The Longest Pleasure (24 page)

Galitsin watched the pale flesh crinkling, from breast-line to hairline, the red hair flopping to and fro over the high forehead, the muscles rippling up and down the too-thin thighs. 'So what do you wish me to do?'

The bathroom had been built into the bedroom. Nancy left the door open, scattered water across the carpet as she showered. You, nothing.' She dried, dressed quickly, her hands fluttering from garment to garment. 'But I have to pay Alan a call, or he may just come looking. He's a patient man, but he's still a man, and he has heavyweight superiors. Now, first thing, I'm going to slip into Lyme this morning and replenish the larder. I'll bring the stuff back here, leave it with you. Then I'm going up to town. While I'm away, you just have to sit here, and not budge. You're riot to open the door, no matter who comes knocking. I have a key.'

'I have hidden in
a
girl's bedroom before. For
a
fortnight.'

'I hope it won't come to that again. And last time she stuck inside with you.' Nancy brushed her hair, pouted, applied lipstick. 'Mmmm. Tell you what, I'll buy you some paints and a canvas. You can discover how much talent you have. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. But for God's sake don't worry. I want you to walk away from this cottage a free and a safe man, and that may take a few days to arrange.'

Galitsin held her shoulders. 'And you, you will also be careful?'

'Why, darling, I didn't know you cared.' 'There is nobody now,' Galitsin said. 'Nobody at all. Except you.'

'That's quite a weight to carry.' But the banter was absent from her eyes. 'I know, Alexander Petrovich. I know what I've done to you. I can only make up for it by doing more for you. Starting now.' She kissed him on the mouth.
'Ciao.'

Rauser banged on the bedroom door, anxiously, but with increasing confidence. 'Comrade Colonel? Are you awake?'

'I am awake now,' Tigran Dus pointed out. 'Pour yourself a cup of coffee.'

Rauser hurried to the small table. His hands shook, and black liquid slopped into the saucer. He sat down, but when he drank, coffee dribbled out of the side of his mouth; he dabbed at it with his handkerchief, hastily got to his feet as the door opened. Early as it was, Tigran Dus was dressed. When in England he affected tweeds and looked absurd. Yes?'

'The woman Connaught, Comrade Colonel. The London flat is not her only home. For the past year she has had a cottage in Dorset. Not far from a town called Lyme Regis. It is on the coast.'

'I congratulate you, Michael Ivanovich.' Tigran Dus poured coffee, sat in the chair by the window, listened to the wind soughing across the Thames Estuary. This house was the only place in the Briti
sh Isles where he felt at home.
Leigh itself was only a few miles out of London, and close to Southend, so that in the summer it was inundated by tourists. But off season it was empty, bleak, windswept, uninteresting, its only view the brown mudflats and browner waters of the Thames. It was ugly. He had chosen it personally as his British headquarters. He said, 'There is no substitute for perseverance.'

Rauser dug his thick finger into his tight collar, almost choked, began work with his handkerchief again. 'I have taken this city apart. Mind you, I always knew we would locate her hideaway. In my opinion the cause of this foul-up lay in the very beginning. It is utterly inexplicable to me that no one in your department recognised that Galitsin was a security risk.'

'You were unjustly done by, Michael Ivanovich.' Tigran Dus lit a cigarette. 'As a matter of fact, Alexander Galitsin was never classified as a security
risk.
He was classified as a positive danger.'

Rauser panted, then seemed to hold his breath. He put his handkerchief back into his pocket. 'But
you
chose him for this role, Comrade Colonel. Why did you do that?'

'Because he was the only man who could play this role. As to the probability that he would defect, why, think about him. Michael Ivanovich. You have his file. This boy deserted to the Hungarians, in Budapest. He assisted two wanted fascist agents to escape the country. Because, make no mistake about it, Comrade Rauser, the woman Szen is just as involved as the woman Moeller. Then he was retaken and put into solitary confinement for a month, which is no way to create patriotism. Add to this his Scottish mother, and the fact that his grandfather was convicted of espionage against the Soviet Union. And then his sister. An independently minded young woman, who cares nothing for the state or the Party. As a matter of fact, she has opposed the idea of his working for the Fourth Bureau all the while. In hospital she openly encouraged him to defect. And before coming here I asked her to write him a letter, the sort of letter which would remind a young man of his duty. I will show you that letter, Michael Ivanovich. It is the coldest collection of claptrap you could imagine.'

'But you said she was hostage for his good behaviour. Did she not understand that?'

'She understood that very well.' Tigran Dus drank coffee. 'But like her brother she has an unusual, somewhat warped personality. The events of their youth left them both somewhat unstable. Deep in her subconscious she combines a desire to play the heroine with a strangely masochistic streak, aggravated by her having led a sheltered, uneventful, even boring life over the past dozen years. She is an interesting, if tragic, figure.'

Rauser looked sceptical. 'I will not inquire Into your reasons for using Galitsin, Comrade Colonel. If you meant him to defect, then all is well. I merely wished to acquaint you with the situation. My men will go down to Lyme Regis this evening.'

Tigran Dus sighed. 'My dear Michael Ivanovich, we are not in Moscow now. Not even in Berlin.'

Rauser looked aggrieved. 'I'm afraid at this stage I must insist upon being taken into your confidence, Comrade Colonel.'

'But of course, Comrade Commissar. In the first place, you made an incorrect assumption in saying that I intended Galitsin to defect. The truth of the matter is, I did not much care whether he defected or not, although on the whole I think it is better that he has. So you see, Michael Ivanovich, your mistake was not in letting him go, but in not discovering where he went sooner. Did it never occur to you that others will also be seeking Miss Connaught?'

'The woman Moeller?'

