Comrade Charlie

Chapter 33

That night Charlie was in the bar at the same time as the previous evening but there were some Russians ahead of him, all men, and three he did not recognize from twenty-four hours earlier. His corner stool was vacant, however, and his regular drink served as he took it. Charlie was tight with excited anticipation and was glad the shaking of the morning wasn’t showing. He would not have been surprised if it had. All he could think about was how soon the reunion was going to be. Soon now. So very soon.

‘How’s it been?’ said Charlie to the barman, wanting any useful gossip before it became too busy for the man to talk.

‘They were at Farnborough so it was quiet at lunchtime, thank God,’ said the barman. ‘I needed the rest after yesterday.’

‘Kept you busy then?’

‘There were about eight who didn’t want to go to bed. And wouldn’t.’

‘I’ve heard it said the Russians are big drinkers,’ offered Charlie encouragingly. ‘What happened in the end?’

‘One of the party came down and ordered them all out: a quiet one who was in earlier, when I think you were here. Kept to himself and drank only mineral water. You remember him?’

‘No,’ lied Charlie. Confirmation of KGB, he thought contentedly: ten out of ten and go to the top of the class. He said: ‘They all go to bed then?’

‘Like lambs,’ said the man. ‘Which merely left me with another hour to clear up.’

‘Good for business, though?’

They don’t seem to have heard much about gratuities,’ the man complained heavily.

He moved away to serve some more of the Soviet group who entered and Charlie gazed with apparent indifference across the bar but in fact straining to pick up a comprehensive conversation. He got most of one, from the first four men, and it intrigued him. It was devoted to that day’s show and they appeared to be making a critically open assessment of two of their Ilyushin airliner exhibits compared to a Boeing aircraft on display. Neither of the two KGB men were in the bar yet and Charlie supposed the speakers wouldn’t expect an outsider to be able to understand Russian but it was still more outspoken than he would have expected, in front of other arriving colleagues. Charlie concluded that either they were senior aviation specialists confident of their unassailable positions or glasnost and perestroika were being more successful within the Soviet Union than he understood them to be.

Charlie accepted the second whisky but warned himself to be careful. He was light years away from his capacity even to be slightly affected by what he was drinking but he wasn’t going to do anything to mar the reunion with Natalia. That afternoon he’d bathed again and shaved again and just before coming down to the bar put on one of the new shirts with the still-crisp suit he hadn’t worn since getting it back from the cleaners. From his reflection in the bar mirror he saw that the tuft of hair which always stood up like a cornfield suddenly hit by a strong wind was still plastered into some degree of neatness by the water he’d splashed on but he didn’t expect it to stay that way because it never did. Not bad though, considering. He was too far away where he was sitting properly to check out the eyes but he’d examined them upstairs in the bathroom mirror and seen, gratefully, that there wasn’t any redness. One broken blood vessel was making a tiny red canal down the left-hand side of his nose, but it was hardly noticeable unless you looked hard. There was certainly no puffiness of neglect or excessive indulgence in his face. But then why should there be? He was careful to balance the take-away junk food with something substantial at least two or three times a week and the single malt whisky couldn’t be considered neglectful or indulgent by the most critical doctor. What was it the medical director had said at the spy school assessment? That he was in remarkable shape: something like that. Charlie hoped that Natalia would think so. Soon now, he thought again: so very soon.

The bar seemed even more crowded than the previous evening. The two KGB men were there, the aloof, get-to-bed official by himself as usual, the untouched mineral water in front of him, the fidgety one being rebuffed from group to group, like before. There was a small but competing group of English tourists entrenched by the far window and some separate individuals as well, and the barman was really having to work. There was little danger of drinking too much: it would have been difficult to get too much if he’d wanted it.

Abruptly Natalia was there.

Intent though he’d been, concentrating upon nothing or no one else, Natalia was over the threshold and already on her way into the bar before he fully realized it was her. With one realization came another — that she was not alone but escorted by a sparse-haired, plump man who was actually holding her cupped elbow proprietorially — and Charlie felt an immediate stab of jealousy. There was only passing recognition with the other delegation members ahead of them and they made no effort to join anyone. Natalia turned along the bar, which brought her facing completely towards him, but as she did so she twisted to speak to the attentive man with her and didn’t look at Charlie at all. There was one vacant stool, about five yards from where Charlie was hunched, and Natalia took it. The man stood close beside her and put his hand upon the low back, still proprietorial. Charlie’s jealousy grew.

