Sitting there, the man had no way of seeing the car arriving at the front. This was a big black SUV, which, if its eco-fucking swagger didn’t get the message across, its motorbike outriders surely did: Here came government, and it didn’t care who knew it. Diana Taverner didn’t always travel with full metal kit, but when she did, she wore it large—this was London Rules: When vulnerable, act like a gorilla with a cluster headache. And if anyone shows concern, take them off at the knees.
Stepping out, wielding an umbrella, she walked alone through St. Len’s gate and round the side to the back. Lamb was visible immediately, and it struck her that there were probably places on the globe where he might be taken for a figure of worship, like a giant toad in its grotto. Peasants would leave pebbles at his feet, in return for his pearls of wisdom. As she drew nearer, she heard him fart.
Lowering her umbrella, she joined him on the bench without speaking.
After a while, he raised the cigarette to his lips, drained it in a single inhalation, and flicked the stub away. It bounced off David Cartwright’s headstone with a scattering of sparks. As he breathed out smoke, he stared at her feet, shod in black leather, and drier than his own. “Nice boots.”
“All these years, and I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you comment on anything I’ve been wearing. Are you developing a footwear fetish?”
“Is that when you get a shoehorn?”
“Yes, that’s more you.” She looked around. The tree offered shelter, but there was a steady dripping to her left. Edging away from it would have meant moving closer to Lamb. “Why risk letting a compliment stand when you can turn it into an off-colour joke?”
He nodded thoughtfully, as if she’d offered an unexpected insight. “You know,” he said, “I’m going to miss our little chats.”
“You’re leaving us, Jackson? Hanging up your spyglass and code book?” She brushed at her hair, where water had landed. “Well, that is a nice surprise. But I hope you’re planning a swisher farewell do than this. You should get Standish to organise something. Have a whip-round, I’ll personally double the takings. That should get you most of half of a packet of ten.”
“Which is about what you ponce off me every time we meet. But no, I’m not going anywhere.” He turned to look her in the face. “You are.”
“If you’re going gnomic on me, I’ll take one of those cigarettes now.” She waited a beat. “No? Have it your way. I’ll bring my own next time.”
“One of my joes was killed, Diana. And one’s at death’s door. You think I’ll let that slide?”
“Oh, that’s why we’re here? Yes, of course it is.” She looked around again, confirming they were alone, then said, “I’m sorry about your losses, they’re appalling, but you know what? Shit happens. Sometimes for a reason. The reason here was, I had an outcome in mind, and your crew, not for the first time, stepped in front of it. I’m not accountable for that. But I understand your anger, and trust me, I’ll do what I can for the families involved. A death in service payment, for example. We won’t make difficulties there, despite the, ah, non-curricular nature of your agents’ activities. And I’m taking your hint about meeting here, too. St. Leonard’s.” She nodded towards the headstones. Here was where the Service dead lay, provided they’d died in good standing. Slough House was not good standing. “I’ll pull strings. Have the burial here.”
“You’re the reason she needs burying at all, Diana. And creative accounting isn’t going to cut it this time. No, you’ll pay this bill in full.”
“Do tell.”
“I want you gone.”
She barked a laugh. His gaze didn’t falter. Her own broke away, then returned. “Me, gone? You’re forgetting who you’re talking to. There’s a reason I’m First Desk while you’re still working the bins. You’re clever, I get that, and you were a legend once. But you did all your fighting in back alleys, while I got my black belt playing chess with menaces in Whitehall dining rooms. So I’ll give you a couple of minutes while you get your righteous anger off your chest, and you have my permission to use the biggest swears in your toolbox, but once we’re finished I’ve a meeting with the PM, and what we’ll talk about is above your pay grade, but I’ll tell you this much. I’ll be coming out of that meeting stronger than I went in. So me going, no. That’s not on anyone’s agenda.”
