A Spy Among Friends summary

A covert operator requires many tools. And Philby was certainly blessed with one of the most important: innate charisma. It was a characteristic that stood him in good stead for his entire career.

What MI6 didn’t know about Philby was that he’d been a spy for quite some time.

Back in the summer of 1934, mere days after returning from Vienna, Philby was sitting in Regent’s Park, waiting for a mysterious man his wife, Alice Kohlman, had arranged for him to meet. The contact went by the name of Otto, and thanks to his cultured Eastern European airs, he soon had Philby wrapped around his finger.

A good spy needs good cover. A low-brimmed hat just won’t cut it. Philby’s own success boiled down to his perceived reputation. In the eyes of the British, his activities during World War II made him a hero.

Philby’s standing grew and grew, and, as it did, he was assigned ever more responsibilities.

By 1944, it was becoming increasingly clear that World War II would end in Allied victory. This raised a tricky dilemma for Philby and other double agents. During the war, the Soviet Union and the Western Allies had been fighting a common enemy. But there was little doubt that the Soviets were themselves becoming the new enemy.

It was understandable. The British establishment had always been afraid of Communism, which had been the main focus of British intelligence prior to the war. In fact, the fight against fascism was only a temporary respite.

A few years after the end of World War II, Philby traveled to the United States, still in his capacity as head of anti-Soviet intelligence.

It was around this time that the Soviets’ initial doubts about Philby’s loyalty were put to rest. The information he was providing them clearly compromised British intelligence plans.

As well as a busy professional life, Philby had a somewhat dramatic personal one. In total, he married four times, and, in 1951, his relationship with his second wife, Aileen Furse, was under definite strain.

To make matters worse, one of Philby’s fellow Soviet spies suddenly came to pay the family a visit. It was Guy Burgess, another member of the Cambridge Five, ostensibly working for the British Foreign Office.  Now, Burgess was no ordinary spy. In fact, he was not only one of the least discreet spies of all time; he was also a drunk and a promiscuous homosexual, who made a habit of insulting influential people. These factors hardly helped him to maintain a low profile in the dour 1950s.

There was no doubt that Maclean’s unmasking could potentially lead to Philby’s own, especially if his former houseguest, Burgess, were seen with Maclean. Philby had begged Burgess not to flee with Maclean, but Burgess – under instruction from Moscow – paid no heed.

At this point, Philby’s boss, Jack Eaton, summoned him back to London to discuss the disappearance of Maclean and Burgess.

The investigations into Philby had achieved nothing definitive, other than leaving him suspended and the case in a state of limbo. Not everyone was satisfied. One Labour MP in particular, the notoriously fusty Colonel Marcus Lipton, sought to force the situation.

In October 1955, he made use of parliamentary privilege – which allows MPs to make potentially libelous statements in debate without fear of prosecution – to ask the prime minister how long he intended to cover up the Philby affair. As a statement, it was intended to fan the flames of press interest in Philby’s activities in Washington, and it was wildly successful.

In 1956, Philby was sent to Beirut as a journalist on assignment for the Observer. In reality, he was set on continuing his work as a spy.

But his past was about to catch up with him. Back in 1935, Philby had lunched with Flora Solomon, a department store executive, who later introduced him to his second wife. Philby had mentioned the Communist cause and had even tried to recruit the leftist Solomon as a Soviet spy.