Werner sat down again. He scarcely sipped his whiskey before putting it aside. 'I'm sorry, Bernie,' he whispered. 'I thought about it, and I decided I had to tell you.'

'Yes,' I said. I burped softly and tasted the garlic from the potato salad. It was revolting.

'I didn't want you to hear it from anyone else, Bernie.' He was the only German who called me Bernie. I wondered why. 'And I know you are big enough to see it from Fiona's side too.

'It was serious then?'

'Yes, it was very serious. Both of them. He wasn't toying with her. It was the real thing.'

'The real thing,' I said, as I started to understand what I was hearing. 'Not just a quick piece of grab-ass then?'

'Don't do that to yourself, Bernie.'

'You did a great job on the Christmas tree, Werner. ' I got to my feet. Werner watched me warily but remained seated. 'Did I tell you that?'

'Yes, you did, Bernie. Thanks.'

I reached for Werner's whiskey and downed it; downed it too quickly. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. 'Thanks, Werner,' I said, putting the empty glass back on the table beside him.

'Any time, Bernie,' he said grimly.

I looked around the big room and it all looked different to the room I'd seen before. The women in their swirling dresses and the men in their flying coattails had departed, never to return. Ever since I was a child I had cherished this room, but now I knew I would never see it again without feeling the knife-thrust of my wife's betrayal.

10

Hennig Hotel, West Berlin.

I awoke in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat and with a headache that slowly sliced the top off my cranium if I remained still, and plunged red-hot pokers into my brain every time I moved. From the street below, there came the rumble of police and ambulance sirens, and the ceiling of my little attic room was frantic with the jagged shapes of their flashing lights. I looked around and suffered a moment or two of disorientation before remembering where I was. I'd lain in this bed when suffering so many childhood afflictions: colds, whooping cough, chicken pox and measles. It was like revisiting my past.

The phone started ringing. I grabbed it to stop the sound it made. 'Hello?'

'Bernard'?'

'Yes, who is it?'

'Your wife, darling. How many women do you have calling you in the middle of the night?'

'What time is it?'

'I'm sorry, darling. I just arrived home and I didn't want to leave this until tomorrow.'

'Leave what?' 'Me telephone was slippery in my sweaty hands.

'Daddy has to know.'

'Know what?'

'Now don't be upset, Bernard. Promise me you won't shout.'

'I won't shout,' I said grimly. 'Now will you please tell me what this is all about.' My mouth was dry. I looked for the glass of water I'd had last night, but when I found it the water was finished.

'I saw Frank tonight. He said you'd be in Berlin over Christmas. I didn't realize that.'

'I didn't realize it myself.'

'Frank has arranged to spend the Christmas holiday with his wife's family in Yorkshire.'

'He said he was just going to London for a couple of days,' I said.

'It's to be a family get together; they arranged it on the spur of the moment. His wife's aunts from Australia were on holiday in Europe. It was an opportunity not likely to come again. Frank's wife has been awfully sick. He said he felt bad about letting you down.'

'And what does your Daddy have to know?'

'Billy has got that awful cough again. The matron at school says a break in the sun would do wonders for him.'

'Is this anything to do with his safari park investment? The all-inclusive ten days in South Africa?' Her father had recently bought shares in a travel company and was determined to get a generous share of freebies.

'The Caribbean. They've given him a wonderful deal on a beach house in Jamaica for Christmas. A pool and cook and car and gardener and two maids are all included.' She rattled it off like a tour guide.

'Jamaica?'

'I don't have to go with them,' said Fiona- 'I could come to Berlin and be with you. It's just that the children are delirious at the prospect and the sun would be good for them.'

'Better you go with them,' I said grimly.

'Are you sure you don't mind?' she said in a voice unmistakably lightened. 'I feel bad at going there while you are working hard, and on your own.'

'I'll be all right. There's no point in your kicking your heels in the hotel while I'm in the office all day.'

'Will you work every day over Christmas?'

I was going to snap back some wisecrack about Christmas not being a big holiday for the communists, but she'd been there. So I swallowed it and told her I loved her and asked her to kiss the children for me.

'And I love you, Bernard,' she said. 'I adore you. And I miss you very much. You're always so understanding. I'll buy unsuitable presents for the children and say they are from you.'

'Can you find toys unsuitable enough?' I said. It was an ongoing joke that had originated with a plastic 'death-ray' gun I'd given Billy about five years ago. Daphne Cruyer had never stopped chiding me about giving my children 'totems of violence,' and it had become part of Fiona's Christmas banter. Cleverly phrased to be a joke about Daphne, there was always enough reproach to spill over on to me.

I said goodnight, put the phone back on its rest, and sank back on to the pillow again. I'm not exactly certain of the order in which things happened next, but I know that Werner looked round the door and asked if I wanted anything. One of the maids brought me a tray with chicken broth and a toasted cheese sandwich. I couldn't face it. Lida swooped down in a camel-hair coat and large velvet hat. I told her that perhaps the kid — Robin what's his name — should monitor any developments arising from the DELIUS débâcle. Only then did Lida tell me that Robin had gone.

'Gone where?'

She hesitated and asked if I wanted anything from the tray of food at my bedside. She was hoping that I would not repeat the question, but when I did she said Robin had gone 'over there.' Drüben meant only one thing, and Robin had no right to take off without my direct order. I was angry. 'Perhaps I should get the doctor,' said Lida, when I had finished telling her how much I disapproved of Robin's disappearance. 'Your face is very bad-looking.' Even allowing for Lida's English it was not reassuring.

'Did he get a vehicle?' I persisted.

'The motorcycle that was used the other day.'

'He signed for it?'

'I'm only guessing it was him,' Lida said. 'Someone had copied the scribbled signature of the previous user.'

'And said it was 'a special arrangement for Mr. Harrington' I suppose? Is this your doing, Lida?'

'No, Herr Samson. I swear it is not. I would not help him to flout your authority. And anyway he is not experienced enough to go alone. It is dangerous for him.'

'He'll try to find that damned pastor,' I told her.

'The pastor is perhaps dead,' she said.

'Let's hope so. Dead or in an intensive-care ward,' I agreed, 'But either way, anyone trying to locate him is going to walk straight into a bear trap.'

'Yes,' she said bleakly,

I could see that Lida felt protective about the kid, but she was too German to have helped him defy me. 'Okay, Lida,' I said. 'We'll have to manage without him. It's too late to bring someone else into this crisis. I'll come into the office and we'll sort it out.'

'You must stay in bed, Herr Samson. You are too sick . . .'

'You gel back to the office, Lida. Someone must be there. I'll see you in about an hour.'