Spy Line

12

The prince and princess had their house in Pimlico, a corner of central London around which the Thames bends before getting to Westminster. When, long ago, Thomas Cubitt had finished selling large stucco-fronted houses with balconies to the rich of Belgravia, he built the same designs on the cheaper land of neighbouring Pimlico. Pimlico was said to be coming up: it still is. For it never became another Belgravia despite the similarity of its gardens, squares and grand-looking houses. It was, and to this day remains, an area of mixed fortunes: a plight not assisted by the local government's seemingly random arrangement of one-way streets and barriers which make the district a notorious maze for motorists.

Cubitt's large houses are now divided into cramped apartments, or as the adverts put it 'studio flats' and 'roof terraces'. Seedy hotels and boarding houses with crudely lettered signs offer accommodation in convenient proximity to London 's only cross-country bus station and the busy Victoria railway terminal.

It was in one of the quieter streets of this region that our host had purchased a large house and refurbished it at considerable expense. It was, George explained to me while driving there, a shrewd investment. The sort of investment that he admired so many other German businessmen for making now that the Deutschmark was so highly valued. The prince would use the place for his visits to London, entertain his business associates there and save money on what it would cost him to do those same things in hotels and restaurants. Property prices in that area were certain to keep rising and the chances were that in twenty years he would end up with an excellent profit on his investment. This made me ask George why he himself had bought an apartment in Mayfair – London 's most expensive residential area – rather than do the same sort of thing.

'Ah,' replied George, 'because I am the son of poor parents, I want to enjoy the pleasures that money can bring. I want to go home each night and sleep amongst the richest men in England. I need that reassurance.' He chuckled.

'It's not true,' said Tessa. 'It's my fault. We live in Mayfair because I wouldn't go and live in Pimlico.' We laughed. There was an obvious element of fact in what both of them said. But the truth behind the rationale was that childless Tessa and George had no one to make a good investment for. In the silence that followed, I wished I hadn't asked him about house values.

All the nearby parking places were full, but we stayed with George while he parked his Rolls a block or so away. It was a cold night and the street lights tinted the empty streets with a grim blue that made it seem even colder. Entering the house brought a sudden change. The heated exertions of the guests, the bright lights, the crowded rooms, the warmth of the bodies and the noise and excitement were electrifying. And so was the idea of a drink.

It was a big party: perhaps a hundred people were drifting through the house laughing, chatting in loud confident voices and tipping back their drinks. In the largest room there were a dozen or so people dancing to the music of a small band and there was a buffet table with shellfish, smoked salmon and sliced beef being constantly replenished by waiters in white jackets. 'This is how the other half live,' said Gloria as we made our way to where our young and glamorous hostess was standing by the fireplace talking to a well-dressed bearded man who proved to be the caterer.

Gloria was right. Prince Joppi's world was quite different to our more secret world, where, for various reasons, men drank and conversed with studied caution. Neither was this the ordinary world of supply and demand; it was a world of abundance. All around me there were the over-people: over-anxious, over-weight, over-bearing, over-educated, over-rated, over-weening, over-achievers, over-selling, over-spending and over-producing. They ate and drank and noisily celebrated their good fortune. Never mind tomorrow, there would always be people like me and Fiona and Bartholomew H. Johnson to look after that.

The princess gave a welcoming smile as she caught sight of George and Tessa. She was petite and very slim with dark hair that was in that state of rat-tailed disorder that takes very expensive hairdressers many hours to arrange. Her make-up, specifically the way in which her eyes were elaborately painted with green, blue and black shadow, was stagy. Most striking of all was her dark suntan. Germany is a notably sunless land and there is a type of German for whom a sun-darkened skin is an essential status symbol no matter that health warnings advise against it.

The music stopped. The dancers waited to resume but the musicians put down their instruments and departed for refreshments. 'Tessa, darling!' said the princess as we got to her. They embraced in that perfunctory way that women do when they are wearing make-up and jewellery and have their hair done. 'Promise me that you'll never let George take my husband away again.'

