Goodbye to an Old Friend

Chapter Ten

Adrian had been in the office for forty-five minutes before Miss Aimes arrived. Momentarily, she seemed startled to find him there, her hand darting up to her head, as if the coiffure might have slipped.

‘I didn’t think you were coming in today,’ she said and then stopped, aware she was revealing a weakness.

‘There were things to do,’ said Adrian. He stopped, uncertain. Then he added, ‘Things I haven’t been able to do because you weren’t here.’

They stared at each other in complete silence. It felt good, very good. Adrian sat at his desk, on his trouserprotecting pad with his pen-and-pencil tray like a demarcation line between them, warmed by the feeling. He should have done it ages ago, prevented her attitude getting as bad as it had, but now he’d stopped it. Now he was imposing his authority and he enjoyed the experience. Yes, it was very good.

‘I came back last night,’ he pressed on. ‘But the office was empty, thirty minutes before it should have been, otherwise I could have warned you I wanted to make a prompt start. I had …’

He stopped, enjoying his suddenly discovered hardness. Did Ebbetts feel like this that day in the small office off the Cabinet Room when he had imposed his will? Is this how powerful men felt, subjugating the weak?

‘I had,’ he picked up again, emphasizing the irony, ‘hoped we could have done everything in this first hour.’

He halted again, taken by a sudden thought. He’d ask her … no, not ask, he’d tell her she had to work late. He’d demand that she stay until he returned from the second day’s meeting between Pavel and Bennovitch and clear the backlog that had accumulated. There was a lot to be done, several days’ work in fact, but it didn’t matter. After all, he had nowhere to go, that evening or any other.

Today Jessica Emily Aimes, spinster, fifty-three, of Ash Drive, Bromley, Kent, was going to be put in her place. He’d crush her truculence and her bossy attitude and for his few remaining days in the department enjoy a proper relationship with the woman.

Christ, how she’d hate working late.

‘So …’ he began, enjoying the build-up, ‘I’d like you to …’

‘Your wife rang.’

She cut him off decisively, a person who had waited for her moment of interruption to achieve the maximum impact.

‘What?’

‘Your wife rang.’ She allowed a momentary pause, while her eyes swept the unpressed suit and grubby shoes. ‘I asked her how her mother was, you having told me how unwell the poor lady was and how your wife had to go to the country to care for her …’

Another pause, for a staged smile of uncertainty.

‘She didn’t seem to know what I was talking about,’ she completed.

Adrian hunched behind the pen-and-pencil set, head turned towards the empty window, to avoid her direct stare. Despite their complaints, the maintenance people hadn’t cleaned the window-sill and the chocolate was parched, like a dried-up riverbed. It wouldn’t be today, not now. Today she’d won. Again. Perhaps tomorrow.

‘What did she want?’

‘She asked me to give you the address of a solicitor,’ said Miss Aimes and again there was that smirk. She handed him a piece of paper. Runthorpe, Golding and Chapel, Pauls Mews, London EG2. Very respectable-sounding, he thought. I wonder how many lesbians Mr Runthorpe had acted for in the past? Still, who said it was a man? Perhaps it was a Miss Runthorpe, all part of Anita’s new set of friends.

‘You wanted to ask me something?’

Adrian looked at her, puzzled. ‘What?’

‘You were complaining of my being late and going to ask me something,’ reminded Miss Aimes, confidently.

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ said Adrian. ‘Nothing at all. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

Miss Aimes wouldn’t let go.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ said Adrian, ‘quite sure.’

They reversed the routine the second day, bringing Bennovitch across country to Pulborough. Pavel had seemed surprised, at first, as if expecting to go to the other man, but then he accepted the change without comment. The scientist was withdrawn, grunting reactions to Adrian’s attempts at conversation while they awaited the other Russian.

Bennovitch waddled in, like a newborn bear on show at a zoo for the first time. Adrian noticed that the nervousness was subdued, the hands not automatically in his mouth now.

