Chapter 8 : The Secret Meeting

To Asquith’s obvious relief, Enchantress sailed within hours of the meeting with Burney. The Prime Minister had come to the Adriatic to escape just such events and, worse, Winston, who had shown distinct signs of mellowing under the influence of sea and sun, had put on his “warpaint” once more. The First Lord had invented a transparent excuse to go ashore that evening, which would have meant being left behind as Enchantress steamed away, but Asquith would have none of it; if it came to a direct order, so be it. His holiday was not about to be ruined by Churchill.

                Late on Thursday afternoon, as the ship glided in to a secluded inlet off the Albanian coast, news was received that Burney’s occupation of Scutari had proceeded without incident. To Asquith it looked as if peace — a brittle, uneasy peace, but peace just the same — might be about to engulf the Balkans. He had been pleased at the rapport established with the German Government in attempting to settle the disputes in this benighted peninsula. If, he thought, Britain and Germany could co-operate over this, was there not scope for a mutual and beneficial settlement of the larger issues? At that particular moment, as some sailors gleefully plunged over the side into the translucent water, Asquith could almost convince himself that the international prospects were not at all bad. In that case, he could turn his attention wholeheartedly to the damnable Irish question. The feeling that, with the Albanian business all but settled, one possible cause of friction had been removed was general. Indeed, at dinner that night, the only participant who was out of sorts was Churchill, still fretting at the prohibition from joining Burney’s force.

                Winston’s temper was not ameliorated by the nightly game of bridge. Masterton-Smith took the game seriously; Eddie Marsh tried to; Asquith was enthusiastic, if nothing else. But Winston — Winston was reckless. The flaccid features of the P.M. would regularly dissolve into a hearty grin as Winston committed another cardinal error. Eventually, it was too much for Masterton-Smith, his long-suffering partner.

                ‘But First Lord, you have discarded the knave!’ he declared abjectly after one particularly egregious display.

                Churchill sat upright and growled: ‘The cards I throw away are not worthy of observation or I should not discard them. It is the cards I play on which you should concentrate your attention.’ The First Lord remained in an ill humour for the rest of the evening and was generally left to his own devices. His moods, his fellow travellers realized, were like summer squalls. They could be seen approaching from far off, almost stationary at first, and it looked as if they may never arrive. Then the tempo would quicken, and they would approach with frightening speed. The torrent would be unleashed and they would disappear quickly until, with the re-emergence of the sun, they soon became but a dim memory.

                And so it was that, on the following day, Churchill had completely recovered from his display of petulance and was once more up to mischief. They had moved on to Valona, where a large party of passengers and crew rowed ashore for a picnic. Their appetites were keen, paradoxically in reverse proportion to the amount of energy they had recently expended, so it was only natural that, after lunch, they dozed in the scant shade. Even Asquith found the effort required to pick up his book too great. Churchill however, who had consumed more than anyone, dozed for the shortest period. He seemed incapable of idleness. ‘This simply will not do!’ he demanded. No-one else stirred. Enchantress bobbed lazily in the water, her black hull shimmering; gentle waves sibilantly caressed the beach. The only activity was centred on a group of sailors lethargically playing football further down the beach. Churchill jumped up with a surprisingly agile movement and imploringly inquired, ‘Who will join me?’ Eddie Marsh furtively opened one eye, hoping all the while that the movement would not be noticed, and promptly closed it again. ‘Very well, then!’ and the First Lord of the Admiralty marched alone down to the sailors and gave them his instructions.

                As the crew waded up to their waists into the sea, Winston, his flesh rapidly turning a deeper shade of pink, tumbled into a small boat to direct operations. The P.M. shifted slightly in his canvas chair lifted the straw hat covering his face, peered out, all but blinded by the glare, wondered why the First Lord could not repose with the others, and closed his eyes once more. A glistening bead of perspiration trickled down his temple and, as his oversize head began to collapse to one side under its own weight, the bead dropped off into the sand where it rolled for a short time until the coating it acquired caused it to stop. Soon, as the P.M. began to snore, a small mound would form.

