The Trinity Six - Charles Cumming [37]
Neame suppressed a knowing smile and his eyes caught the light again. It was remarkable to see so much life, so many thoughts and ideas, pulsing through a man now in his tenth decade.
‘Not for Russia, Doctor Gaddis. For England.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Oh, it will all become clear,’ he said, settling a featherlight hand on Gaddis’s knee. There was something startling about the sudden intimacy. ‘Why don’t we begin by walking the cat back?’
Chapter 15
‘Walking the cat back?’
‘An old spying term, isn’t it?’ Neame could see that Gaddis was confused. ‘Tracing a man’s steps. Taking a jigsaw apart so that you can put it back together.’
He wiped his nose a second time on the carefully folded handkerchief. ‘Perhaps it’s best if we go back to the winter of 1933.’
‘Whatever is easiest for you.’
Neame leaned back in his chair, preparing to begin. But his balance was off. Gaddis had to reach out to steady him and felt the rough tweed of Neame’s suit as it stretched tight against the hunch of his back. When, finally, Neame was comfortable, he folded his arms across his chest and glanced briefly towards the aisle.
‘How much do you know about Eddie’s time at Cambridge? How much have you been able to discover?’
‘Very little.’
Neame pursed his lips. He was perhaps wondering where to begin.
‘Eddie and I went up at the same time,’ he said. ‘Met on the first day. Both of us eighteen, both of us from fairly similar backgrounds.’
‘What kind of backgrounds?’
Neame’s response was quick. ‘Like yours, I should imagine, Doctor. Aspirational middle class. What difference does it make?’
Gaddis was about to point out that it was Neame, and not he, who had raised the issue of class, but thought better of it. Best just to ignore his little slights and quips; they were evidence of the old man’s frustration at his ailing health, not criticisms to be taken seriously.
‘Could you tell me anything else about Crane’s family?’ he asked. Behind him, towards the main entrance, a party of perhaps twenty tourists were gathered in a loose group, listening intently to a guide. ‘How did you first come to be introduced to him?’
‘Oh, that’s quite straightforward.’ Neame’s tone implied that Gaddis was the only man in Winchester Cathedral who did not know the story. ‘We were both inveterate lovers of crossword puzzles. I came across Eddie and a copy of the London Illustrated News one evening in the junior common room. He was stuck on a rather ingenious clue. I helped him with it. Would you like to hear what it was?’
Gaddis reckoned Neame was going to tell him anyway, so he nodded.
‘“Are set back for a number of years.”’
‘How many letters?’
‘Three.’
Gaddis had a knack for crosswords and solved the clue in the time it took Neame to check the time on his wristwatch.
‘Era.’
‘Very good, Doctor, very good.’ Neame sounded impressed, but a restlessness in his hands betrayed his irritation. It was as if the speed of Gaddis’s mind was a threat to his intellectual superiority. ‘Well, after that introduction, the two of us became firm friends. Eddie’s father had been killed in the war, as had mine. There were rumours, never confirmed, that the senior Mr Crane had taken his own life. You might like to look into that, chat up a military historian or two. See what they make of it.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Gaddis told him.
‘Eddie’s mother, Susan, then remarried, a man whom Eddie detested.’ Neame’s mouth had tightened, but folds of skin hung loose beneath his chin. ‘His name escapes me, for some reason. I never met him. Scoundrel, by all accounts.’
‘Rather like Philby’s father.’
Gaddis hadn’t meant to draw other members of the Cambridge Ring into the conversation so quickly, but was pleased by the impact of his observation. Neame was nodding in agreement.
‘Precisely. Both absolute monsters. Kim’s father was an epic charlatan. Converted to Islam, if you can believe it, even took the name Abdullah and married a Saudi slave girl. Rumour has it he worked as a spy for the Saudi monarchy.’
‘I’ve heard that,’ Gaddis said. ‘Cherchez le père.’
Neame understood the