The barman returned behind the bar after a few moments to serve them — white wine for Natalia, beer for the man — and while he was there he refilled Charlie’s glass and said: ‘This looks like being twice as bad as last night.’

‘Why not get some help?’ Charlie’s throat felt clogged and he had to force himself to speak normally.

‘I’ve asked. The manager says it’s an unusual situation that doesn’t arise often enough.’

‘I feel sorry for you.’ It had been easier to get the words out that time.

‘I remember when this country had unions!’ bemoaned the man, hurrying away.

He was behaving ridiculously, Charlie thought: losing his professional priorities again. Why the hell shouldn’t she come into a bar with someone else on the delegation! What conceivable significance need it have! If he were so frightened of what might be, why stop there? Why the hell couldn’t she be married or involved or utterly uninterested in him, after so long! Charlie looked up from his drink, not at her but at her angled reflection in the bar mirror, and found she was looking at him in precisely the same way, avoiding any chance of anyone guessing a connection between them. She gave no facial reaction either, but Charlie, who remained completely expressionless as well, didn’t need any. It could only have been seconds but it seemed much longer and then Natalia broke the gaze, turning to catch something her companion said.

Charlie straightened slightly on the stool, decisively finishing his drink, and looked around for the barman, who was some way away getting an order from the English group. Charlie put two pounds beside his empty glass and as he left the room paused almost directly behind Natalia’s chair and made a miming gesture for the man to charge the drinks to his room.

‘Thirty-five,’ he called out and the barman nodded.

In his room Charlie experimented, closing the door just before the point of engaging the lock, frustrated that he hadn’t practised earlier to ensure it was feasible. The first time he took his hand away the door swung too far inwards, making it obvious it was unlatched, but it was better on the second attempt.

Charlie retreated further into the room, slightly raising and then lowering his arms as if he did not know what to do with his hands, which he didn’t. He stared around the room, for no particular reason, caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and saw that his hair was like a windswept cornfield again. He pushed an uncertain hand across it but it sprang back up so he stopped trying. Would she have heard? Understood? It had seemed perfectly natural — and more importantly, undetectable to anyone else — when she’d positioned herself so near to him at the bar but there was no absolute guarantee she would have picked up the room number because he hadn’t been able to make it a positive shout and there’d been a lot of noise. What could she do if she’d missed it? If she didn’t come he’d have to think of something else to try tomorrow. But what if…? Charlie never reached the end of his own question because there was the softest sound against the door and then tentatively it was pushed open and Natalia stood framed in the doorway, smiling nervously at him. Her hesitation was only brief, a second, before she slipped in and properly closed the door behind her. Having done so she stayed with her back against it, as if she were frightened to come any further, and Charlie remained where he was, as if he were frightened, too.

‘Hello,’ said Charlie.

‘Hello.’

‘I…’ he started and stopped. Then he said: ‘I should have thought of something better to say but I haven’t. Christ, I’ve missed you!’

Natalia came to him then, in a rush, and they clung to each other and kissed — awkwardly in their eagerness, more colliding than kissing at first — and Natalia pulled away breathlessly and said: ‘Oh my darling I’ve missed you too! I’ve missed you so much!’

Charlie looked around the small, inadequately furnished room and then, holding both her hands in his, started back towards the bed for them to sit. Natalia didn’t move, resisting him. He shook his head at her and said: ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘…I know,’ stopped Natalia, putting her finger to his lips. ‘I can’t stay. I’ll be missed.’

‘When?’

‘Later. Just wait for me.’

‘The thin one who doesn’t drink watches everyone,’ warned Charlie, remembering the conversation with the barman.

‘Bondarev,’ she recognized. ‘I can get away. Don’t worry.’

‘I love you,’ blurted Charlie.

‘And I love you,’ said Natalia.

Charlie waited. He guessed it would be for several hours and that he could have gone out to eat but he didn’t want to: he didn’t feel like eating or drinking or doing anything. Just waiting, to be there when she returned. It had happened, he realized, with something approaching surprise. They were together again and it was like it had been before. No, not like it had been before: before in Moscow it had been quieter, not frenzied. But the anxiousness, the snatching out for each other, was just a disbelieving excitement, that it had happened. It would be like it was before, soon enough. I love you. Her words — the way she said them — echoed in his mind. So there was no new husband, no involvement, no impediment. I love you. How would they…Charlie started to think and then stopped. He wouldn’t plan, couldn’t plan, how they would do anything. They just had to take every minute — grab every minute! — as it came. No forethought, no speculation. Just be together.