'Whatever did they do?' said Tessa, a laugh in her voice as if the answer might be both shocking and entertaining.

'That beastly scuba diving school. Joppi can't talk about anything else, ever since they went there.'

'But that was ages ago,' said Tessa. That was in Cannes.'

'I know. I thought it would go the way of the oil painting and the computers: forgotten after a week or two, but Joppi has been absolutely demented… He's bought all the equipment: air bottles and… I don't know… Even books about it. He wants me to do it too but I can't swim.'

'Poor darling Ita,' said Tessa with no hint of sincerity.

Further indicating her distress, the princess fanned herself, a mannerism more that of a schoolgirl than of a grown woman. 'George,' she said. 'Do something to get Joppi out of the billiards room.' To Tessa she petulantly added, 'It's always the same at parties; Joppi hides away in there and doesn't help at all.'

Tessa said, 'How lucky you are, Ita. George helps me and it's absolute hell.' George smiled and then said, 'Let me introduce Gloria and Bernard my brother-in-law.'

'Are you really Tessa's brother?'

'No, I'm married to her sister.'

'And you are Gloria,' said the princess somewhat condescendingly and smiled to show the sort of satisfaction women get from uncovering what might be illicit relationships.

After a few more pleasantries Tessa took Gloria under her wing and they disappeared together upstairs while George took me to meet our host in the billiards room. From George's description I was expecting someone old and fat, a rotund wurst-gobbler likely to be found in a beerhall swaying to the melody of In München steht ein Hofbäuhaus – eins, szwei, gsuffa! But the prince turned out to be a tall thin sleek man of about thirty-five. A cosmopolitan tough guy who spoke English with no trace of an accent. Suntanned like his wife, he had unnaturally black hair that was shiny and brushed close to the skull. His dinner suit was conservatively cut by some expensive tailor. Like George and many of the other guests he wore it in the casual manner of men who spend a great deal of time in such costume.

He was standing by the marker drinking wine and studying the position of the cue ball. He looked up as we entered. 'George!' he said with what appeared to be genuine pleasure.

'All alone?' said George. 'Perhaps you'd prefer…'

'No, George. I was hoping you would come.' He snapped his cue into the rack with an excess offeree, as a well drilled soldier might place his rifle somewhere close at hand.

George said, 'This is Bernard, a very good friend despite being my brother-in-law.'

'Brother-in-law and friend too!' he said, grimacing in mock surprise. 'That's surely a tribute to the grace and generosity in both of you.'

As I went through the formalities the vague feeling of recognition snapped into focus. I'd seen the activities of this 'playboy prince' in some of the less serious German newspapers and magazines.

George said, 'Quite a dressy crowd here tonight, Joppi.'

'Not many real friends. They're people my wife feels we owe favours or hospitality to,' said Joppi, as if his wife was suffering a strange and troubling delusion; an affliction from which he hoped she'd eventually be released.

'Ita tells me you've become an expert diver, Joppi,' said George.

'Yes, next time you'll find I'm even better than you,' said Joppi. 'It is a matter of fitness, George. And practice.' To ask any German to undersell such hard-earned achievements is to ask a great deal. 'We spent Christmas in my brother's beach home near Rio and the water was perfect. Now I'm good, damned good.'

'Lucky man,' said George.

'You're guests, and not drinking,' the prince said. 'We must rectify that immediately.' He smoothed his perfectly smooth jacket and began to move towards the door as if guessing that his wife had asked George to prise him out of the billiards room.

He snapped his fingers, German style, at the nearest waiter and conjured up drinks for us. But before I could get my hands on one Tessa – bright-eyed and smiling – had grabbed my arm. 'First, you dance, Bernard. I insist.'

I hadn't danced for so long that it required all my concentration not to tread on her toes, but soon I was managing well enough to try talking too. 'When can I pop over for that fur coat?'

'Joppi's a lovely dancer isn't he?' Tessa said as if she'd not heard me.

I turned my head to see our host with Gloria gripped tightly in his arms. 'Yes,' I said.

'I knew he would be interested in Gloria. She is just his type.'

'But will Gloria find him interesting?' I asked.

'That doesn't matter half so much,' said Tessa. 'He will find her interesting, and that's what attracts any woman.'

I didn't argue with her: probably she was right. I'd never understood women and had given up hope that I might ever do so. Anyway it would do no good to argue with Tessa. She handled her life in her own way and made no concessions to anyone, not even to her husband.

'He's like that,' said Tessa. There was the hint of a joke in her tone. She was being provocative and made no secret of it. 'He has quite a reputation with the ladies. He'll proposition her; you see if he doesn't.'

'How do you know?'

'You silly man!'

I steered her sharply round to avoid bumping into another couple and said, 'When was that?'

'Me and Joppi? He wanted me to leave George but that was just his machismo. He would have left me high and dry after a few months. I knew that.'

'Does George know?'

'There is nothing to know, darling.' We danced without speaking for a little while and then Tessa said, 'Gloria is awfully worried about you, darling.'

'Gloria is worried?'

'You're not looking your best, Bernard. Surely other people have mentioned it to you?'

'No, they haven't.'

'Don't get snotty. You're looking bloody rotten if you want to hear the truth of it. Gloria thinks you should see the doctor and I agree with her.'

'See a doctor? What am I supposed to be suffering from?'

'Stress can do strange things, Bernard. You're probably overworked… I don't know. But you're damned jumpy and suspicious all the time. And apart from that you don't look well.'

'I'm one hundred per cent,' I said.

'My man in Harley Street is really wonderful, Bernard. Would you go and let him give you a check-up: as a personal favour to me.'

'I do believe you're serious.'

'Of course I am. And I promised Gloria to talk to you.'

'I'll think about it.'

'No. Say you'll go. I'll make the appointment.'

'I said I'd think about it.'

'I'll phone you next week. I'm going to keep on at you until you go.'

'For God's sake, Tessa.' Then, realizing that I was being inappropriately rude, I gave her a kiss on the cheek. What I didn't tell her was that even a routine check-up like that would have to be reported to the Department. I didn't want anyone there asking if I was sick. All kinds of complications would follow. They were just looking for an excuse to put me on the shelf.

I saw Joppi again. He was a skilful dancer and Gloria was loving every moment. She gave no sign of thinking that the prince should go and see a doctor. As they went gliding round the floor I regretted that I hadn't made more effort at Frau Brand's dancing classes back in Uhlandstrasse when I was twelve years old. 'And he's a friend of George's?' I said.

'Friend? George can't stand him. George detests Germans; you know that, Bernard. He turned away the offer of a Mercedes agency. He won't even buy a second-hand German car for resale.'

'So why do you come here?'

'Ita is one of my best friends. She's a sweet girl. We go shopping together. And when it's my turn to arrange one of my charity lunches, you'd be amazed how many of those ladies want to meet a princess.'

'I was wondering when I could collect that fur coat,' I said, having given up hope of being able to introduce the subject with more subtlety.

'It was George who first met them,' said Tessa. 'He met Joppi at Mass; George always attends Mass, you know. You'd never guess that's where they met would you?'

'No, I wouldn't have guessed that.' I watched Joppi laughing with Gloria and hugging her as they danced together and said, 'Perhaps you'd like to visit us out in the sticks, and have dinner one evening?'

'We'd love that, Bernard my sweet. But please don't say bring that bloody coat because the answer is no.'

'It's just that – '

'Your Gloria is a nice girl. I don't know her very well but from what I see of her I like her. And I like the way she worries about you: you're a lucky man. But I'm not going to deliver Fiona's fur coat for you to give to her. It's just not on, Bernard. It's wrong and I'm surprised you don't see that.'

'Come to dinner anyway,' I said.

'It's almost summer,' said Tessa.

'Yes,' I said as the music stopped.

'Do look,' said Tessa, her amused voice not concealing the malicious pleasure that coloured her view of the world. 'He's probably propositioning her now. He'll invite her to go to Rome for the weekend, or to the penthouse they keep in New York. It must be very tempting.'

