Free The Truth by Michael Palin Page A

d’you mean?’ asked Mabbut.
    ‘Well, he has his own agenda. The tar sands aren’t absolutely unpopulated, and in the north-west, by the Yannahook river, there’s a group of bods called the Sahallas. Indians. First Nations, they call them now. Not that many of them and a lot seem quite happy to go and work in the casinos in Calgary. But there’s a hard core that money won’t shift. These people are like a magnet to Hamish and he’s been up there, well, how can I put it, “advising them of their rights”.’
    This riled Mabbut. ‘That’s fair enough, isn’t it? If it’s their land.’
    ‘Well, in theory, yes.’
    ‘It’s their moral right.’
    ‘Forgive me, but I’ve had this argument with Hamish many times. Yes, these people have rights. But there’s an awful lot of land and very few of them living on it. Our view is that they can still lead decent lives, uninterfered with, on part of the land, and let the rest be . . . er . . . developed. That way everyone benefits and they get a damned decent royalty for their people.’
    Mabbut took another sip of what was, even in his limited experience, a very fine champagne.
    ‘You know Hamish Melville, then?’
    ‘Inasmuch as anyone knows Hamish, yes.’
    Rex drank rather delicately, thought Mabbut, for a big man.
    ‘Long ago, in the mists of time, I had the privilege of representing the people of Bletchley and South Beds in Her Majesty’s Parliament. I’d travelled a bit and spoke a couple of languages so I found myself a comfortable little spot in the FCO – Foreign and Commonwealth Office as it then was . . .’
    Mabbut was aware of Krystyna adjusting her position, looking quickly from one of them to the other, and he knew that she was willing the conversation on, as if this shared interest might help them avoid confrontation.
    Rex smoothed a corner of the tablecloth.
    ‘At that time, we’re talking nearly twenty years ago now, Hamish was on the payroll. Roving brief sort of thing. He’d a background in the military and the City – not an unusual combination – and of course he had this wicked charm. So . . .’
    At Rex’s almost subliminal nod more champagne appeared from the gloom.
    ‘He became most useful to us in a number of delicate situations. Hostage talks, raids on installations, that sort of thing. He was very successful, a sort of latter-day T. E. Lawrence. Major – John Major, that is – wanted to bring him into government, quite high up too, but Hamish wasn’t interested. He wasn’t political in any way. And quite possibly because of that he began to pull away from anything official. Rarely came back to the country and from what one could tell he began to use what he’d learnt in a more . . . well . . . international sphere. In ’97 I lost my seat, which was quite arelief to be honest. My wife died the same year, which was also quite a relief.’
    His delivery was finely paced, assured. This was a man who was used to being listened to.
    ‘So, quite suddenly, at the grand old age of fifty-nine and a half, I found myself footloose and fancy free. Like a lot of Tories who got the push in ’97 I picked up a few directorships, dabbled in hedge funds – all sorts of wickedness – and also went back to my first love, which was poodling round the globe. Every now and then our paths would cross, usually in some bar or at a friend’s place. Hamish avoided embassies like the plague. He sort of went native, but he always knew exactly what he was doing.’
    ‘Which was?’
    ‘Helping people everyone else ignored, basically. And making a fair nuisance of himself in the process.’
    ‘Which he’s still doing.’
    ‘As far as I know.’
    Rex looked across at Krystyna. This time it was more than a glance – an unhurried look of unmistakable warmth. He lightly, affectionately, took her hand and with the other summoned a waiter from the shadows.
    ‘Stay for a bite with us?’ he said.
    It was the touch of her hand as much as the ‘us’