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Miller H Caldwell, click here
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An engagement honour
Chapter 22
An Engagement Honour
There was general excitement around the embassy when they learned of my engagement. The female staff asked if there would be an engagement party and I could not give an answer, but by the time Vitaly had heard the news, party planning was well underway.
I telephoned Morag to let her know that on Saturday, as long as she was not working, there would be an engagement party at the embassy. Excited, she let me know that was in order, and she said she would have to look out for a suitable dress.
I was out of my depth at this point. In fact, I pinched myself. It was Wednesday and I hoped to get a dribble of intelligence to please my handlers that evening.
I mentioned the dress issue to one of the embassy wives and she was quick to suggest taking a few dresses over to Morag to see if they would fit. I thought that a good idea and left a message for Morag that there would be a dress drop at her room that evening.
I looked at my watch. It was time to get to the Labadi sports club.
Coming off the court sweating like Derby winners, we all took our salt tablets and started our pints of Guilder beer. We were on our second and final beers when the conversation took an interesting turn.
‘Two of my staff got new cars this week—from the British embassy,’ Morgan said.
‘That’s funny. My secretary got one from them too,’ said vet Kevin.
‘I hear that they sell them off before returning home at the end of their tour,’ said Morgan raising his eyebrows.
‘There should be plenty of offers for the ambassador’s Bentley,’ I suggested and some laughter followed.
‘No,’ said Morgan. ‘It’s not at that level, Ewan. It’s the number fours to sevens that are selling them. They bring out new cars, and after two years get them polished up and sell them on, making a bomb of a profit. The ambassador seems to turn a blind eye to it all. Yet he might have no knowledge of what’s happening.’
My ears were straining to get all the details of how it worked. I felt I had an issue at last.
Willy shook his head. ‘Greed and exploitation, that’s what it is. Need to get some of the embassy staff onto my pews.’ A nervous laugh came from the gathered agnostics.
‘Anyway, they’re poorly paid at that level. Guess they see it as a perk,’ said a dreamy-eyed Roger. ‘I see the cars coming in with their CD stickers at the port. Not so many go out.’
On Thursday morning I described the scenario to Vitaly. He was extremely interested. He told me it would put some bargaining power in their hands the next time they met the British delegation.
‘Bargaining power is that not blackmail?’
‘Call it what you want Robert, it’s good intelligence, well done.’
I accepted his praise and felt I had not damaged the Crown too much. At least if my plan went well I could explain it better to the British High Commissioner.
That night I was back at the hospital. Morag confirmed that two ladies had arrived with a collection of dresses the evening before. ‘Darling you clearly did not indicate what size I was.’
‘So none fitted?’
‘One was so big it could have fitted two Russian grandmothers.’
I sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Cut to the chase, did you get one to fit?’
‘Stay there,’ she demanded. She went into the bathroom and changed. She came out in shining patent black shoes, a necklace and a bright red dress. On her left hand was the glint of the engagement ring sitting proudly in place.
‘You look gorgeous. I wish I had my camera.’
‘The dress is not mine to keep but it certainly seems to suit my hair.’
‘You will steal the show,’ I said with sincerity.
‘I should, shouldn’t I? After all it’s our engagement party.’
She turned around in front of the mirror. She flicked her hair back. She seemed very satisfied with her dress.
‘Robert, can you undo the zip at the back?’
I had found a way to be useful.
Later that night we made tentative arrangements for our wedding. My father was the obvious choice of a participating clergyman. And there could be a reception at the Bute halls at the university. Or perhaps dad could partake at her parent’s church, St Andrew’s, in Motherwell. We could not decide. A date had to be arranged but that did not worry us. We’d wait till nearer Morag’s graduation. But time was moving on. There were only twenty-one days of Morag’s placement at the Korle Bu teaching hospital left.
The engagement party was wonderful. The Accra City Brass Band played high life music in the well-lit garden and there were guests from the Romanian, Polish, Czech, Cuban and Chinese embassies. They had been told of the engagement party and so a collection of presents appeared from them. A silk dress for Morag and a silk tie for me from China; an invitation to stay at the Bucharest Ramada Parc hotel for a week for two from Romania. Then came the speeches. The Russian Ambassador was the first to speak.
‘Comrades, it is a pleasure to have the services of Robert Harvie. A fluent Russian speaker from Scotland who has served the red flag with dignity and honour.’
I caught Morag’s eye as this tribute progressed amid some applause. She seemed mesmerised by the pomposity on show.
‘And so it gives me pleasure in awarding Comrade Harvie with the Lenin Medal for outstanding service rendered to the State. Robert, step forward please.’
I did as I was told and stood before Ambassador Misha Leskov. He shook my hand amid more applause then turned me round to fasten the medal with a red and yellow edged ribbon around my neck.
‘And a gift for his fiancée. Something which will be of no interest to your Robert. ‘Morag, a box of Chocolate Gingerbread from Tula.’ The Russians’ present brought vigorous clapping, knowing this was indeed a special chocolate treat.
Then the Polish Ambassador stepped forward—Bogna Poczekaj-Ryszczuk. She was dressed in a mint-green two-piece suit of some light material, suitable for the climate. Her face was oval and her fair hair lay straight. She was a career woman, probably heading for a more significant posting before too long.
‘It is with great pleasure we learned of this romance, and it is not only a unique occasion but a rather rare one too, in diplomatic services. You are both young, but you have achieved much in your short lives. Morag we need women doctors and I know wherever you may serve in the future you will be able to support your husband and fulfil a valuable role yourself. We would also wish to be associated with Comrade Robert’s work and so I now ask you to come forward to receive the Bronze Polish Cross of Merit for your exemplary duty to communism.’
I was overwhelmed with these unsuspected honours, though all I really wanted was to get back to Scotland, marry Morag and end this bizarre stage of my life. Yet I did not show this in my heart-felt responses to their generosity.
Food was laid out on a side table and everyone had a plate in one hand and a glass of wine perched nearby on the table or on one of the bookcases which lined the room. We tried to stay together as much as possible. Morag’s ring shone a clear bright light whenever it caught the shining candelabra. All the ladies wanted to see and touch it. Those with more than a spattering of English spoke to Morag, while I attracted the Russian speakers.
Ambassador Leskov struck a coin on a glass. He immediately got our attention.
‘Forgive me. There is just one more announcement to make. How could I have forgotten?’ The guests stared at each other, wondering what was on his mind.
‘I wish to inform you that Robert Harvie has been promoted and will forthwith be located in Bolivia. His fiancée will join him after they are married in Scotland.’
Thunderous applause resounded for some time. After all, the Russian ambassador had found an excellent agent and was ready to exploit him further.
The brass band had had their break and they struck up some strangely familiar Scottish airs. I suspected some of the band had been schooled at Mons, or at Sandhurst and had memories of celebrating Burn’s Night in the barracks.
We danced on the lawn in each other’s arms and Morag whispered in my ear. ‘I don’t like their plans for you Robert.’
I buried my face in her hair as eyes turned discreetly away from the loving couple. ‘Nor do I, but my plan is being thought through.’
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Caught in a Cold War Trap
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