![]() There was also much to stiffen my backbone, I now see, as he egged me on in the quest to expose an illegality or other act of horror that exercised us, and really put the boot in. ![]() ![]() “I have written,” he assured, following a request to be introduced to a retired British spy, “asking whether they wd agree to talk to you off the record, for deep background on the ethics, culture and procedures of the two services.” This often came in with expressions of hope (“that somehow the country will rid itself of the truly wicked influence of Johnson and his gruesome companions”). There was, too, quite a bit on the state of modern, lawless Britain, not least if I needed his help on an obscure point being researched. A letter might relate to a social engagement, or a local concern (“Let’s ponder it over a better hamburger than the is pushing these days, my last one tasted of cat”) or reflect on a gathering, such as our US election party in 2008 (“A night for the great-grandchildren, when the world actually became a better place, & a whole lot of the excuses for hatred were rendered redundant.”) There might be a reflection on an encounter (“I found Jon terrifying – simply because I have for so long admired him, and his gift for inquisition”). The JLC envelopes would address many a subject, from the mundane to the very highest affairs of state. “As to ‘darlings’, of course they have all gone, to be replaced by a single tic that has: calling her clients ‘heart’ now and then to remind them that she has one, even if it’s under heavy control.” Heart? Even more absurd, I suggested. The conversation would continue in written form. By then I knew he liked to embellish, my scepticism inducing a giant grin as we tucked into the apple crumble prohibited by spousal diktat. He defended his corner vigorously, insisting that he had, on some unspecified occasion, heard a solicitor use the word. ![]() “No lawyer I’ve known calls their client ‘darling’,” I would explain. This was only a few lines in hundreds of pages, but they were never marked with a little sticky or some such thing, so I would have to read through the entire manuscript, always enthralled (a process that informed my own writing style, picking up the techniques le Carré explained he liked to use to “reel in” the readers). “Usual procedure?” “Usual procedure.”Įach novel featured a horrendous lawyer my role was to confirm that said person was depicted, beclothed, spoke and behaved as an abominable legal character might. Then, every 18 months or so, a new manuscript in tow, he’d appear at the front door, arms extended, hundreds of pages in a box. In later years we did email but that form never offered the anticipation or excitement of hand-delivery. “It wd be great to meet again and schmooze.”įor many years, this was how we communicated – letters delivered by hand, occasionally accompanied by an article, magazine or book. He suggested we might have lunch at the pub, equidistant between our homes. This was the first of dozens of handwritten letters from David across a decade and a half. A few weeks later, a cream-coloured sealed envelope was posted through our letter box, my name in black ink with a big loopy “L” and firmly underlined.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |