I turned to stare at him. A well-dressed man, wearing an expensive cravat and shiny top hat, immaculately brushed shoes, and a heavy grey overcoat. He bowed his head slightly in greeting as I looked. Handsome, clean shaven, about fifty years of age but with an air of strength about him. And a thin scar on his cheek. Despite his years, no one would ever consider him to be old. A faint air of eau-de-cologne hung around him as it does those who spend time and money on their appearance.
'Do you mean to say you didn't recognise me?'
It was Lefevre, now as elegant as he was scruffy before, as well manicured as he had been unshaven, as bourgeois as he had been plebeian. Only the eyes, pale and questing, and the scar seemed to remain from the person I had encountered the previous evening.
I shook my head. 'Oh, my Lord,' he said quietly. 'This is going to be hard work.'
And without any further comment, he turned and walked out onto the station forecourt. I followed, as I supposed I was meant to, getting angrier by the minute. I walked up behind him and grabbed him by the arm. He shook it off and murmured, 'Not here, you idiot!' and continued walking onto platform three, where a train stood, hissing away. Twirling his cane in a nonchalant fashion, he walked up to the first-class carriages and got in. I followed him into an empty compartment and waited while he went out to discuss his baggage with a porter. Then he came back in, shut the door, pulled down the blinds and sat opposite me.
'Don't be so angry,' he said, reverting to English. 'You look as though you are about to explode.'
'For two pins I would get straight off this train and go to work,' I said. 'You are behaving in a most uncivil fashion and . . . and . . .' I knew how childish I sounded even before I had got a few words out.
'So have a good cry,' Lefevre said, equably but unsympathetically. 'I'm no more happy about your presence than you are, I assure you. But it seems that we must work together.'
'Doing what, for heaven's sake?' I cried. 'Just tell me what I am doing here, and why?'
'Do keep your voice down, please,' he said wearily.
There was a sudden bustle on the station, and whistles. The train gave a shudder and, in a cloud of steam and with an abominable squeaking, it lurched forward a few inches, then a few inches more. We were under way – although where to I did not know.
Lefevre ignored me as the train drew out of the dingy, smoky station and into the light of morning. 'I love trains,' he said. 'I always feel safe on them. I've never understood people who find them frightening or dangerous.'
He fell silent, watching the streets of Paris pass slowly by until we came to the outlying fortifications and into the countryside beyond. Then he gave a slight sigh, and turned his attention to me.
'You are feeling indignant and angry, is that it?'
I nodded. 'Wouldn't you be, in my situation?'
'No. At your age I had been fighting in a war for nearly two years. However, as you want all of these unpleasant emotions dissipated, and I need you to be calm and able to concentrate for the next few weeks . . .'
'The next few
'Do try and keep quiet for a while,' he said. 'I will explain as best I can. Then you must decide on your course of action. When we arrive at our destination you can choose either to get on the next train back to Paris, or you can stay with me. Mr Wilkinson evidently desires that you choose the latter option. From your performance so far I would prefer the former.
'To begin at the beginning. You have been chosen for special qualities which have not yet manifested themselves to me to become what used to be called an intelligencer, and is now rather vulgarly called a spy. Britain is alone in the world, much envied and resented for her wealth and the vastness of her Empire. Many wish to tear her down. She must be self-reliant and can count no one as her friend. She must be aware of everything, and able to sow discord among her enemies. That, in brief, is to be your job.'
I stared at him. Surely this was some sort of bad joke?
'Silence, at last,' he continued. 'You are learning. If Mr Wilkinson decides the national interest is best served by continental peace, you will endeavour – in your small but allotted way – to accomplish it. If he suddenly changes his mind and decides a war is necessary, you will try to set neighbour against neighbour. And above all you will try to discover who is thinking what and when.'
'Me?'
'Good question. A very good question. You are, obviously, unsuited. But perhaps you have some qualities that might make you useful.'
'And those are?'
'Money.'
'I beg your pardon?'
