Chapter nine

Kinspit – Hardacre’s room

                

Hardacre was packing and John was hovering.

‘Sir, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you’re very distracting’

John smiled vaguely.

‘Sorry – I thought I was being helpful’

Hardacre considered this.

‘How exactly, sir? Or is this an “informal briefing”?’

Hardacre was packing clothes into a small bag. This had been going on for about twenty minutes, but the bag still didn’t appear to be full.

‘I’m just checking that you’re happy… ‘ John shook his head, ‘…no, I mean, confident… about what you need to do’

Hardacre picked some formal black shoes from his shoe rack. The shoes on the rack were of all possible styles, and they were all neatly arranged, but only some of them were expertly polished.  He dropped the chosen shoes into the bag.  It produced a small, neat, magical click.

‘It’s a diplomatic mission, sir.  I have done them before’.

John nodded and smiled.

‘Yes, of course. It’s just that…’

Hardacre peered up at John.

‘What sir?’

‘Well…’ John’s voice trailed off.

‘That… you promised me no more missions for the foreseeable future. Is that it, sir?’

John stared at a point in the wall, and frowned.

‘I did. But this is different’.

‘It always is, sir’.

Hardacre walked over to an elegant wooden desk and began to sort through papers. He picked up a big red book and placed it on the desk. The conversation was lapsing.

‘Well…’ said John, ‘this wasn’t what I intended’.

Hardacre opened the book and slipped a sheet of white, almost pristine, paper on to the front page. He leant over and picked up a small bottle of green ink. Unscrewing it, he peered inside it and sniffed at it.  Satisfied, he took a quill pen and dipped the tip in it. Only then did he look up again at John.

‘Have I complained, sir?’

John leant against the bedroom wall and sighed.

‘Of course you haven’t Laurence. But, as usual, I’m resorting to mind reading’

‘Literal or metaphorical, sir?’

‘The harder of the two, of course – whichever that is’

Hardacre took the pen and began to write on the loose page in his book. His handwriting was compact, elegant and economical. As always, John was very impressed.

‘Can I speak openly, sir?’ asked Hardacre.

John’s brow furrowed.

‘Laurence, please stop asking that question. What do you think?’

‘I think that the answer is not a straightforward as you pretend to yourself that it is, sir’

John was sensible enough to abandon this line of conversation.

‘Yes, speak openly,’ he commanded.

‘I’m not too concerned about my mission, sir. It’s unusual, but not unprecedented. I’m more concerned about what might happen here’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t trust Ridgeway, and because Captain Eistedd may become a distraction’

‘Who – Glynn?’

‘Yes, as I said – Captain Eistedd of the Ethian secret service’

Hardacre paused for a beat.

‘I’m guessing, sir, that the Captain is already a member of the Old Ethian Club, yes?’

‘Of course. Ridegway vouched for him. He’ll crave the company, of his compatriots, I’d imagine’

‘And that you have already agreed to have dinner with him, sometime this week?’

John grinned.

‘I have no idea what could be wrong with that. He is the liaison officer…’

‘And he is charming, very beautiful and has deep blue eyes’

‘Has he? I must look a bit more closely next time I’m with him’

Hardacre frowned deeply.

‘If you can’t see that you’re being set up, then there’s not much more that I can say, sir’

John bristled.

‘You’re so cynical – such a typical diplomat.’

‘I’m only saying, sir – with all due respect, that you’re not always good at keeping secrets to yourself. A few nights drinking with the lovely captain and you may well have fed Ridgeway some extremely useful information.’

Hardacre paused and dipped his pen in the ink again.  John assumed an expression of hurt pride.

‘I suggest that, however sceptical you feel now, sir, you know that what I say is true’

‘If you’re so certain then perhaps we should have a little bet …’

‘A bet, sir?’

Hardacre arched  his eyebrows very slightly.

‘A wager. If you can ever prove that I’ve told Glynn something that I shouldn’t then… umm… you can have my best morning jacket – you’ve always coveted it avariciously’.

Hardacre waited for a moment and made the familiar face that indicated to John that he was being very vulgar.

‘If that is your wish, sir…’

John scowled.

‘It is a little loose on me, of course’ Hardacre added, as an afterthought, glancing up at John.

‘I’ll have it altered for you’ promised John wearily.

‘Thank you, sir. I very much look forward to wearing it at the winter ball’

‘You have so little faith in me. I’d find it worrying, if you knew what you were talking about’.

‘Whatever you say, sir’ murmured Hardacre, turning back to his writing.

‘It’s a deal, then’ said John.

‘That’s not a deal, sir’ said Hardacre, ‘it’s a gift’ 

Hardacre looked up, but John had gone. He sat there, immersed in his thoughts for a few moments, and then bent down to write on the magic paper in his steady, utterly reliable, hand.