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When he got home he telephoned Charles at the Foreign Office and made an appointment for them to have lunch together.
“Today?” Charles sounded doubtful and suspicious. It was not something Lucas had ever done before. “How about Friday? I’m free then.”
“Today, Charles,” Lucas replied. “If you have a lunch appointment you can’t change, I’ll see you in your office. But I would prefer meeting where we will not be interrupted.”
“What’s wrong? Is Mother ill? Or is it Elena?”
“No, your mother is fine. I’ll be there at noon.”
“Father…”
“Noon.” Lucas hung up the phone. This was not something to be told in bits and pieces, and while he could not see Charles’s face to read his reactions, he could picture them perfectly in his mind. It was going to be hard enough now, after all the years of concealment, no matter how necessary they had been.
He did not drive into the city. There was nowhere near the Foreign Office to park, and traffic was always bad. The city was two thousand years old, and not designed for horse traffic, let alone automobiles. Now it was the biggest city in the world, and a nightmare to navigate. Taking the Underground, then going on foot, was the only way to do it. The trick was to prevent the time between now and then pulling his nerves raw. Rodent ulcers! He could feel the rat’s teeth inside him.
* * *
—
He arrived at Charles’s office at five minutes to twelve, and Charles was waiting for him. He looked relaxed, as if he were receiving some foreign dignitary, but underneath it Lucas could see that he was frightened. He still governed the desire to move his weight from one foot to the other, an obvious sign of tension. If he was not careful, sooner or later he would knock something over.
Lucas felt guilty doing this to him. He should have found some way to tell Charles the truth when he retired. No matter how difficult their relationship, it was up to him to have tried. No one was supposed to know about the existence of MI6, but Charles understood necessary secrets. He would not repeat any of it.
“I’ve booked a table,” Charles said, looking steadily at Lucas. “I’m not sure how long I can spare for you.” He came around from behind his desk and walked toward the door. “Are you ready? I’d rather go before the phone rings or somebody wants something.”
Lucas turned back to the door and opened it. “Right,” he agreed.
They walked in silence, neither of them wishing to make the pretense of normality. The restaurant was only a couple of blocks away, and Charles had reserved a quiet corner table, slightly apart from other diners. They took their seats and ordered, then the moment the waiter left, Charles spoke.
“Well, what is so urgent? It can’t be good, or you would simply have told me.” He cleared his throat. “Has Elena got herself into more trouble? Why would you know that, and not me? What was she afraid to tell me? Does she need money?”
Lucas saw that Charles was talking too quickly, naming the problems he could bear to think of, the ones he could deal with, blocking out the ones that were unbearable. The constant thought of Mike’s death was in his eyes, and Lucas could see it. It was at the back of his own mind also. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t have any news of her, except that she was alive and well a few days ago, but unable to leave Germany.”
“What the hell do you mean, ‘unable’?” Charles snapped. “Is she injured? Ill?”
“No…”
“For God’s sake, Father! Stop playing the fool and tell me. I’m fed up with your oblique games. You’ve played secrets for years, and I don’t know why! I—”
“I know you don’t,” Lucas cut across him. “I couldn’t tell you at the time, any more than you can tell me the secret parts of your job.”
“What the hell is so very secret about the civil service? You shuffled papers for some minister of this or that…”
“No, Charles, I had a job that even one’s own family can’t know about,” Lucas said sharply. “I could have told you when I retired, and I think now that I should have, and for that I apologize. Secrecy became a habit. I never discussed it with anyone, not even your mother.”
The little remaining color drained from Charles’s face. “What were you? A hangman, or something?” It was half a joke, and probably the worst thing he could think of, and yet the fear was real in his eyes.
“MI6. A department no one knows of. Military Intelligence,” Lucas said quietly. “We were not allowed to tell anyone, even family. I suppose because a single careless word could jeopardize so much—lives…
”
Charles was incredulous. “You? MI6?” Then he stopped abruptly as it dawned on him that Lucas was perfectly serious. “What the hell could you do for them? You’re an academic…aren’t you?”
“Not really.” Lucas breathed in and out slowly. “Actually, I was head of it.”
“You…?” Charles still could not grasp it. “Does Mother know?”
“Yes, she does. At least she’s guessed some of it.”
