Our Kind Of Traitor Part 5

'You beckoned to me '

'For your protection and read it over my shoulder. And I suppose we read it, well, twice at least.'

'And then some,' said Gail. 'I mean, what an act of faith! What were they doing trusting trusting us like this? What made them think we were the us like this? What made them think we were the ones ones suddenly? It was such a such a b.l.o.o.d.y suddenly? It was such a such a b.l.o.o.d.y imposition imposition!'

'They didn't have much choice,' Perry softly observed, to which Luke added a wise nod that Yvonne discreetly copied, and Gail felt even more isolated than she had felt all evening.

Perhaps the tension in the under-ventilated bas.e.m.e.nt was getting too much for Perry. Or perhaps Gail's thought he was having an overdue fit of the guilts. He yanked his long body back into his chair, lowered his craggy shoulders to relax them and stabbed a forefinger at the buff folder lying between Luke's small fists: 'Anyway, you've got her text there in front of you in our doc.u.ment, so you don't need me to recite it to you,' he said aggressively. 'You can read it for yourselves to your heart's content. You have done so already, presumably.'

'All the same,' said Luke. 'If you don't mind, Perry. For completeness, as it were.' you don't mind, Perry. For completeness, as it were.'

Was Luke testing him? Gail believed he was. Even in the academic jungle that Perry was so determined to leave behind him, he was renowned for his ability to quote tracts of English literature on the strength of a single read. His vanity appealed to, Perry began reciting slowly and without expression: 'Dmitri Vladimirovich Krasnov, the one they call Dima, European Director of Arena Multi Global Trading Conglomerate of Nicosia, Cyprus, is willing negotiate through intermediary Professor Perry Makepiece and lawyer Madam Gail Perkins mutually profitable arrangement with authority of Great Britain regarding permanent residence all family in exchange for certain informations very important, very urgent, very critical for Great Britain of Her Majesty. Children and household will return in approximately one and a half hour. There is convenient place where Dima and Perry may discuss advantageously without risk to be overheard. Gail will please accompany Tamara to other area of house. Is possible this house has many microphones Is possible this house has many microphones. We will PLEASE NOT SPEAK until all persons return from crab races for celebration.'

'Then the phone rang,' said Gail.

Perry is sitting upright in his chair as if he has been called to order, hands as before spread flat on the table, back straight but shoulders on the slope as he meditates on the rightness of what he is about to do. His jaw is set in refusal although n.o.body has asked anything of him that needs to be refused, except for Gail, whose expression as she stares at him is one of dignified entreaty or so she hopes, but maybe she's just giving him the hairy eyeball, because she's not sure any more what facial signals she's emitting.

Luke's tone is light-hearted, even debonair, which is presumably how he wishes it to be: 'I'm trying to picture the two of you standing there together, you see,' he explains keenly. 'It's a truly extraordinary extraordinary moment, don't you agree, Yvonne? Standing side by side in the hall? Reading? Perry holding the letter? Gail, you're looking at it over his shoulder. Both moment, don't you agree, Yvonne? Standing side by side in the hall? Reading? Perry holding the letter? Gail, you're looking at it over his shoulder. Both literally literally struck mute. You've had this extraordinary proposition thrown at you to which you're not allowed to respond struck mute. You've had this extraordinary proposition thrown at you to which you're not allowed to respond in any way in any way. It's a nightmare. And as far as Dima and Tamara are concerned, simply by not speaking you're halfway to being co-opted. Neither of you, I take it, is about to storm out of the house. You're pinned down. Physically and emotionally. Am I right? So from their their point of view, so far, so good: you've point of view, so far, so good: you've tacitly tacitly agreed to agree. That's the impression you can't help giving them. Totally inadvertently. Simply by doing nothing, by being there at all, you're becoming part of their big play.' agreed to agree. That's the impression you can't help giving them. Totally inadvertently. Simply by doing nothing, by being there at all, you're becoming part of their big play.'

'I thought they were both totally barking,' Gail says to deflate him. 'Paranoid, the pair of them, frankly, Luke.'

'Their paranoia taking what form exactly?' Luke undeterred.

'How should I know? Deciding that somebody's bugged the place, for openers. And little green men are listening.'