                Having acquired a large net Churchill placed the sailors, upwards of forty of them, at regular intervals along the net and ordered them to walk towards the shore. Rather than resent this intrusion upon their leisure the sailors (for whom the game of football had been organized by the petty officers) were excited and happy, some falling over headlong in to the water, others splashing about. By the time that the net was dragged on shore, the sole contents amounted to a few wriggling, suffocating fish, unaware of the sport they had just provided. Winston immediately took his “catch” to show the dozing group on the beach while the sailors, released from their indenture, returned in a better humour to their compulsory game of football.

                ‘You should have thrown the poor things back!’ entreated Violet, upon being shown the still flapping fish. ‘You did not give them a fighting chance.’

                Such sentiments were anathema to Churchill. ‘A fighting chance! I was only dissuaded at the last minute from depth-charging them with hand grenades.’

                Asquith, awoken comprehensively from his reverie, joined in the “Winston-baiting”: ‘A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm.’

                ‘And there are plenty of dead kings in this part of the world,’ Eddie Marsh ventured undiplomatically. Prince Louis was less than amused.

                Masterton-Smith, continually surprised at Eddie’s ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and not to be outdone by the P.M. when quotations were being uttered, muttered under his breath, ‘Fish not with this melancholy bait, For this fool gudgeon…’

As they were packing up late that afternoon the Prime Minister’s party disturbed something in the bushes behind the beach. A wild pig suddenly darted out, frightening the ladies, whose squeals in turn frightened the pig. Winston, determined that he was going to escape Enchantress at some point on the cruise, now saw his chance. By suborning some of the ship’s officers he was able to present Asquith with a fait accompli. It was known that a destroyer made a regular run from Burney’s force at Antivari down to Corfu for provisions. At the First Lord’s instruction, a wireless message was sent to Burney’s flagship ordering that a run be made the following day. Winston and his group would stay overnight, conduct a wild pig hunt, and catch the others up at Corfu in the destroyer. It was just the kind of interference which would usually cause Battenberg’s blood to boil; but this time, as Prince Louis himself wished to join the hunt, he turned a blind eye. Burney could always be squared later. Asquith, who knew when he was beaten, acquiesced graciously. Besides, there was little mischief Winston could get up to in this secluded spot. Winston-less, Enchantress continued on the journey south.

                The news that a party of such exalted tourists was approaching spread rapidly throughout Corfu. By the time Churchill and Battenberg arrived, some hours behind Enchantress, the reception for the eminent visitors was well under way. Whatever the political leanings of the ruling circles in Athens, there was no doubting the affiliation of the populace in Corfu. Asquith and his group were fêted wherever they wandered. In such an atmosphere, Churchill came to take for granted the fact that he would have no trouble in Athens renegotiating the loan of a British Naval Mission. And, following on from that, it should not be too difficult for Admiral Kerr, once in his post, to persuade the King to follow the agreed line. With Serbia and Greece aligned with the Entente, Bulgaria, in all probability, in the opposite camp, and Roumania still to play for, the position in the Balkans would be, Churchill considered, as satisfactory as it was ever going to be.

                From Corfu Enchantress made her stately way to the Gulf of Corinth. After their days at sea, they were eager again for the activity of the city, their excitement enhanced by the fact that the city was to be Athens. The ship seemed to slow even more as they negotiated the Gulf; it appeared as if they were making no headway at all. On their left the mountains of Acarmania and Ætolia, sloped down to the lagoons and the town of Mesolonghi; on their right stretched the abundant plains of Elis and Achaia, backed by the mountains of the Peloponnesus. Eventually, having had sight of their destination for some time, Enchantress anchored just off the town of Corinth. The party disembarked and, after a short tour through the disappointing ruins of the town, boarded a train for the equally slow journey to Athens. The line ran close to the shore until it reached the small port of Eleusis, before veering inland, passing through olive grounds and dry, stony ground, which gave way reluctantly to mountains. The line skirted the high country and headed north-east around the edge of Mount Ægaleos before turning for the final run to Athens, which now lay due south. The first sight they had of the city was of the Parthenon itself, serenely reflecting the harsh sun. The thrill of this spectacle was, however, soon dissipated by the dreary carriage ride from the station through the compact modern city, much of which had been built in the neo-classical style since Athens had been proclaimed the capital of newly liberated Greece almost eighty years previously. There was a sameness to the architecture which leant an air of artificiality to the city: it was a place neither wholly European nor completely Asiatic, an impression heightened by the omnipresent palm trees and mimosa. There was one other thing: it was far quieter than they had imagined, with just a few trams and even fewer motors to disturb the peace. The carriages pulled up to the Hotel Grand Bretagne, opposite the severe, inelegant Royal Palace. From what he had read of the new Soldier-King, Asquith thought privately that such a Palace was entirely apposite.