As before, the two men embraced and immediately began talking.

‘I’ve worked on the solar wind speeds, during the night. Look.’

Bennovitch produced his calculations proudly, anticipating praise. Adrian remembered the jottings of the previous day. What had happened to them? A mistake he realized. He’d have to collect them. Had Pavel taken them? He couldn’t remember.

The two men launched into a technical discussion of calculations. And in Russian, mused Adrian. That would take some translation and analysis. But that didn’t matter. Ebbetts was getting what he wanted, the information that the two men possessed, and in two weeks’ time he’d initiate his diplomacy and get something from every side.

But the major benefit would be for Ebbetts and Britain. That, supposed Adrian, was the meaning of statesmanship, the successful manipulation of everybody and every country and everything to your own advantage.

He wondered if statesmen and prime ministers and diplomats ever regretted afterwards the concessions and compromises and ruthlessness necessary to earn their reputations. Probably not. The end always justifies the means, unless the end deviates from the expected success, and then the inbuilt protection is brought forth, and the mistakes can be shown as those of others.

Life, thought Adrian, the sort of life he lived, was a shit. Everyone was a shit, him and the people he dealt with and even the things he had to do. A shit.

He sat, half listening to the two Russians, enjoying the description. Everything was certainly changing. That was a word that would not have presented itself three weeks before. Adrian Dodds, you’re growing up. He sighed. Growing up. But too late. A shit. He brought the word to mind again, consciously, enjoying his mental graffito, like a fourteen-year-old inscribing his adulthood on a lavatory wall. But my way is safer than lavatory walls, thought Adrian. I can’t get caught.

Pavel was nodding, accepting Bennovitch’s argument, and the younger man was smiling shyly. If he had a tail, thought Adrian, he’d wag it.

The Englishman suddenly became conscious that they were recognizing his presence in the room and began to concentrate.

‘I asked you a question,’ said Bennovitch testily, eager to prove his attitude towards the interrogator.

Adrian smiled. There was no point in constantly defeating the tiny man.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, deferentially. ‘What did you say?’

‘When will we be allowed to be together all the time?’

‘Soon,’ said Adrian, vaguely. ‘It’s pointless occupying two houses. It’s obviously better for you to be together. I’ll make the recommendation tonight.’

‘And the debriefing takes so much less time, doesn’t it?’

The cynicism of three days before emerged unexpectedly and Adrian looked at Pavel.

‘Yes,’ he conceded, ‘so much less time.’

‘We’ll go to America, won’t we?’ asked Bennovitch. He seemed anxious to prove himself constantly to the other Russian. A son with an inferiority complex trying to compete with a brilliant father, decided Adrian.

‘That depends.’ He began to hedge, but Pavel intruded, abruptly.

‘Oh no it doesn’t,’ he contradicted. ‘What use would we have in Britain, whose space programme is limited to a firework on the Woomera rocket range?’

You’d be surprised, thought Adrian. He smiled at Pavel. ‘Of course America wants you,’ he said. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that. Washington has officially asked that their embassy here be given access to you as soon as possible. They intend making you an offer, obviously. And it’ll be a good one.’

‘Sought after,’ mocked Pavel, speaking to the other Russian. ‘We’re being fought over, Alexandre.’

Bennovitch misunderstood the irony and smiled happily, pleased that they were being considered together, each as useful as the other. A year, judged Adrian perhaps eighteen months at the outside before Bennovitch had a breakdown.

One of the security men entered and nodded and Pavel said, still sarcastic, ‘Visiting time is up. Time to go.’

Bennovitch looked from him to Adrian and then back again, trying to gauge the feeling that existed between them and failing.

Adrian nodded to Bennovitch. ‘It’s time to go, Alexandre,’ he said. ‘You’ve been here three hours.’

‘Tomorrow?’ asked the younger Russian.

‘Of course. Perhaps for good.’

Bennovitch smiled and turned back to Pavel. They embraced again and as Bennovitch began to move back Pavel held him, the affection almost embarrassing.

