s.8d. That would leave your account in credit with £70.16s.4d.,” she informed him.

“Yes,” said Adam, but didn’t add that in truth it would only be £20.16s.4d the moment his sister presented her check. He began to hope that the Foreign Office paid by the week; otherwise it would have to be another frugal month. Unless of course …

Adam signed the tops of the ten traveler’s checks in the cashier’s presence, and she then handed over five hundred and ninety-four Swiss francs and fifty pounds in cash. It was the largest sum of money Adam had ever taken out at one time.

Another bus journey took him to the British European Airways terminal on Cromwell Road, where he asked the girl to book him a round-trip ticket to Geneva.

“First class or economy?” she asked.

“Economy,” said Adam, amused by the thought that anyone might think he would want to go first class.

“That will be thirty-one pounds please, sir.” Adam paid in cash and placed the ticket in his inside pocket, before returning to the flat for a light lunch. During the afternoon, he called Heidi, who had agreed to join him for dinner at the Chelsea Kitchen at eight o’clock. There was one more thing Adam needed to be certain about before he joined Heidi for dinner.

Romanov was woken by the ringing of the phone.

“Yes,” he said.

“Good morning, Comrade Romanov, it’s Melinac, the second secretary at the embassy.”

“Good morning, Comrade, what can I do for you?”

“It’s about Comrade Petrova.” Romanov smiled at the thought of her now lying in the bath.”Have you come across the girl since you reported her missing?”

“No,” replied Romanov. “And she didn’t sleep in her bed last night.”

“I see,” said the second secretary. “Then your suspicions that she might have defected are beginning to look like a serious possibility.”