                It was felt that, to emphasize the private and unofficial nature of the visit, and in recognition that the British Legation building, although charming, was not designed to accommodate such an entourage, an hotel would be most suitable. Although they could not escape a round of diplomatic functions, with one notable exception, they were in Athens as tourists. Soon after they had completed the formalities, three carriages pulled up at the entrance of the hotel on Syntagma Square. Asquith and his wife and daughter boarded the first; Clementine and Lady Randolph Churchill the second; Marsh and Masterton-Smith the final carriage, and they set off for a tour of the Acropolis. As soon as they were out of sight, Churchill and Battenberg slipped quietly out of the hotel via the Stadium Street exit and hailed a cab for the short journey to the British Legation. While Churchill took in the sights, Battenberg looked nervously around, eventually causing the First Lord to reproach him: ‘Louis, we are paying a call on the Minister. It is a perfectly natural act. I have no doubt that, whatever we do, our every move will be reported. There is no need, unnecessarily, to draw attention to ourselves.’ As the carriage turned out of the antiseptic whiteness of Stadium Street they were met with their first sight of the Legation, nestling in its own gardens in the small square behind the Ministry of Finance. It was as unlike the imposing Embassy in Constantinople, which Churchill knew well, as it was possible to be, being no more than a small, though comfortable, house set in large, cool grounds crowded with pines and false-pepper trees through which dappled sunlight protruded uneasily.

                Although aware of their presence in Athens, the First Lord’s visit was unannounced and took the First Secretary, Henry Beaumont, by surprise. The Minister, Sir Francis Elliot, was renowned for having founded the first golf club in Athens, and he was, at that moment, so occupied. His absence was not calculated to assist Beaumont’s demeanour; the First Secretary was a tall, avuncular man of forty-six, with a slightly ruffled air.

                ‘I presume, Beaumont, you have been informed of the nature and purpose of our visit?’ Churchill inquired after the introductions had been made and they had been seated in Beaumont’s office. Though, to describe it as an “office” was a gross exaggeration for, in reality, it was no more than a small, dusty room, opening out of the Chancery, with one wall lined from floor to ceiling with archives while a door into the Second Secretary’s room took up most of the other wall. As there was not enough room for the three of them to be seated Battenberg stood in the window recess. Beaumont picked up his pipe, clamped it briefly between his teeth as he weighed up the First Lord of the Admiralty, then took hold of the bowl and pointed the stem at his visitor: ‘As I understand it, First Lord, Admiral Tufnell’s mission is to be replaced due to a want of gratitude on behalf of certain circles here.’ Beaumont’s demeanour made it quite clear that he resented the intrusion on his territory.

                Had it not been for the fact that he felt relaxed and at ease, Churchill might have objected to Beaumont’s tone. ‘The Greeks,’ he began patiently, ‘have taken umbrage at the fact that Tufnell is on the retired list whereas Limpus in Constantinople is an active officer. So be it. They are within their rights to object to our nominee. I assume however that you are of opinion that the Mission should remain in British control. Is it not preferable to accommodate the Greeks in this matter rather than see the Mission pass into, say, German hands? We know that certain elements in Berlin are seeking to infiltrate their personnel into the Turkish Mission and it has only been with some difficulty that we have persuaded the Turks to rebuff the German offers of so-called “technical experts”. If we should lose control of both Naval Missions our power to influence events in this region would be lost forever.’

