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probably be much better. These people at this camp represent two million such decisions. For the courage of those decisions they must command our respect.’
    The angle changes. The camera looks over Pountney’s shoulder at a panorama of Berlin.
    ‘If that is the personal story, what about the political? The people are demanding a better standard of living from their government. They will wait no longer. They want it now. That is precisely what East Germany’s command economy is unable to deliver. Unless the East German authorities can stop this exodus of people on whose skills their future must be based, the situation can only get worse.’
    He turns to the camera. ‘The propaganda has failed. The poster platitudes urging you to sacrifice the present in return for the promise of a better future are no longer believed. How long before the GDR acts? Can the authorities close the border? Can those who want to leave be stopped by force? These are the questions preoccupying both the East and the West. The answers, when they come, could prove dangerous for us all.’
    The programme’s theme music rises as the image of Gerry Pountney fades under the closing credits. He stretches in his chair. Not bad. Not bad at all, even though he says it himself. He looks at his watch. Time for lunch. A good morning’s work. He smiles to himself. He is indeed a fortunate man.
4
    ‘I have to tell the committee that I’m not happy with the choice of Andrei Berlin,’ Bill Gant said, making his first contribution to the afternoon’s discussion. ‘I’m not disputing his academic reputation. That, as we all know, is well established. It’s simply that I find myself unable to shift the feeling that he’s not the right man.’
    Until his intervention, Marion Blackwell had assumed Bill Gant’s brooding silence signalled assent, and that the meeting was going her way. After all, he’d supported her proposal when they’d talked about it last Wednesday, and she’d had no reason to suppose he’d shift his position in the days that followed. His sudden change of heart was unexpected and the damage to her case potentially great.
    ‘You were in favour when we talked before, Bill. What’s changed your mind?’
    The hint of intimacy in her reference to a previous conversation was a slip that Michael Scott’s sensitive antennae would not miss. He gave her a sidelong look. She must be more careful in future. Especially where Bill was concerned.
    ‘When all’s said and done, the man’s a communist.’ Gant was looking down at the table. Was he deliberately avoiding catching her eye? ‘He stands for everything we oppose. That’s what I’m wrestling with. Berlin’s a risky choice.’
    ‘Isn’t that the point?’ Marion addressed her appeal to the other members of the committee. ‘We want to revive these lectures, not send them to an early grave, which is where they’ll end up if we don’t do something about them. Let’s have a speaker who’ll stir up a bit of controversy. Let’s have someone whose ideas will make us sit up and test our own beliefs. Isn’t that why we’re all here? To kick some life into this event?’
    ‘Bravo, Marion.’ Michael Scott smiled mockingly at her. ‘Very passionate, dear. Very con brio.’
    She’d known all along that Michael Scott would be difficult. She hadn’t expected him to take pleasure in her discomfort. She felt herself colouring. Her neck always went red and blotchy when she was angry. She should have worn a scarf with her shirt.
    ‘Am I alone in being sceptical of his academic distinction?’ Scott continued. ‘I see it as a smokescreen intended to obscure the fact that Berlin is a loyal apologist for a vile regime. We’re fooling ourselves if we imagine his hands are clean.’
    ‘How can you say that, Michael? Berlin’s an academic with a growing reputation who’s not regarded as an apologist for anyone.’
    ‘A successful historian in the Soviet Union who is not in thrall to the