Adrian sat unspeaking with Pavel for several moments after Bennovitch had gone. He felt unsettled. He couldn’t isolate the cause or harden the feeling beyond a vague impression. And he wasn’t allowed impressions any more, by direct order from the Prime Minister.

‘You have a lot, haven’t you?’ said Pavel.

‘What?’

‘I can tell by the freedom with which Alexandre talks that he’s told you a lot.’

‘He’s been helpful,’ allowed Adrian, guardedly.

‘And with us together, it’s one hundred times better, isn’t it?’

‘You seem to be a fantastic team,’ admitted Adrian.

‘We are,’ said Pavel, without conceit, ‘we are.’

Silence settled again. The feeling persisted in Adrian. Pavel stood up, wandering without direction around the room, and Adrian was reminded of an actor rehearsing his lines. When Pavel sat down, it proved an apt simile.

‘I don’t want to see Alexandre again,’ he began.

So his impression had been right. That was his immediate reaction, the knowledge that he was going to be proved right. He had warned of something unusual happening and here it was. Adrian wondered what Ebbetts’s response would be.

‘What?’

‘I said I don’t want to see Alexandre any more.’

‘But why …?’ Adrian forced the question, aware of the answer.

Pavel got up and completed another tour of the room before he answered. Then, spacing the words as if anxious there should be no misunderstanding, he said, ‘I want to go back.’

Adrian stared at him. He’d known the unexpected would happen, told them even. It had been an impression and now it was a fact. It had to be stretched, explored to the fullest degree. Ebbetts had to know how accurate his assessment had been. That’s vanity, thought Adrian, suddenly. O.K., so he was going to be vain.

‘Go back?’

‘Yes.’

‘But …’ Adrian paused, aware of the artificiality. ‘But why? What good will it do?’

‘My family are being persecuted.’

‘You don’t know that.’

Pavel snorted a laugh. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘You know it and I know it and everyone knows it. They’re tried, convicted and condemned.’

‘But what good will your going back achieve?’ queried Adrian. He stopped, considering, thinking beyond the need to justify himself at any later meetings with Ebbetts. Whatever happened, he was to be fired. That was inevitable. But if he managed to keep Pavel as well as Bennovitch then he would have performed a service. The noun rang in his mind, like church bells on Sunday. A service. To what or to whom? To Britain. The pomposity jarred him. It sounded like a line from one of the memoirs, one of those ‘why I did it’ accounts from a politician anxious to write his own history. ‘I did it for my country.’ It didn’t sound right without a trumpet fanfare. All right, Adrian decided, to Britain. But to himself as well. No one else would know, certainly. Miss Aimes would still despise him and so would Anita and Ebbetts and Sir William. And perhaps even Sir Jocelyn. But he wouldn’t despise himself. He would have tried and it would be something to recall with … yes, with pride and he was going to need some memory to support himself in the coming months.

‘Viktor,’ he began, slowly. ‘Now let’s think about this. When we began talking, four days ago, we established a code, an understanding if you like. I was honest with you and you respected it. And I’m being honest now, completely honest. You abandoned them. You discarded your wife and Georgi and young Valentina and you decided to come here. What good will you do by going back? It can’t save them. Nothing can, not now. Going back would be an empty gesture.’

‘I’ll be with them.’

Adrian waited, preparing the moment. God, he thought, what a shit. His new word. His new self-description. Adrian Dodds, shit.

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Viktor,’—even the protest sounded false — ‘what does that mean? What good will it do? If they’re on trial, your going back won’t stop the proceedings. It will just add another person in the dock.’

Pavel began another tour of the room. ‘I’ll be with them,’ he insisted, doggedly. ‘I’ll die with them.’

Adrian’s attitude hardened.