                Beaumont bridled at the suggestion. It was wholly typical of these naval people to think only in terms of might. ‘We should still retain our diplomatic influence, First Lord,’ he retorted.

                ‘Diplomacy by itself is not enough Beaumont, unless one has the power to enforce one’s wishes.’

                ‘Am I to understand that your visit here is in furtherance of your objective to maintain our influence on Aegean naval affairs?’

                ‘If you forgive me for saying so, Beaumont, our diplomatic influence is on the wane in Turkey and depends, in Greece, solely on the outcome of what I believe will be a struggle for power between the King and the Premier. As it stands, I do not like the odds on offer. My knowledge of Venizelos is perfunctory, I admit. I have heard him described as “wily”. That is as may be, but he will need all his wiles in his struggle with the King, so long as Constantine retains the unquestioned support of the army. There is nothing we can do with regard to the army; the navy, however, is another matter. We intend to replace Tufnell with a … a more vigorous officer whose counsel will perhaps carry greater weight.’

                ‘And Tufnell is to be unceremoniously pushed aside?’

                ‘So that is the nature of your grievance?’ Churchill was somewhat relieved that, after all, it had come down to a matter of personal friendship.

                ‘Tufnell has been a faithful servant of the Greeks. He has worked himself to a standstill. Do you think the Greek Navy could have performed so well of late without his assistance? I know for a fact that he, personally, wrote the signal book for the Greek Navy. His health is ruined; he is already on the retired list, and he is to be shunted off with a vote of thanks from the Admiralty and the award of the “Cross of Grand Commander of the Royal Order of the Redeemer” by the Greeks.’ Beaumont’s indignation made plain his view as to what a poor reward this was for services rendered.

                Battenberg, quietly smoking a cigarette in the window recess, was on the point of venturing a comment. Churchill, noticing this, spoke up quickly. ‘I assure you that we are fully appreciative of Tufnell’s efforts. Nevertheless, whatever may have been his personal exertions, these have not met with the approbation of the Greeks. It is undoubtedly unfair; Tufnell has, perhaps, the right to be embittered. But, faced with the situation in which the Greeks are demanding a new, more vigorous, mission or no mission at all, we have no choice.’

                Beaumont had made his point: ‘Very well, First Lord. I have spoken to the Minister of Marine, Monsieur Stratos. He is amenable to a meeting but requests, for reasons of his own, that it should not take place here at the Legation or at the Ministry. Perhaps your hotel?’

                Accommodating the Greeks in the question of the Naval Mission was one thing; playing games at the whim of the Minister of Marine … Churchill growled: ‘I do not much care for this “cloak and dagger” business, Beaumont. Is it necessary to skulk about in order to please Monsieur Stratos?’

                Now that the conversation had touched a matter upon which he was the expert, Beaumont took time to fill his pipe before commencing his discourse: ‘Politically Athens is in turmoil at present. On the one hand, a new King on the throne who is an avowed admirer of all things Prussian; on the other, Premier Venizelos who is staunchly pro-Entente although there are sections of the Cabinet whose precise allegiance is ambivalent, to say the least. The people are staunchly behind Venizelos; the army, as you say, belongs to the King. If the situation remains that way, an equilibrium may be reached, with no side gaining the upper hand. But we have now picked up disturbing reports of a compact between Greece and Serbia which we can only imagine is directed against Bulgaria. If true, this must have had Venizelos’ imprimatur. Perhaps the King also was involved. Even the most implacable of foes in this region are able to sink their differences if it means something tangible might result. And there is nothing so tangible in the Balkans as the occupation of land.’ Beaumont paused to re-light his pipe. ‘Added to which is the continual German pressure: there is both an official, if I may use that word, German secret service operating here through their Legation and a more insidious form of subversion centred around a pro-German intellectual elite headed by Professor Geroulanos at the University. In the circumstances a certain amount of discretion is a judicious precaution. You were doubtless followed here, for example.’

                Having already admitted this possibility to Battenberg, Churchill’s argument in favour of an open meeting was rapidly proving hollow. ‘In that case, surely Stratos will be followed to the Hotel? And it is known we are staying there.’

