Breaking Cover

29

It was her third week at Vauxhall Cross, and at lunchtime Jasminder left the building after collecting her phone at reception. She found a message on it from Laurenz asking her to ring him. He answered at once. ‘Ah, good,’ he said, ‘your new guardians are letting you use your phone.’

‘No, it’s just I’ve left the building for lunch. It’s such a nice day I thought I’d take a walk along the river. Do you want me to pick anything up for supper while I’m out?’

‘No. I thought we’d go out tonight. I have a surprise for you.’

‘Really, what is it?’

‘That would be telling, and then it wouldn’t be a surprise. I’ll see you at the flat first, okay?’

‘Yes, I’ll make sure not to stay late tonight.’ She was intrigued.

As she passed Vauxhall Bridge, heading upstream on the bright spring day, Jasminder decided she had never been busier – or happier. Work was demanding; she was expected to learn all the background to her job and do it simultaneously. Already she’d spent whole days visiting GCHQ at Cheltenham and MI5 across the river, only to find a new stack of paper had accumulated on her desk in her absence, which made no allowance for the fact she’d been away.

But the job was fascinating, and she didn’t mind burning the midnight oil, especially now that she had Laurenz for company. Though they would occasionally meet after work in a wine bar or a restaurant for supper, most nights they stayed in, and he cooked – something he said he enjoyed, which was a good thing, since Jasminder’s cooking skills stopped at scrambled eggs. He seemed to have an uncanny sense of when she wanted to talk about her day, and when work was the last thing she felt like discussing.

The only odd thing about their relationship, something that seemed odder still as time passed, was that they never saw anyone else as a couple. He’d already rebuffed her suggestion that they meet up with Emma so firmly that she didn’t dare propose it again. But what about his friends? Laurenz did talk sometimes about his work, and the geopolitical risk assessments he made for his clients. When Jasminder and he watched the ten o’clock news together, inevitably there would be a report of something going on somewhere that would have an impact on one of Laurenz’s clients’ holdings. But he didn’t seem to have friends among his colleagues, and sometimes she wondered if he even had any. There was a man called Karl at the bank, who would come up in conversation from time to time, but according to Laurenz, Karl was a pain, rather than a pal. To be fair, Laurenz had told Jasminder that he worked largely on his own. She wondered if he preferred it that way. No one would have called him a social animal.

But this evening he surprised her all right. They went to a local bistro, where he insisted on ordering a bottle of wine. When their starters came he leaned forward and clinked glasses with her.

‘Are we celebrating something?’ she asked curiously. He seemed in exuberant spirits.

‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘You know how you have been complaining that you never meet any of my colleagues?’

‘Well, not complaining, just wondering really.’

‘Perfectly understandable. But as I have tried to explain, I haven’t lived in the UK very long, so it’s true I don’t really have friends here. However, I’m not a hermit and I do have colleagues and some of them are friends. It’s just that they’re spread all over the place. Banking is so international these days.’

She nodded slowly. He went on, ‘A couple of years ago one of my pals at the bank got married, and the whole group of colleagues who knew him realised that we only ever got to see each other socially at special occasions – like a wedding. But you can’t plan on those happening very often. More importantly, we realised that months could go by without our getting together and we needed to meet periodically to exchange views and keep in touch.’

‘And?’

‘So now our bank has an annual conference, usually held somewhere exotic. The problem is it only last two or three days, and it’s quite intense – lots of meetings and presentations; outside speakers come in and clients. It’s not an excuse for a party; we all work very hard.’

‘It certainly doesn’t sound like a jolly to me.’

‘Far from it. But we always go to a good place. This year we’re meeting in Bermuda. Have you ever been?’

Jasminder shook her head. He said, ‘It’s where the bank has its headquarters, though that doesn’t mean we have a great big building – more of a house with offices in it, really. But Bermuda is lovely – even nicer than the photographs. White sand beaches, blue skies, friendly people, good food. I worked there for a while a few years ago, and didn’t want to leave.

‘Anyway, some of us usually stay on after the conference to relax and have a bit of a holiday, and occasionally clients and speakers join us. We’ll have wonderful meals, play some golf perhaps or just lie by the pool. It’s a brilliant way to decompress, and best of all, it lets us see each other for more than a few snatched minutes between conference sessions.’

‘Are partners invited?’ she asked hesitantly.

‘Absolutely. That’s the whole point.’ He paused. ‘If you’d come this year, you’d meet my colleagues and I could introduce you to some of our clients as well.’ He put down his glass and reached over for her hand, gazing at her with a smile. ‘It would mean a lot to me for them to meet the person who is making my life so happy. My close friends know what I’ve been going through with this wretched divorce. I want them to see how much better things are.’