'The woman Moeller and her friends. Perhaps you understand the situation now, Michael Ivanovich. These are intelligent, dangerous people we are dealing with. I very much doubt if they would ever have accepted Galitsin as a Hero of the Soviet Union on holiday. They proved that by their disinterest in Hastings, by their refusal to answer your advertisement. But the advertisement will certainly have been seen by them, will have alerted them to an understanding that he is a danger to them. Now that he has defected, and thus no doubt contemplates remaining in this country, he is more of a danger than ever. For why should he have defected but to re-establish contact with the woman Szen? So now we must change our tactics. Far from remaining quiet about his defection, we must make it public, and noisily. I am quite sure these people will be anxious to do something about him, now he is no longer under our aegis. Our only remaining task is to inform them where he can be found, without appearing to do so.'

'But how can we do that, Comrade Colonel ?'

'We take advantage of one of those institutions of which the Western countries are so proud, the freedom of the press. Indeed, I am perfectly sure that Miss Connaught, who is, after all, a newspaper reporter, has been assisting Galitsin merely with a view to making capital out of his story, when she considers the time is right to tell it.'

Rauser nodded. 'They call it a scoop, Comrade Colonel.'

'That is correct, Comrade Commissar. So it will give you great pleasure to spoil her scoop for her. You will ring up the news desk of Britain's most successful daily newspaper, and you will tell them the story of Alexander Petrovich Galitsin. Be as unkind to us poor deluded Russians as you choose. Tell them that the story of his illness is so much nonsense. Tell them the absolute truth, that the day after he refused to win that chess game, so mysteriously, he went for a drive with Miss Connaught, and has not been heard from since. Neither has Miss Connaught, of course. Pose the question, Where is Alexander Galitsin? The British press loves a question. And then answer it. We will restore Alexander Petrovich to the front page. And, having done that, we will watch, and wait.'

'And Galitsin?'

'Galitsin is no longer relevant, Michael Ivanovich. He is of no value to the West, and even less to us. I would forget all about Alexander Petrovich Galitsin, if I were you.'

'What of his family, in Moscow?'

'He has no family, other than the sister I spoke of.' Tigran Dus stubbed out his cigarette, walked to the window. It was low water, and misty. Marsh End Sand seemed to stretch forever into the grey horizon, awaiting the return of the sea. 'I shall be visiting her upon my return.'

II

Kirsten Moeller lay on the chaise longue In her private sitting room. Through the french windows which in summer opened
on to the balcony she could see
the river, still wide here, smooth-flowing, shrouded by gaunt trees, empty in the January sunshine. This was her favourite room, her favourite view.

She ate buttered toast, thickly coated in marmalade, and drank tea. She spilled crumbs on her dressing gown, and the tea slurped as it entered her mouth. She smoked a cigarette in between mouthfuls, untidily, allowing ash to fall on the pink silk, impatiently flicked it away with a buttery forefinger, leaving a grease stain. The newspapers lay in a heap on the floor at her side, except for the one resting on her lap. She revealed her irritation by her snorted breaths.

The door opened, her maid came in. 'Miss Smith is here, Mrs. Hamble.'

Irena wore her mink over a trouser suit. But she was still cold; she slapped her hands together and her fingers trembled when she took off her headscarf.
‘I
like to sleep in too.' She handed her coat to the girl.
‘I
hate being summoned, like... like a schoolgirl.'

Kirsten waved her hand, and the maid left the room. 'Pour yourself some tea.'

‘I
hate tea.' Irena sat down in a straight chair, picked up a slice of toast, looked at it suspiciously, put it down again. 'I hate toast. And you will make yourself fat.'

'One is allowed to add a little weight when one is past thirty. And tea is the English drink. Don't you wish to become an Englishwoman in fact as well as on your passport?'

'Where is Jonathan?'

*You always ask the same question. Are you so afraid of encountering him? I would never ask you to come here if he were going to be in. He is in Amsterdam, as it happens. Have you read a newspaper today?'

'And you always ask me the same question. I sometimes think that without newspapers you would die. You have ink in your veins, not blood.' Irena nibbled a piece of toast. 'I have not read today's newspaper. I have not read a newspaper in over a year, and when the news comes on the TV I switch it off. I would like a glass of port.'

'It's in the sideboard.' Kirsten swept crumbs from the paper. 'The lead article in this is all about your friend Alexander Petrovich Galitsin.'

Irena Szen got up. She crossed the room, slowly, throwing each leg in front of the other with great deliberateness, beginning her movement at the hip. 'What about him, now?'

Kirsten Moeller frowned. 'I am happy that you are interested, dear one. I suppose you know that he was taken ill and could not complete the tournament?'

'I had heard so.'

'Well, it seems that was all lies. He was not taken ill. According to this story he ran away with some American journalist named Nancy Connaught. Do you know this woman?'

'I have never heard of her.' Irena Szen poured herself
a
glass of port, drank it, refilled her glass. She sighed.

'And you are not interested in her?'

'I am glad he is not ill. Sandor, I mean.'

'Listen to me, you stupid Magyar bitch!' Kirsten shouted. 'Do you know what I think? I think they are getting desperate. It just shows what would have happened had you fallen for that silly trap of theirs.'

Irena sat down, crossed her knees. She held her glass in both hands, as if it were brandy. 'Sandor would never work for the Russians against me, Kirstie. I wish you would understand that. Oh, he had to pretend to. He had no choice. But he is only trying to protect me, really. That is why he has defected. To get away from the Fourth Bureau, and to come to me.'

'You are drinking too much port,' Kirsten Moeller said. 'I have warned you about it. Port is
a
very insidious drink, and port for breakfast is really inviting D.
T
.s.'