It was past midnight when Natalia came back. There was the same soft sound, the door opening and closing in an instant, and he was holding her again but calmer this time, less hurried. They were still by the door and Charlie felt out and locked it.

Natalia smiled at the precaution and said: ‘I won’t try to get away.’

‘I don’t want you to, not again.’

Her face straightened. ‘Not yet. Let’s not talk about anything yet.’

At the beginning, horrified, Charlie did not think in his anxiety that he would be able to make love to her. Natalia realized it and was very patient, coaxing and soothing, and he finally did and it was as perfect as they both wanted it to be. They climaxed in complete harmony, Natalia making tiny, muffled pleasure sounds, and Charlie wanted to do it again almost at once and it was perfect the second time. Afterwards they remained locked tightly together, as if to part would break the mood, Charlie with his head against Natalia’s neck, stroking her thigh and running his hand up to her breast and then back again, Natalia feeling his face in the darkness like someone without sight etching his features into her mind.

It was Charlie who finally spoke, still not moving from how he lay against her. ‘There’s a lot to say.’

‘Not tonight,’ said Natalia. ‘Tonight I just want it to be like this.’ Oddly, Natalia felt frightened of words. She was back with Charlie, in Charlie’s arms, and it was wonderful and she didn’t want to think about anything else.

‘Did you guess I’d get to you?’

‘I hoped.’ She wished he’d stop.

‘I meant it. About your not getting away again.’

Natalia moved her fingers just slightly on his face to put them against his mouth, in the quieting gesture she’d made when she’d first come to him. ‘ Later.’

‘Why later?’

Because I know it’s a decision I have to make and now I’ve got to make it I’m frightened, thought Natalia. ‘Please!’ she said.

‘OK! All right!’ said Charlie, hurriedly retreating. He was wrong to pressure and crowd her so soon. They were together, which neither had believed ever to be possible, and that should be enough for the first night.

‘Don’t be angry,’ pleaded Natalia, concerned she was spoiling the moment.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Charlie. ‘How long can you stay?’

He felt her shrug. ‘Not too long. Bondarev is very diligent.’

‘What’s your room?’

‘Six twenty. But don’t try to come: it’s a sealed floor.’

‘I know,’ said Charlie. ‘What about tomorrow?’

‘You’ll have to wait for me, like tonight.’

‘Be careful.’

‘I’ll be all right,’ said Natalia. ‘You want to know something?’

‘What?’

‘I didn’t believe I could ever be this happy any more.’

The problem that developed was caused by Yuri Ivanovich Guzins and in a way no one had foreseen.

The scientist’s nervousness had worsened, not improved, as the days passed in the Kensington house, not helped by his refusal ever to leave it, so unreasonably frightened was he of British counterintelligence detection. Although it was of his own choosing Guzins felt increasingly imprisoned and like a lot of imprisoned men his objectivity distorted. His constant preoccupation became the responsibility imposed upon him by his having to approve each drawing before its dispatch to Moscow in the embassy diplomatic bag. The breaking point came with a query relayed back from Baikonur on a drawing he had already sanctioned and too brusquely put by Vitali Losev, himself preoccupied by the conflict with Alexandr Petrin. It was actually a misunderstanding by a junior technician at the Soviet space complex, with no reflection at all upon Guzins, and corrected in minutes. But Guzins misconceived criticism in Moscow and decided that if he were to protect himself in future he had to go exhaustively through every tracing, practically debating every line with the American, before releasing it.

The language difficulty meant each question and answer had to be put either through Losev or Petrin, and the insistence delayed Krogh so much that he was only managing to complete half instead of an entire drawing at each session.

By the night of the reunion between Charlie and Natalia, just three miles away across Hyde Park, the backlog of drawings for which Guzins was withholding permission had reached six and there hadn’t been a shipment to Moscow for two days.

‘It’s impossible to go on like this!’ protested Losev.

‘Then get instructions from Moscow that I don’t have to arbitrate any more,’ said Guzins hopefully.