A Delicate Truth A Novel - By John Le Carre Page 0,42
worked out.’
‘Minister, a large part of me has been Paul Anderson since our last conversation, and it shall remain Paul Anderson until my task is complete.’
‘Elliot tell you why you’re here today?’
‘I’m to shake the hand of the leader of our small British token force, and I’m to be your red telephone.’
‘That your own, is it?’ – Quinn, after a beat.
‘My own what, Minister?’
‘Your own expression, for Heaven’s sake. Red telephone? Out of your own head. You made it up? Yes or no?’
‘If it’s not too frivolous.’
‘It’s bang on the button, as it happens. I might even use it.’
‘I should be flattered.’
Disconnect resumes.
‘These Special Forces types are inclined to get a bit uppity.’ Quinn, a statement for the world. ‘Want everything cut, dried and legalled before they’ll get out of bed in the morning. Same problem all across the country, if you want my view. Wife still doing all right, is she?’
‘In the circumstances, splendidly, thank you, Minister. And never a word of complaint, I may say.’
‘Yeah, well, women. What they’re good at, isn’t it? They know how to deal with that stuff.’
‘Indeed they do, Minister. Indeed they do.’
Which is the cue for the arrival of party the second: another single pair of footsteps. They are lightweight, heel to toe and purposeful. On the point of casting them as Crispin’s, Toby finds himself quickly corrected:
‘Jeb, sir,’ they announce, coming to a smart halt.
*
Is this the drama queen who has fucked up Quinn’s weekend? Whether he is or not, with Jeb’s arrival a different Fergus Quinn takes the stage. Gone the sulky lethargy and in place of it enter the raunchy, straight-from-the-shoulder Glaswegian Man of the People that his electorate falls for every time.
‘Jeb! Good man. Really, really great. Very proud indeed. Let me say first that we’re fully appreciative of your concerns, right? And we’re here to solve them any which way we can. I’ll do the easy bit first. Jeb, this is Paul, okay? Paul, meet Jeb. You see each other. You see me. I see you both. Jeb, you’re standing in the Minister’s Private Office, my office. I am a minister of the Crown. Paul, you’re an established senior foreign servant of long experience. Do me a favour and confirm that for Jeb here.’
‘Confirmed to the hilt, Minister. And honoured to meet you, Jeb’ – to a rustle of shaking hands.
‘Jeb, you will have seen me on television, going the rounds of my constituency, performing at Question Time in the House of Commons and all that.’
Wait your turn, Quinn. Jeb’s a man who thinks before he answers.
‘Well now, I have visited your website, as a matter of fact. Very impressive, too.’
Is this a Welsh voice? It assuredly is: the Welsh lilt with all its cadences in place.
‘And I in turn have read enough of your record, Jeb, to tell you straight off that I admire and respect you, and your men, plus I’m totally confident you’ll all do a really, really fine job. Now then: the countdown’s already begun, and very understandably and rightly, you and your men wish to be one hundred per cent assured of the British chain of command and control. You have last-minute worries you need to get off your chest: absolutely understood. So do I.’ Joke. ‘Now. Let me address a couple of niggles that have reached me and see where we stand, right?’
Quinn is pacing, his voice darting in and out of the steam-age microphones hidden in the wooden panelling of his office as he swishes past them:
‘Paul here will be your man on the spot. That’s for starters. Plus it’s what you’ve been asking for, right? It is not proper or desirable that I, as a Foreign Office minister, give direct military orders to a man in the field, but you, at your own request, will have your own official-unofficial Foreign Office advisor, Paul here, at your elbow, to assist and advise. When Paul conveys a command to you, it will be a command that comes from the top. It will be a command that bears the imprimatur – signature, that is – of certain people over there.’
Is he pointing at Downing Street as he says this? The slur of a body movement suggests he is.
‘I’ll put it this way, Jeb. This little red fellow sitting here connects me directly with those certain people. Got it? Well, Paul here will be our red telephone.’
Not for the first time in Toby’s experience, Fergus Quinn has brazenly stolen a man’s line without attribution.