Mightier Than the Sword Read online

Giles opened the envelope with trembling fingers and pulled out a set of black and white photographs. He studied them for a few moments before he said, “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’m not sure I understand you.”

  “I just don’t believe Karin was working for the Stasi.”

  “Then who else can it have been?” said the chief whip. “Even if she wasn’t on their payroll, God knows what pressure they must have put her under.”

  “You have to believe me, Bob, Karin just wasn’t like that. I realize I’ve made a complete fool of myself and let the government and my family down badly. But one thing I’m certain of, Karin is not to blame.”

  “I must confess, it’s the first time the Stasi have used photographs. They’ve only ever sent tapes in the past. I’ll have to brief the Foreign Office immediately.”

  “I can assure you, we never discussed any government business,” said Giles. “And if anything, she was even more frightened of being caught than I was.”

  The chief whip raised an eyebrow. “Nevertheless, I have to deal with the here and now. I’m assuming these photographs are already in the hands of one of the tabloids, so you’d better prepare yourself for an unpleasant phone call. And I have only one piece of advice, Giles—tell Gwyneth before the news breaks.”

  “Should I resign?” said Giles, as he gripped the edge of the desk to try to stop his hands shaking.

  “That’s not for me to decide. But don’t do anything too hasty. At least wait until you’ve seen the PM. And let me know the moment the press get in touch with you.”

  Giles took one more look at some of the photos of himself and Karin, and still refused to believe it.

  * * *

  “How could you, Giles? To fall for such an obvious honey trap,” said Gwyneth. “Especially after Harry told you what happened to him in Moscow.”

  “I know, I know. I couldn’t have been more stupid. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.”

  “Didn’t you give me or your family one moment’s thought when this little tart was seducing you?”

  “She wasn’t a tart,” said Giles quietly.

  Gwyneth was silent for some time before she asked, “Are you saying you knew this woman before all this happened?”

  “She was my interpreter.”

  “So it was you who seduced her, and not the other way around?”

  Giles made no attempt to contradict her. It would have been one lie too many.

  “If you’d been set up, or drunk, or just made a fool of yourself, Giles, I might have been able to live with it. But you’d clearly given it some thought before…” She stopped mid-sentence and rose from her chair. “I’m going down to Wales this evening. Please don’t try to get in touch with me.”

  Giles sat alone as dusk settled over Smith Square and considered the consequences of having told Gwyneth the truth. Not much point if Karin had been nothing more than a Stasi whore. How easy it would have been for him to tell his wife that Karin was just a tart, a one-night stand, that he didn’t even know her name. So why hadn’t he? Because the truth was, he’d never met anyone quite like her before. Gentle, humorous, passionate, kind, and bright. Oh so bright. And if she didn’t feel the same way about him, why did she fall asleep in his arms? And why did she make love with him again when they woke in the morning, when she could so easily have stolen away in the night, having done her job? Instead, she chose to take just as big a risk as him and was probably suffering the consequences every bit as much as he was.

  * * *

  Every time the phone rang, Giles assumed it would be a journalist on the other end of the line—We are in possession of some photographs, Sir Giles, and wondered if you’d care to comment …

  The phone rang, and he reluctantly picked it up.

  “There’s a Mr. Pengelly on the line,” said his secretary.

  Pengelly. It had to be Karin’s father. Was he also involved in the setup? “Put him through,” said Giles.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Giles. My name is John Pengelly. I’m calling to thank you for your kindness in helping my daughter when you were in East Berlin.” The same gentle West Country burr. “I’ve just read the letter from Karin that you kindly forwarded. It’s the first I’ve had from her in months. I’d almost given up hope.”

  Giles didn’t want to tell him why that hope was likely to be short-lived.

  “I write to Karin and her mother every week, but I never know how many letters get through. Now you’ve met her, I feel more confident, and will contact the Home Office again.”

  “I’ve already spoken to the Home Office department that’s responsible for immigration. However—”

  “That’s very kind of you, Sir Giles. My family and I are in your debt, and you’re not even my MP.”

  “Can I ask you a personal question, Mr. Pengelly?”

  “Yes, of course, Sir Giles.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that Karin could be working for the Stasi?”

  “No, never. She detests them even more than I do. In fact I keep warning her that her unwillingness to cooperate with the authorities could be the reason they won’t grant her a visa.”

  “But they gave her a job as an interpreter at an international conference.”

  “Only because they were desperate. Karin wrote in her letter there were over seventy delegates from more than twenty countries, and she felt very lucky that she was allocated to you.”

  “Not so lucky, because I have to warn you that the press might have got hold of some photographs showing the two of us together, that at best can be described as unfortunate, and at worst—”

  “I can’t believe it,” Mr. Pengelly eventually managed. “Karin is normally so cautious, she never takes risks. What came over her?”

  “She is in no way to blame, Mr. Pengelly,” said Giles. “It was entirely my fault, and I must apologize to you personally, because if the press find out you’re Karin’s father, they’ll make your life hell.”

  “They did that when I married her mother,” said Pengelly, “and I’ve never regretted it.”

  It was Giles’s turn to remain silent, as he thought how to respond. “The truth is quite simple, Mr. Pengelly, and I haven’t even been able to share it with my wife.” He paused again. “I fell in love with your daughter. If I could have avoided it, I most certainly would have and, let me assure you, I am quite willing to go through the same pain you must have endured just to be with her. What makes it worse, I don’t even know how she feels about me.”

  “I do,” said Pengelly.

  * * *

  The call came on a Saturday afternoon, just after four o’clock. It quickly became clear that the Sunday People had an exclusive, although Giles accepted that by midnight most editors would be resetting their front pages.

  “I assume you’ve seen the photographs we have in our possession, minister?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Do you wish to make a statement?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “Will you be resigning from the government?”

  “No comment.”

  “How has your wife reacted to the news? We understand she’s gone to stay with her parents in Wales.”

  “No comment.”

  “Is it true you’re getting divorced?”

  Giles slammed down the phone. He couldn’t stop shaking as he looked up the chief whip’s home number.

  “Bob, it’s Giles. The story will break in tomorrow’s Sunday People.”

  “I’m so sorry, Giles. For what it’s worth, you were a damned good minister and will be sorely missed.”

  Giles put down the phone, only one word ringing in his ears—were. You were a damned good minister. He took a sheet of House of Commons paper from the letter rack in front of him and began to write.

  Dear Prime Minister,

  It is with great regret …

  * * *

  Giles entered the Privy Council office on Whitehall so he could avoid the scrum of Fleet