‘I’d love to,’ Jasminder said, but her face gave away the fact that there was a problem.

‘But…?’ he said.

‘I’ve only just started this job, and I don’t see how I can ask for time off so soon.’

‘I have thought of that, don’t worry. You could join us at the weekend. One of my clients is also a good friend – he’s absolutely stinking rich.’ Laurenz held a hand to his face in mock apology. ‘Or should I say, highly affluent?’ Jasminder laughed. Laurenz continued, ‘If you could take just one day off, then it would work out perfectly. Discover a great-aunt whose funeral you have to attend. It’s only a day, after all. You could fly out on the Friday, and be with us in time for supper. We’d have all day Saturday, most of Sunday, and then that night this client of mine will be flying back to London – on his private jet. We could get a lift with him, and you’d be at your desk first thing on Monday morning. Everything would be paid for.’

‘By the bank?’

‘By me.’

And before she could object, he squeezed her hand again across the table. ‘Don’t say no, please; it would give me such pleasure, and I promise you’d enjoy yourself.’

They walked back in the slowly gathering dusk to Laurenz’s flat. He put his arm through Jasminder’s and said, ‘See? I’m not the mystery man you thought I was.’

She laughed, partly in relief that he understood how strange she’d been starting to find his behaviour. She said, ‘Does this mean you’ll finally agree to meet Emma?’

She felt his arm stiffen, almost imperceptibly. ‘Of course,’ he said carefully, ‘but that might take a little longer. I’m still quite wary of my wife, and our negotiations have reached a critical point. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardise things there. I hope you understand.’

Jasminder told herself she did, though she still couldn’t see why having lunch – or even dinner – with Emma was going to make any difference to his divorce settlement. But she sensed it would spoil the evening to push the point. She said instead, ‘I meant to tell you, I’m going to be away for a couple of nights next week.’

‘Where?’

‘I’m going to Berlin. With C and the senior management team,’ she added; she had only been told that afternoon. ‘He’s giving a speech to a meeting of European intelligence heads.’ She paused. ‘Please forget I mentioned it. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Don’t be silly. Anyone would realise that intelligence agencies need to meet regularly – especially these days. You can trust me, and besides, who would I tell? Karl at the office?’ he added sarcastically.

‘I know,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘It’s just that I’m finding it hard to get used to the fact so many things are confidential where I’m working now.’

‘I can imagine. You’re used to openness. You used to believe in it so strongly.’

‘I still do. And C’s speech is going to be about the need for greater openness with the public. That’s why he wants me there. I’m having sessions with the press, both about my own role and about the speech.’

‘Have you seen it yet?’

‘I’ve seen a version. I don’t think it’s the final text. ‘

‘Any good?’

‘Yes, actually it is. I helped draft part of it but he’s made a lot of amendments and additions. He writes very clearly.’ Like most of his staff, she thought. She had learned very quickly to respect the acuity of her new colleagues at MI6. Contrary to her preconceptions, there were no duds among them as far as she could tell. She said now, ‘He says he wants me to help him with all his speeches in future.’

‘That’s great. You know, I used to write speeches,’ Laurenz said.

‘When was that?’ asked Jasminder, impressed by the addition of yet another string to his bow.

‘A few years ago. I did it for the president of the bank when he had to address outside organisations. I’m not sure I was very good at it; I bet you’re much better than I ever was.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ She was struck as always by his modesty. Laurenz was clearly good at almost everything he turned his hand to, but you would never know it from his diffident manner. She said, ‘I’ve given a lot of talks in my time, but to be honest, I usually just take a fistful of notes I’ve scribbled and wing it. But C’s speech is a proper text. The intention is to release it after the event.’

‘I’d love to see it, and your suggestions too. May I?’

At first, Jasminder was taken aback. She actually had the speech in her briefcase, along with her comments and several offered by senior officers whom C had asked to read his early draft. Geoffrey Fane had made clear his own disagreement with its call for greater openness and pointedly corrected a few minor grammatical errors; Wheatcroft, another old hand, had tried to tone down its frank account of the Service’s past penchant for secrecy.

The text of the speech she had in her bag was ‘Confidential’, which was practically the lowest level of document classification, and that was only because C didn’t want it to become public until after he had given it. It was hard to see what harm there could possibly be in letting Laurenz have an advance look. There was nothing secret about it, really; part of the purpose of giving it was to have it covered in the media.

‘Why not?’ she said. They were waiting for the lift in Laurenz’s building. ‘I’d be interested in what you think. Just don’t tell anyone you’ve seen it.’

She said this lightly but with a touch of concern Laurenz must have picked up. He put an arm around her and said soothingly, ‘You don’t have to worry about that.’