                ‘Possibly, but the Hotel Grand Bretagne is a well-known meeting place. In any event, even if a meeting is suspected, the precise nature of your talks should remain secret.’

                ‘In other words, the Minister does not trust his own staff. Very well, Beaumont. Please contact Monsieur Stratos and arrange a meeting at his convenience at the hotel. When you have done that kindly let us know at what time he is available. I trust Sir Francis has had a pleasant day on the links. You will inform him of our visit? Good day.’

                Churchill turned smartly and departed with Battenberg in tow. As soon as they had left, Henry Beaumont, whose countenance betrayed his inner feelings, opened the adjoining door into the Second Secretary’s office. ‘You see the problems I am faced with, Mr Samson?’ And Major Samson nodded sympathetically.

                As the carriage jogged back to the hotel, Battenberg grumbled, ‘The Balkans are lost to us if that is the sort of diplomat we are turning out these days.’

                Churchill was prepared to be magnanimous: ‘We tend to see things in black and white, Louis. Mr Beaumont is more acclimatized to shades of grey. These are difficult times, particularly if his report regarding Greece and Serbia is to be believed. The P.M. should be informed.’ At that moment however, the P.M. was more intent on escaping the heat of the late afternoon. The tour of the Parthenon had been enlightening if overlong. The archaeologist from the British Institute had, in his eagerness to convey the wonder of the sight, gone into too much detail. After two hours they were wilting and still Mr Wace droned on:

                ‘Of course, most of the fabric of the building (except the roof) was still extant and in place until 1687. This remarkable occurrence owed much to the fact that the building had been converted into a church, probably in the late sixth century. The Turks, maintaining its usage as a holy site, converted it into a mosque. This was not, however, enough to save it from the marauding Venetians under Morosini. In 1687, a shell loosed off by the besieging forces struck the central portion of the building. Of the northern side of the peristyle eight columns were wholly or partially thrown down; and of the southern, six columns; while of the pronaos only one column was left standing. The fronts escaped, together with a portion of the Opisthodomus. Further injury was caused in 1827 during the bombardment of the city in that year, of which the most conspicuous marks are the white fractures which so deface the columns of the western portico … ’

                Masterton-Smith, who envied Wace his position, continued to listen intently; Eddie Marsh had long since ceased to care at the exposition; and the ladies, enveloped in close-fitting garments, longed to regain the relative coolness of their hotel rooms. Finally, Margot Asquith could take no more. ‘Might we not, Henry, return to the hotel and continue the tour after dinner? It would be fascinating to see the sights we have just witnessed by moonlight.’

                ‘Of course, my dear. Would you mind, Mr Wace, if we postponed the rest of your fascinating tour?’

                The Director of the British School of Archaeology looked only slightly crestfallen at this. ‘But of course, Mr Asquith, as you wish.’

                The carriages, which had been sitting idly beneath the shade of a group of pine trees, transported the group back to Syntagma Square where they ascended wearily to their rooms. The P.M.’s thoughts were already on the bath he intended to soak in before dinner; he was thankfully about to enter his room when a voice came from behind him: ‘I need a word, P.M.’ Winston was wearing his serious look; the bath would have to wait.

As planned, they returned to the Acropolis that night. The spirit of the Parthenon seemed to come alive in the playful reflection of the moon; patterns and shapes danced about as clouds passed across the moon, so that the contours of the building appeared constantly changing. As they strolled casually around the perimeter, while Wace continued his interrupted lecture, Violet Asquith darted behind the upright pillars, and reappeared to give a representation of a classical Greek dance, but which resembled nothing so much as a drawing room charade. Not to be outdone, Eddie Marsh jumped on the stump of a broken pillar and, hand raised outward, hopefully imitating Plato, boomed: ‘You must consider this too, that we are born, each of us, not for ourselves alone but partly for our country, partly for our parents and partly for our friends.’ They all laughed as Eddie added that the proportions, of necessity, differed from person to person.

                ‘For some of us,’ Margot Asquith announced as she shot a glance at Churchill, ‘the remaining proportions after ourselves would be very small indeed.’ But Winston took no notice; he was absorbed, transfixed, by those pillars from the building lying scattered and supine.

                ‘What say you, Winston?’ demanded the P.M.

                His attention momentarily diverted, Winston could do no more than grumble that the reputation of the ancient Greeks for sagacity was greatly exaggerated because they just happened to have said everything first — he had said just as good things on many occasions but they always got in before him. Winston resumed his study of the fallen pillars until, his curiosity getting the better of him, Asquith inquired what he was up to.

                ‘We have all the equipment on board ship, together with the manpower, to right these. Within a month I could put the building back into near original shape. If only I had the authority … ’ And they all laughed again. No-one thought at the time that this was an example of Churchill’s prescience; rather, it emphasized the tendency to regard him as a Philistine, a prejudice Winston himself sometimes delighted in reinforcing.

                The others moved off, leaving Winston alone with Violet Asquith. ‘Do you feel it as well?’ she inquired earnestly. ‘I was sure that you would. Papa and Mr Masterton-Smith are altogether too sensible, and Eddie plays the fool, but I was sure about you.’

                ‘What, precisely, am I expected to feel?’

                Violet was disappointed: ‘If you have to ask, then you cannot feel it!’

                ‘Perhaps I do, but am unaware of it?’

                ‘A politician’s answer!’

                She darted behind a column at the same instant that a more substantial cloud passed apologetically across the face of the moon; the effect was of a conjurer’s trick and Churchill blinked, trying to convince himself that he had not just imagined the conversation. He stared up at the white disk of the moon, just visible again through the grey periphery of the cloud, and waited until it was full exposed once more, flooding the Acropolis with pallid light, before turning around to see Violet reappear, poised by a fallen statue.

                ‘It’s no good, Winston. You shall have to be placed, reluctantly, into the same category as Papa, for even now you still do not feel it.’

                ‘Feel what?’ Churchill all but implored.

                ‘Possessed! Possessed by the ruins — do you not feel intoxicated by ruins, and the memories which inhabit them?’

                ‘I found Wace’s discourse quite fascinating, particularly the account of the cannonade … ’

                ‘Oh, really, Winston, you are such a disappointment. I believe you do this deliberately.’

The following morning a note was delivered confidentially to the First Lord’s room. The Greek Minister of Marine would be pleased to meet him at two o’clock that afternoon; for the sake of propriety, in view of the fact that Admiral Tufnell had only just departed from the Mission, Monsieur Stratos felt it would be more “plausible” to meet in Battenberg’s room. While the others went out sightseeing that afternoon, Churchill and Battenberg remained behind at the hotel. The knock at the First Sea Lord’s door came promptly on the hour and Monsieur Stratos was ushered in alone.

                The Minister was a small, wiry man with grizzled grey hair and piercing blue eyes which rarely blinked. He looked around the room as, in all his years in Athens, he had never seen the inside one of the suites at the famous hotel. As they sat, to commence their discussion, he extracted a Turkish cigarette from a gold case, offered one, as an afterthought, to Churchill and Battenberg, who both declined, and apologized for the informal nature of the meeting. ‘I trust your Mr Beaumont explained why we were unable to meet in my office? There is too much politics in Athens, gentlemen; it is not healthy.’ The pungent smell of the tobacco was already filling the room. ‘It was good of you to make time to see me on your visit to Athens, Mr Churchill. If I may say so, I did not think that our complaint regarding the status of the outgoing Naval Mission would result in so quick a response and the presence of such a distinguished personage. It is heartening to see that you think so much of our small navy.’

                ‘We have always,’ Prince Louis interrupted, ‘taken the greatest interest in the rising sea power of Greece. I trust the First Lord will forgive me if, speaking for myself, I say that your country is much more worthy of our attention than certain other countries with whom we have dealings.’

                Stratos ignored this obvious attempt at flattery: ‘Then why were the Turks provided with officers from the active list? This would seem to be a peculiar way of showing a preference would it not?’

