Commons at three. We shall say
two
o’clock, directly after my luncheon, in my office at the House. I don’t expect you to waste time lunching.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.” Carmichael suppressed a childish urge to stick out his tongue just because Normanby couldn’t see him.
“And you’d better have what I need by then, Carmichael. We just can’t be having this kind of thing happening the week before there’s a major international conference. It looks bad. There are foreign journalists here already.”
“Yes, sir. I know.”
“And since you’re coming round, I want a report on the Japs as well. Guy seems to think they’re the biggest threat to the British Empire, now the Russians are out of it, not to mention that they now have a direct border with the Reich.” Normanby sounded peevish.
“What do you want on the Japanese, sir?”
“Oh, just a general overview, whatever’s getting Guy’s knickers in a twist, whether they’re actually a potential threat to Burma and Malaya or whether that’s all hot air. This Scythia thing. Bring it along at two.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. Sir Guy hasn’t spoken to me about the Japs, but I’ll—” Carmichael realized he was talking to the empty air; Mark Normanby had hung up. He put the phone down and gritted his teeth. He picked up the left-hand phone, the internal Watch Offices line, and dialed.
“Ogilvie,” Ogilvie said brightly.
“Carmichael, Ogilvie. Big Wheels himself has taken an interest; I have to present your report to him at two. So see I have it by half past one, could you?”
Even through the phone line, Carmichael could hear Ogilvie’s sharp intake of breath. “But I have to interview!”
“Take as many people as you like to help you this morning, just concentrate on this and let me have as much as you can. I know I can count on you.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will. I’ll stop wasting your time and let you get on with it.”
Carmichael clicked the receiver down and stared at his Grimshaw print, the one bit of light and color in the room, which was otherwise all maroon leather and dark wood. He dialed again.
“Fanshaw, Foreign.”
“Ah, Inspector Fanshaw. Carmichael here. I want a general précis of the Japanese situation, with especial attention to whether they pose a threat to the Empire in the East and the Scythia thing. I need it on my desk by one-thirty.”
“The Scythia thing?” Fanshaw echoed. “You mean the proposed buffer state? That’s very controversial.”
Carmichael hadn’t heard of it before. “Prepare me a detailed brief on it, and on the Japanese threat to the Empire, by one-thirty.”
“Yes, sir,” Fanshaw replied.
As he put the receiver down, Carmichael guessed that Fanshaw would be cursing him for the disruption of his ordinary Wednesday morning routine much as he was cursing Normanby. Fanshaw would no doubt get his Far East bods to write the reports, and he would curse Fanshaw and that, he supposed, was the secret of a chain of command. Having put out the morning’s fires, Carmichael settled down to a steady morning’s work on the conference.
Fanshaw brought his reports up himself, while Carmichael was just finishing an egg sandwich at his desk.
His secretary, Miss Duthie, peered around the door. “Mr. Fanshaw, sir,” she said. “Shall I bring tea?”
Carmichael hastily stuffed the remnants of his sandwich into his mouth and stood to greet his subordinate. “Tea would be lovely,” he mumbled, swallowing. “China tea all right for you, Fanshaw?”
“Thank you, sir, yes, and I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Fanshaw said, coming in. He was a neat little man with a walrus moustache. He had two folders under his arm, one beige and one blue. “I thought I’d better come up myself.”
“Well, sit down and tell me about it,” Carmichael said, pushing away his papers. “Tea for two, Miss Duthie.”
Miss Duthie vanished. She had come from a very respectable agency at