But Luke is more doughty than she expects. He comes back sharply: 'Was that really so unlikely, Gail, after what you'd both seen and heard? You must have realized by now that you were standing with at least one foot in Russian crime. And you an experienced lawyer, if I may say so.'

A long pause followed. Gail had not expected to be locking horns with Luke, but if he wanted a fight he was welcome to one any time: 'The so-called experience experience you refer to, Luke,' she began furiously, 'does you refer to, Luke,' she began furiously, 'does not not unfortunately cover' but Perry had already headed her off. unfortunately cover' but Perry had already headed her off.

'The phone rang,' he gently reminded her.

'Yes. Well, all right, the phone rang,' she conceded. 'It was a yard away from us. Less. Maybe two feet. It had a bell like a fire alarm going off. We jumped out of our skins. They didn't, we did. A mossy, black, 1940s stand-up job with a dial and a concertina flex, sitting on a wobbly rattan table. Dima picked it up and bellowed Russian at it and we watched his face stretch into an a.r.s.e-kissing smile that he didn't mean. Everything about him was totally against his own free will. Forced smiles, forced laughter, false jollity, and a lot of yes-sir, no-sir, three bags full, and I'd like to strangle you with my bare hands. Eyes fixed all the time on batty Tamara, taking his cues from her. And the finger back in front of his lips, telling us no noises-off, please, all the time he's talking. Right, Perry?' deliberately avoiding Luke.

Right.

'So these are the people they're afraid of, I'm thinking. And they want us us to be afraid of them too. Tamara conducting him. Nodding, shaking her head, rouged cheeks and all, pulling a Medusa face for moments of mega-disapproval. Fair description, Perry?' to be afraid of them too. Tamara conducting him. Nodding, shaking her head, rouged cheeks and all, pulling a Medusa face for moments of mega-disapproval. Fair description, Perry?'

'Florid, but accurate,' Perry conceded awkwardly then, thank the Lord, gave her a real full-beam smile, even if it was his guilty one.

'And that was the first of many calls that evening, I rather believe?' nimble Luke suggested, darting from one to the other of them with his quick, strangely lifeless eyes.

'There must have been half-a-dozen phone calls in the time before the family came back,' Perry agreed. 'You heard them too, right?' for Gail 'And they were just for openers. All the time I was closeted with Dima, we'd hear the phone go and either Tamara would come yelling at Dima to answer it, or Dima would be jumping to his feet and hurrying off to take it himself, cursing in Russian. If there were phone extensions in the house I never saw them. He told me later that night that mobiles didn't work up there because of the trees and the cliffs, which was why everyone called him on the landline. I didn't believe him. I thought they were checking on his whereabouts, and calling the house on an old landline was the way to do it.'

'They?'

'The people who didn't trust him. And he didn't trust in return. The people he's beholden to. And hates. The people they're afraid of, so we've we've got to be.' got to be.'

The people that Perry, Luke and Yvonne can know about and I mustn't, in other words, thought Gail. The people in our our b.l.o.o.d.y doc.u.ment that isn't ours. b.l.o.o.d.y doc.u.ment that isn't ours.

'So this is the point where you and Dima retire to your convenient place convenient place where you can talk without risk of being overheard,' Luke prompted. where you can talk without risk of being overheard,' Luke prompted.

'Yes.'

'And Gail, you went off to bond with Tamara.'

'Bond my foot.'

'But you went.'

'To a tacky drawing room that stank of bat-p.i.s.s. With a plasma television playing Russian Orthodox High Ma.s.s. She was carrying a tin.'

'A tin tin?'

'Didn't Perry tell you? In our joint doc.u.ment that I haven't seen? Tamara was carting a black tin handbag around with her. When she put it down it clanked. I don't know where women carry their guns in normal society, but I had a feeling this was her Uncle-Vanya-equivalent.'

If it's my swansong, I'll b.l.o.o.d.y well make the most of it: 'The plasma TV took up most of one wall. The other walls were decked out in icons. Travelling ones. Ornately framed for extra sanct.i.ty. Male saints, no Virgins. Where Tamara goes, there go the saints, or that was my guess. I've got an aunt like that, ex-tart turned Catholic convert. Each of her saints has a different job. If she's lost her keys, it's Anthony. If she's taking the train, Christopher. If she's stuck for a few quid, Mark. If a relative is sick, Francis. If it's too late, Saint Peter.'

