“If my years on this planet have taught me anything, it’s that we’re in it together. All for one, one for all. So, a few small things. First, I don’t want anyone hassling Louisa, because she has a big decision to make. She jumps the right way, the rest of you are going to be feeling even more fucking sorry for yourselves than usual, so give her some breathing space. And second, leave Ho alone too. He’s going to be doing an important job for me while the rest of you are busy with the usual crap, because that’s all you’re good for. Everything clear? Grand.” He clapped his hands, then rubbed them together like a vicar. “And they say I don’t know how to inspire the troops. Now, I’ve been told to make sure to use inclusive language when addressing staff. So fuck off, all of you. Not you.”
This meant Ho.
The rest of them fucked off, Ash asking, “We went upstairs for that?”
“Yep. Today’s been a good day,” said Lech. He glanced at Louisa. “Mysterious phone calls, cryptic comments. What’s your big decision about?”
“He’s yanking your chain,” Louisa said, disappearing into her office and kicking the door shut.
“One for all, all for one,” Lech muttered.
“Don’t you start,” Shirley said, and clumped off down the stairs.
First visit or not, River knew an interesting fact about the college, and specifically the centre of Russian studies it housed. This had come, of course, from his grandfather.
“The centre’s first director was the man who recruited Guy Burgess.”
“For which side?” River had asked.
“A good question, but do be careful in whose company you ask it. Skins are still thin in some areas. Burgess and his pals left scars that will never heal.”
Now, to Erin, River said, “So Stan—”
“Sta
“. . . Okay. This Stam, he’s a fellow of the college?”
“Well, he’s a fixture. He has dining rights and uses the library, though whether that’s because he has official status or because the librarian doesn’t want to bar the door to him, I’ve no idea. He’s writing a book I expect. And he was very interested in this project, your grandfather’s library. They worked together, back in the day.”
“So he was in the Service.”
“Yes. That is, he’s never actually come out and said so. They don’t, do they? But he worked with David, he made that clear. Not as a contemporary—I mean, he’s old, but . . .”
But not that old. Fair enough. “Was anyone else helping?”
“If there were, I’d not have been so quick to point the finger. I mean James, the librarian, he has oversight, obviously. But all the work, the organisation, has been left to me, and Stam’s been my only help. Sorting through books, finding the right place on the shelves. Believe it or not, it wasn’t all straightforward.”
“No, I didn’t—”
“There was the crew who delivered the boxes, of course, but they arrived sealed up. And nobody could have known what was in each box. Even if they knew what they were looking for.”
River said, “Yes, but. Presumably they were the same crew who packed the boxes at the other end. It’s possible that the missing book—”
“
“—never got as far as your library in the first place.”
“That would be my preferred outcome,” Erin said.
“Don’t worry. Nobody’s going to be blaming you.”
“You’ve probably forgotten I mentioned this,” she said. “But I used to work at the Park. Trust me, if anything happened, someone’s going to get blamed.”
An interesting thought occurred to River: that the person who had supervised the packing of the books in the first place was his mother. “What kind of name is Stam, anyway?”
“Short for Stamoran. Charles Stamoran. But nobody calls him Charles.”
“I’d better meet him,” he said.
“Which is why we’re heading to the dining hall.”
For lunch, which sounded like a treat—lunch at an Oxford college—but turned out not that different from lunch at a department store. John Lewis, say. A spacious dining area, modern, with long tables and matching chairs. The walls boasted big windows, offering views of the rest of the college: buildings arranged around a small area which, because this was Oxford, was a quadrangle, though anywhere else would be a lawn, some flower beds, a few trees, a litterbin. The buildings weren’t terribly old, but then the college wasn’t one of the ancient institutions; a latecomer, it had the tact not to try too hard, and not to pretend to hallowed customs, or traditions steeped in time. As for the food, you helped yourself from a buffet: lasagna, vegetarian moussaka, baked potatoes, roast meats, salads. Individual trifles in plastic pots. Water, fruit juices, Coke. Then you processed past a till, collecting cutlery from plastic troughs. He offered to pay, but Erin was already proffering a card to the woman totting up their choices. “He’s here,” she said, as she hoisted her tray. “Far end of the room. Sitting by himself.”
“Let’s join him.”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“It’ll look weird if you don’t. But maybe leave before I do?”