                ‘For that, how shall I put it, error of judgment, the Admiralty was not responsible,’ replied Churchill. ‘At the time, the details of the standing of the respective Naval Missions were settled by the Foreign Office. Naturally, we are anxious to make amends. Now that Admiral Tufnell’s contract has expired we are hopeful that, if an officer of a suitable calibre can be found who is agreeable to you, we may negotiate the loan of another mission.’

                ‘To prevent us turning to the German Navy for help?’ Stratos smiled sweetly.

                ‘You may seek assistance in that direction if you so desire Minister,’ Churchill parried. ‘I naturally presumed however that you would want the best instructors for your navy.’

                Stratos laughed, then leant forward in a sudden movement, which took Churchill by surprise, and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘You are aware, I take it, that the political situation here in Greece is uncertain at present. The King is still new to his throne, but there may be trouble if he tries to push the country in one direction while Monsieur Venizelos pulls in the other. The King’s standing, following his illustrious rôle in the recent War, is very high at the moment. It would doubtless help to counter any untoward influence if we possessed a Naval Mission which was seen to be working for the good of Greece.’

                Churchill nodded. ‘My sentiments exactly, Minister. I shall be back in London within a week. If you forward to me a request for the renewal of the Mission, employing officers on the active list, I will make it my business to select an officer who is ready to put the interests of Greece before the interests of … ’

                ‘His country?’ declared Stratos before Churchill could finish the sentence.

                ‘Shall we say, his own service?’

                ‘Very well, Mr Churchill. There is one other thing you might do for me upon your return to London. I have learned through informed sources in Constantinople that the Turks might bid for the dreadnought Rio de Janeiro which is currently being built in one of your yards and which, I understand, the Brazilian Government can no longer afford. The Turks also have, as you are aware, their own dreadnought, Resh … ?’

                ‘ “Reshadieh”,’ Battenberg interrupted again as Churchill scowled.

                ‘ … Yes, Reshadieh is being built by one of your estimable private firms. If true about Rio de Janeiro, this would give the Turks two dreadnoughts by the summer of next year. It would decisively alter the balance of power in the Aegean until we take delivery of Salamis in 1915. Even then, though I am loathe to admit it, the Turks will have the upper hand unless we take some drastic action. The question of the Aegean islands which we have recently occupied in the War is bound to cause friction in the near future. I have heard that the Turks have now decided that the only method by which they can successfully reclaim those islands is with a strong navy.’

                This news took Churchill by surprise. ‘I will certainly look into this matter Minister. However, I am bound to say that our private yards remain free to sell their wares. On the other hand, the Turks may bid, but can they find the money?’

                ‘Yes, an expensive business, preparing for war,’ declared Stratos as he extinguished his cigarette.

                The meeting at an end, Stratos opened the door and furtively glanced down the corridor before making for the stairs. Churchill turned to Battenberg: ‘Well, Louis, we seem to have accomplished our mission.’

                Battenberg was troubled. ‘The news about Rio de Janeiro is alarming, if true. We should do all we can to ensure the ship is not purchased by the Turks. I know you consider me a Graecophile, First Lord, but I also consider it undesirable from every point of view that Greece should have important units like Salamis. The last thing we want to encourage is a Mediterranean naval race. Stratos is right; there will be trouble yet over the fate of the islands.’

That evening was the official dinner at the Legation. This time Sir Francis Elliot was on hand to welcome his guests and introduce them to the members of the Legation, who were standing in line in the imposing marble entrance hall. First, Mr Beaumont, then Mr Hicks-Beach and Mr Rendel, then the Military Attaché, Montgomery-Cuninghame, and so on down the line till they reached, at the end, Major Samson, who was introduced as the Assistant Military Attaché. No-one took the slightest notice of the small, balding man in thick glasses except the First Lord. Upon hearing the name he struggled to recall where he had heard it before. He was just about to say something when Samson broke rank: ‘I think the others are waiting for us, Mr Churchill.’ Throughout the rest of the evening Churchill sought in vain to place Samson; in the end he was forced to admit defeat, though he made a mental note to look up the name upon his return to London.