Hiatus. She had dried: another lousy actor, washed up and out of a part.

'And the rest rest of the evening, briefly, Gail?' Luke asked, not quite glancing at his watch, but as good as. of the evening, briefly, Gail?' Luke asked, not quite glancing at his watch, but as good as.

'Simply scrumptious scrumptious, thank you. Beluga caviar, lobster, smoked sturgeon, oceans of vodka, brilliant thirty-minute toasts in drunken Russian for the adults, great birthday cake, washed down with health-giving clouds of vile Russian-cigarette smoke. Kobe beef and floodlit cricket in the garden, a steel band banging away that n.o.body was listening to, fireworks that n.o.body was watching, a drunken swim for the last chaps standing, and home by midnight, for a jolly post-mortem over a nightcap.'

A stack of Yvonne's glossy photographs is making its positively last appearance. Kindly identify anybody you believe you may recognize from the festivities, says Yvonne, speaking by rote.

Him and and him him, says Gail, wearily pointing.

And him him too, surely? says Perry. too, surely? says Perry.

Yes, Perry, him him too. Another b.l.o.o.d.y too. Another b.l.o.o.d.y him. him. One day we'll have equal opportunity for female Russian criminals. One day we'll have equal opportunity for female Russian criminals.

Silence while Yvonne completes another of her careful notes and puts down her pencil. Thank you, Gail, you have been most helpful, says Yvonne. It's randy little Luke's cue to be brisk. Brisk is merciful: 'Gail, I fear we should release you. You've been immensely generous, and a superb witness, and we can pick up on everything else from Perry. We're very grateful. Both of us. Thank you.'

She is standing at the door, not sure how she got there. Yvonne is standing beside her.

'Perry?'

Does he answer her? Not that she notices. She climbs the stairs, Yvonne her gaoler close behind her. In the plush, over-prinked hall, big Ollie of the c.o.c.kney accent and foreign voices folds up his Russian newspaper, clambers to his feet and, pausing in front of a period mirror, carefully adjusts his beret, using both hands.

5.

'See you to the front door, at all, Gail?' Ollie inquired, swivelling in his seat to quiz her through the part.i.tion of his cab.

'I'm fine, thank you.'

'You don't look look fine, Gail. Not from where fine, Gail. Not from where I I sit. You look bothered. Want I come in for a cup tea with you?' sit. You look bothered. Want I come in for a cup tea with you?'

Cup tea? Cuppa? Cup of?

'No thanks. I'm fine. I just need to get some sleep.'

'Nothing like a nice kip to see you right, eh?'

'No. There isn't. Goodnight, Ollie. Thanks for the ride.'

She crossed the street, waiting for him to drive off, but he didn't.

'Forgotten our handbag, darling!'

She had. And she was furious with herself. And furious with Ollie for waiting till she was on her own doorstep before charging after her. She mumbled more thanks, said she was an idiot.

'Oh, don't apologize, Gail, I'm completely worse worse. If it was loose, I'd forget my own head. Are we utterly sure sure, darling?'

Not utterly sure of anything, actually, darling darling. Not just now. Not utterly sure whether you're a master-spy or an underling. Not sure why you wear spectacles with thick lenses for driving to Bloomsbury in broad daylight, and no spectacles on the journey back when it's pitch dark. Or might it be that you spies can only see in the dark?

The flat she had jointly inherited from her late father wasn't a flat but a maisonette on the two top floors of a pretty white Victorian terrace house of the sort that gives Primrose Hill its charm. Her upwardly mobile brother, who killed pheasants with rich friends, owned the other half of it, and in about fifty years, if he hadn't died of drink by then, and Perry and Gail were still together, which she presently doubted, they will have paid him off.

The entrance hall stank of number 2's Bourguignonne and resounded to other tenants' bickerings and television sets. The mountain bike Perry kept for his weekend visits was in its usual inconvenient place, chained to the downpipe. One day, she had warned him, some enterprising thief was going to steal the downpipe too. His pleasure was to ride it up to Hampstead Heath at six o'clock in the morning and speed-cycle down the paths marked NO CYCLING NO CYCLING.

The carpet on the four narrow flights of stairs leading to her front door was in its last stages of decay, but the ground-floor tenant didn't see why he should pay anything and the other two wouldn't pay till he did and Gail as the unpaid in-house lawyer was supposed to come up with a compromise, but since none of the parties would budge from their entrenched positions, where the h.e.l.l was compromise?

