Never Apologise, Never Explain - James Craig [59]
‘Indeed,’ the Ambassador nodded.
The light was going. It was time for Carlyle to ask for what he really wanted. ‘Do you have a list of the people who were invited here tonight?’
‘Of course. My office was responsible for the invitations.’
‘Can I have a copy?’
‘Absolutely,’ the Ambassador said. ‘I will have it sent to you in the morning.’
‘Thank you.’ A thought suddenly struck Carlyle as he handed over a business card with his email address and fax number on it. ‘What were you doing back then?’
‘Me?’ A look of surprise spread across Orb’s face. ‘In seventy-three?’
‘Yes.’
The old man raised his gaze to the darkening sky. ‘Back in 1973, I was what you might call a rising star in the Christian Democratic Party. I taught Economics at the Universidad Católica de Chile in Santiago. My specialism was agrarian reform.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a long time ago now.’
The man did not seem embarrassed about discussing his past, so Carlyle kept going. ‘Did you support Pinochet?’ he asked.
Orb shrugged. ‘It was not a question of being for or against him, Inspector. It happened. I made sure my family came through relatively unscathed.’
‘You’re a survivor.’
‘I’ve had a long career,’ Orb said to that. ‘Now I work for a Socialist president, who is also a woman. You never know how things will turn out, so it is better not to nail your colours too firmly to the mast.’ He touched Carlyle gently on the arm. ‘I’m sure you already know that well.’
‘Yes,’ said Carlyle, who had spent his whole life pointlessly nailing colours to masts, usually on ships that were already sinking. ‘I suppose that’s right.’
‘Now, if you’d excuse me,’ Orb held out his hand, ‘I must be going. I’m hosting a dinner with your multi-tasking Mayor.’ He grinned. ‘I will give him your best wishes, since I get the impression that you are a big supporter of his.’
NINETEEN
‘Take a look – this is really funny,’ said Dominic Silver.
Carlyle grunted non-committingly as he sucked down on a latte that was way too cold for his liking. He always asked for it ‘extra hot’ and the Brazilian/Indian/Ukrainian/whatever boy/girl behind the counter would nod happily and then serve him up something that was barely lukewarm. It drove him mad. Often he would take it back and complain; get them to make it again. One time he caused such a fuss that the manager followed him out into the street and threatened him with a good kicking. It was a great example of traditional British customer service at its finest. Carlyle would have happily arrested him on the spot if he hadn’t been late for a court appearance,
This morning, however, he refused to get angst-ridden about his coffee. Rather, he just wanted to get as much caffeine as possible into his system as quickly as possible, cold or not, to try and compensate for the fact that he wasn’t still tucked up in bed. Twenty yards away, Alice was squealing in delight as a couple of young boys chased her round a tree. When they caught her, she squealed even more. Carlyle felt a smile spreading across his face as he watched her. Whatever grumpiness he felt about standing here in the middle of Regent’s Park at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning was offset more than a hundredfold by his pleasure in witnessing his daughter’s uncomplicated delight in a simple game of tag on a fresh summer morning, when the world seemed full of promise. Not for the first time, he wondered how much she was missing out on, being an only child. Not that there was much they could do about that now.
The two boys, Tom and Oliver Silver, were a year older and younger respectively than Alice. They were the youngest of five children belonging to Dominic Silver and Eva Hollander. The fact that Dominic and Eva had managed to produce five kids only added to Carlyle’s worry about Alice not having any siblings. Helen, practical as always, suggested that they should just be grateful for those ready-made playmates.
His wife had arranged this particular