‘Viktor, believe one thing. Believe and accept that you’ve lost whatever influence you had in the Soviet Union. The day — that day — when you walked away from the Paris show, you destroyed everything — your prestige, your importance, your ability to dictate terms. You’re lost now. You’re a traitor, a defector. To Russia you’re a “nothing” man. It’s over, Viktor. Four weeks ago, you were the most important man in Russia. Today, you’re nothing.’

‘Except a target.’

The reply surprised Adrian. ‘No one knows where you are. You’re safe.’

He gave the cue to Pavel. ‘But they’re not. I want to go back. The embassy man said if I went back, everything would be as it was before I left.’

‘Oh Viktor,’ rebuked Adrian. ‘You don’t believe that and neither do I. If you go back, you’re dead.’

‘So are they.’

‘So they are, whatever happens.’

‘But I can die with them.’

‘That’s a stupid attitude.’

‘I don’t give a fuck for your opinion of my attitude.’

Pavel used the Russian expression and Adrian thought it sounded better than English.

‘You can’t stop me,’ insisted Pavel. ‘The embassy official said if I wanted to go back, there was no way you could prevent it.’

Adrian sighed. ‘No Viktor, there isn’t. We can’t hold you against your will.’

He hesitated, then pressed on, brutally. ‘They’ll die,’ he said. ‘Valentina and Georgi and your wife. They will be tried and put into a labour camp and there they will die. It will happen whether or not you go back. Don’t be so bloody stupid. There’s only one way you can attack the Soviet Union for what they’re going to do. That is by staying here, in the West.’

‘If I go back, I’ll be killed,’ said Pavel, bluntly.

Adrian thought he was wavering.

‘Probably. Or sent to Potma for twenty years.’

Adrian had wrongly assessed the Russian’s remark.

‘So I’ll go back,’ said Pavel, ‘I’ll go back and die, with my family.’

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ repeated Adrian, feeling he was losing the argument.

For a moment, Pavel looked at him. Then he said, ‘Don’t lecture me about love.’

I’m the last person to imagine I have the qualification, thought Adrian, I’m an accepted failure.

‘I wasn’t lecturing about love. I was arguing against the stupidity of it all.’

‘Love isn’t stupid,’ said Pavel.

‘No,’ agreed Adrian, ‘no, it isn’t.’

‘I’m going back,’ insisted Pavel. ‘I’m going back to die. I’m not going to tell you another thing. From this moment, our co-operation ends. I want to see the man from the embassy again.’

‘You’re stupid,’ shouted Adrian.

Pavel remained silent.

‘So everybody dies,’ said Adrian, trying for a shock effect. ‘It’s so pointless.’

‘Everything is pointless, without people you love and who love you,’ retorted Pavel.

Adrian winced at the Russian’s remark. A discussion about romance from a space scientist. He hadn’t expected that.

‘What does it prove, to die?’ asked Adrian.

‘Nothing,’ admitted Pavel, immediately. ‘But don’t be obtuse. I’m not trying to prove anything, not to you, anyway. If my family die, I’ll die with them. I’ll have proved something to myself, that’s all. I’ve a lot of people to make amends to.’

‘There’s no argument I can put up, is there,’ said Adrian, resigned.

‘No. None at all.’

For a long while, neither spoke. Then Adrian said, ‘It’s odd. I think we could have been friends.’

Pavel considered the remark. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I think we might.’

‘Others will try and persuade you to stay, after me,’ warned Adrian.

‘Tell them not to bother,’ said Pavel. ‘It won’t do any good.’

‘I’ll try. But they might not take any notice.’

The Russian came back and sat opposite. ‘Has this been a personal failure for you?’ he asked, with sudden awareness.

‘Yes,’ admitted Adrian.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was hardly your fault.’

Suddenly Pavel extended his hand. Adrian sat for a moment, staring at the Russian. Then he took it and they shook hands.

‘Goodbye,’ said Pavel.

‘There’ll be other meetings,’ said Adrian.

‘But they’ll be different from today’s.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Adrian. ‘They’ll be different.’

‘So — goodbye.’

‘Goodbye.’