Free After the Fine Weather by Michael Gilbert

Piers?”
    “Nice to hear your voice, Charles,” said Piers Marrinder, First Secretary of the British Embassy at Vienna. “What can I do for you?”
    “Is Uncle Horace there?”
    “He’s in his room.”
    “What’s he doing?”
    “Last time I was in there he was gnawing his nails.”
    “I meant, is he tied up with anyone?”
    “No, he’s quite alone. Would you like me to put you through?”
    “That was the idea.”
    “When you’ve finished talking to him, ask the switchboard to put you back to me.”
    “All right, but why?”
    “I met a girl at a British Council drink party last night, called Penelope. She said she knew you at Oxford.”
    “I knew three girls called Penelope at Oxford.”
    “This one’s got bronze-coloured hair, and a tiny, tiny little mole in the middle of her shoulder blades.”
    “Oh, that one.”
    “Was she – did you find her forthcoming – you know what I mean?”
    “I know exactly what you mean. And the answer’s no.”
    “Oh. Well, I’d better put you through.”
    “Good morning, sir,” said Charles. “I was ringing to find out if you’d read my yesterday’s dispatch.”
    “Yes,” said Sir Horace Lowry cautiously, “I read it.”
    “I didn’t intend to discuss it – not on the telephone–”
    “Naturally,” said Sir Horace. They were both perfectly well aware that the line on which they were speaking was an open one and that everything they said was being recorded verbatim, and probably translated into three different languages.
    “What I did wonder was whether the commercial aspects of it had struck you. I hardly had time in my preliminary report to stress them, but–”
    “I hadn’t thought about that, no. But now that you mention it, I think you’re right. There are bound to be trade repercussions. I don’t know a lot about that side myself. Would you like me to send our commercial adviser?”
    “I think it might be an idea, sir. You’ve got a new man, haven’t you?”
    “Evelyn Fiennes. He came out last month. He used to be in Ankara.”
    “I should think he’d be just the sort of man we’d want,” said Charles. “A good, practical man, I’ve always heard.”
    “Oh, yes. Extremely practical. I’d better give him his marching orders at once. Another twenty-four hours, and he won’t be able to get to you by the direct route.”
    “It looks pretty threatening from here,” said Charles.
    “It’s snowing on the Grossglockner now. They can usually keep the road open for a bit. I’ll tell Evelyn to pack straight away.”
    “Thank you, sir,” said Charles. “I wonder if you could put me back to Piers for a moment.”
    “I heard all that,” said Piers. “I gather you’re pinching Evelyn. Don’t keep him too long.”
    “You should have him back as soon as he’s done his stuff.”
    “Watch out if he tries to get you into a game of liar dice. I owe him thirty-seven pounds already.”
    “That doesn’t mean Evelyn’s crooked. It just means you’re a bad player. There was something I wanted to tell you. I believe I was wrong.”
    “Wrong about what?”
    “About that girl. The one with the mole on her back was forthcoming.”
     
    “There’s a man called Evelyn Fiennes coming out from Vienna,” said Charles at lunchtime that day. “That’s to say, if he doesn’t get stuck on the Grossglockner.”
    Laura looked out of the window. Out of a leaden sky the snowflakes had begun to slip down, fat, lazy, and solid.
    “Who’s he?”
    “He calls himself a commercial counsellor.”
    “When you say he calls himself that, I suppose you mean he’s something quite different.”
    “He’s actually our cloak-and-dagger expert. I’ve never met him but I’m told he’s very experienced.”
    “Secret Service, do you mean?”
    “That sort of thing. I thought he might be a useful man to have around if anything starts. Anything involving us, I mean.”
    “What sort of thing?” It was very cosy in the flat, with its English sofa covers,