It was no use showing anger. No one was exempt from Tessa's Schadenfreude. 'It's getting late,' I said, 'and I have to be up early tomorrow.'

Generously George insisted upon us going back to his Mayfair apartment for a nightcap. And then, leaving Gloria and Tessa to chat, he drove me back to collect the car near Dicky's house. That house of Joppi's,' said George suddenly. 'It's full of rot.'

'Is it?' I said.

'I went upstairs to use the bathroom. My God! You should see the woodwork. And it's established in the walls… the plaster. You didn't notice?'

'No,' I said.

'To get rid of that, the whole house will have to be gutted.'

'Did you tell him?'

'And be the bringer of bad news? No. Poor fellow. I couldn't bring myself to spoil his evening.'

'Didn't he have it surveyed?'

'He listened too much to that fancy architect – all stainless steel and indoor plants – I can't stand those fellows.'

'No chance of redress?'

'Suing the builders, you mean? Compensation? No chance at all. They were right cowboys. Those people form a new company for every job, and go bust as soon as they are paid. Those people work like that.'

'Poor Prince Joppi,' I said.

'Yes, poor devil,' said George solemnly. Had Tessa not told me George's real feelings, I might have thought he meant it. He was a good driver, careful, alert and considerate of other road users. When a young fellow in a dented Ford came roaring past him on the wrong side and gave a toot on the horn to reprimand George for driving too safely, George just pulled over and made more room for him.

'Stupid bastard!' I said angrily.

'Perhaps he had a bad day,' said George mildly. Sometimes I wondered whether it was his piety that provided him with such remarkable tolerance. If so, it was a convincing argument for Roman Catholicism. 'You're a man of the world, Bernard,' said George suddenly.

I was about to give a flippant answer but I realized that George had something on his mind. So I grunted and said I would like to think so.

'Any experience of drug addiction? Cocaine, heroin, that kind of thing?'

'I'm not an expert.'

'There's a fellow hanging around Tessa… She was talking about drugs the other night, saying that there is a lot of nonsense talked about them, and I don't doubt there is.'

George went silent. I said, 'I'd better get this clear, George. You think this fellow is selling drugs to her?'

'Yes, Bernard, I do think so,' he said cautiously.

'Give me his name and address.'

'I don't want to overreact,' said George. 'That could bring about the very thing I'm so anxious to avoid.'

'There's no harm in checking,' I said. 'I know good people who would give you some answers within a couple of days.'

'Calls himself Bill Turton but I wouldn't give too much importance to that. He's a prosperous-looking American; not young.' Having started to confide in me, he stopped and thought about it for a moment. 'It wouldn't be so easy, Bernard. He's one of those people without a fixed address: hotels, clubs, rented places, one country to another. Never stays long anywhere.'

'Is this what Tessa tells you?'

'She invited him up for drinks the other evening. I didn't like him at all. I could see he was charming and friendly and all that but I had an instinctive reaction.'

'You may be worrying unnecessarily.'

'He was there at the Joppis' tonight.'

'Was he?' I was surprised and wished George had brought the matter up when there was an opportunity for me to see the man.

'Always lots of that sort of muck available at the Joppis'. Did you go upstairs?'

'Upstairs? No.'

'One of the rooms upstairs… They think it's very smart and sophisticated.'

'I noticed that there was a mood… a sort of hysteria.'

'Hysteria. Yes, that's the word isn't it? I can't imagine how people can bear poisoning their own bloodstream with chemicals. Do you know that Tessa won't eat processed food because of the chemical additives? And yet she…'

'I'm sorry, George.'

'That's why she wanted to go. Did you notice how animated she became?'

'Not any more than usual. She's always in high spirits, you know that, George.'

'A big fellow: grey wavy hair and glasses.'

'There were a lot of people like that,' I said.

'This fellow has a little rim beard and no moustache. Curious-looking cove.'

'I didn't see him,' I said truthfully. It could have been a description of Mr Bart Johnson, but Bart Johnson was dead.