But tonight she was grateful for all of it: let them bicker and play their b.l.o.o.d.y music to their hearts' content, let them give her all the normality they've got, because, oh mother, did she need normality. Just get her out of surgery and into the recovery room. Just tell her the nightmare's over, Gail dear, there are no more softly spoken Scottish blue-stockings or undersized espiocrats with Etonian accents, no more orphaned children, drop-dead-gorgeous Natashas, gun-slinging uncles, Dimas and Tamaras, and Perry Makepiece my Heaven-sent lover and purblind innocent is not about to wrap himself in the sacrificial flag for his Orwellian love of lost England, his admirable quest for Connection with a capital C connection with what what? for Christ's sake or his homebrewed brand of inverted, puritanical vanity.

Climbing the stairs, her knees began trembling.

At the first poky half-landing they trembled more.

At the second they trembled so wildly she had to prop herself against the wall till they steadied down.

And when she reached the last flight, she had to haul herself up by the handrail to get to the front door before the time-switch cut.

Standing in the tiny hall with her back to the closed door, she listened, sniffing the air for booze, body odour or stale cigarette smoke, or all three, which was how a couple of months back she knew she'd been burgled before she ever walked up the spiral staircase to find her bed p.i.s.sed on and the pillows slashed and foul lipstick messages smeared across her mirror.

Only when she had relived that moment to the full did she open the kitchen door, hang up her coat, check the bathroom, pee, pour herself a king-sized tumbler of Rioja, swig a mouthful, replenish the tumbler to the brim and carry it precariously to the living room.

Standing, not sitting. She'd done enough pa.s.sive sitting for a lifetime, thank you.

Standing in front of the non-functioning all-pine, do-it-yourself reproduction Georgian fireplace installed by a previous owner, and staring at the same long sash window where Perry had stood six hours ago: Perry on the slant, birdlike and eight foot tall, peering down into the street, waiting for an ordinary black cab with its 'For Hire' light out, last numbers on its licence plate 73, and your driver's name will be Ollie.

No curtains to our sash windows. Shutters only. Perry who likes sheer but will pay his half for curtains if she really wants them. Perry who disapproves of central heating but worries that she's not warm enough. Perry who one minute says we can only have one child for fear of world overpopulation, then wants six by return of post. Perry who, the moment they touch down in England after the f.u.c.ked-up holiday of a lifetime, hightails it to Oxford, buries himself in his digs, and for fifty-six hours communicates in cryptic text messages from the front: doc.u.ment nearly complete ... have made contact with necessary people ... arriving London midday-ish ... please leave key under doormat ...

'He said they're a team apart, not run-of-the-mill,' he tells her, as he watches the wrong taxis go by.

'He?'

'Adam.'

'The man who called you back. That Adam?'

'Yes.'

'Surname or Christian name?'

'I didn't ask, he didn't tell me. He says they've got their own set-up for cases like this. A special house. He wouldn't say where over the telephone. The cab driver would know.'

'Ollie.'

'Yes.'

'Cases like what what, actually?'

'Ours. That's all I know.'

A black cab goes past but it has its light on. Not a spy cab then. A normal cab. Driven by a man who isn't Ollie. Disappointed again, Perry rounds on her: 'Look. What else do you expect me to do? If you've got a better suggestion, let's hear it. You've done nothing but snipe since we got back to England.'

'And you've done nothing but keep me at arm's length. Oh, and treat me like a child. Of the weaker s.e.x. I forgot that bit.'

He has gone back to looking out of the window.

'Is Adam Adam the only person to have read your letter-doc.u.ment-report-c.u.m-witness statement?' she asks. the only person to have read your letter-doc.u.ment-report-c.u.m-witness statement?' she asks.

'I can't imagine so. I wouldn't bank on his name being Adam either. He just said Adam Adam like a pa.s.sword.' like a pa.s.sword.'

'Really? I wonder how he did that.'

She tries saying Adam Adam as a pa.s.sword in several different ways, but Perry is not drawn. as a pa.s.sword in several different ways, but Perry is not drawn.

'You're sure Adam's a man man, are you? Not just a woman with a deep voice?'

No answer. None expected.