BOOK THREE

Chapter 81

Runciman was almost too much for Reginald to bear.

Cuthbert had had his faults, but had been able to rouse himself to some sort of passion about British interests and international affairs. Runciman was almost to urbane to draw breath. He smoked endlessly, through a long black cigarette holder. He had lazy eyes, a long nose and a tiny moustache. He was imperturbable. He yawned when their aeroplane had hit a chilly downdraft over some mountains. Reginald was used to yawns from Cuthbert, but this was quite another matter. Cuthbert’s indifference had been an affectation. Runciman’s was innate.

On the aeroplane, Runciman had made things very clear to Reginald.

“You see, my boy, it’s quite simple. All our negotiation will be a show. We’ve already talked to the German Foreign Office and asked them to give us a list of their demands. We’ve assured them that we are going to press Benes into two dimensions to accept them. Classic diplomacy. We go, we lie, we return. We hint to Hitler what we might do – fight. We hint to Benes what we might not do.” Another yawn. “Fi-ight.”

As Runciman dozed, Reginald’s hands kept wandering over the armrests of his humming seat. The image of his tiny little brother, in a garden shed, turning blue, kept coming back to him. It was accompanied by a question, which he tried to bat away with all the mental hands he could summon, which was enough for a hall-full of riotous applause.

But the question made it through anyway:

What am I doing here?

He glanced over at Runciman’s dozing profile. He saw that the older man had fallen asleep holding a cigarette, still burning in its holder, between two fingers. Reginald reached out and took it, to put it out.

“I say, old fellow,” murmured Runciman, not opening his eyes. “You want one, just ask.”

“Sorry,” said Reginald. “I thought you were done.”

Runciman grunted, turning to the window. Reginald stabbed out the cigarette. He remembered a time, as an undergraduate, when he had tried to smoke for a week, and had been driving when his cigarette fell from his lips into his groin, scalding his testicles, and he had felt trapped panic at his need to keep his eyes on the road, as well as to stop the burning…

Reginald sighed, closing his eyes. If I ever figure out the point of these random little visions…