London Match

23

Gloria expressed her love for me with such desperate intensity that I was frightened by it. Was it, I wondered, the unique passion that she wanted it to be? Was it the one and only chance for us both to find everlasting happiness? Or were these ideas just a measure of her youth? She could be so many different people: amusing companion, shrewd colleague, sulky child, sexy bedmate, and concerned mother to my two children. Sometimes I saw her as the fulfilment of all my hopes and dreams; at others I saw in her just a beautiful young girl balanced on the edge of womanhood and myself as a self-deluding middle-aged lecher.

It is liberating to be in love, and Gloria showed ail the exhilaration that dedicated love provides. But to be loved is something quite different. To be loved is to suffer a measure of tyranny. For some the sacrifice comes easily, but Gloria could be possessive in a single-minded way that only the very young and the very old inflict upon their loved ones. She couldn't understand why I hadn't invited her to live with me permanently in my home in Duke Street. She resented every evening I didn't spend with her. When she was with me she resented the hours I spent reading, because she felt it was a pleasure we couldn't share. Most of all, she resented the trips abroad I had to make, so that I often deferred telling her about them until the last moment.

'Back to Berlin,' she said peevishly when I told her. We were standing in the kitchen after Zena and Werner had gone back to their hotel.

'It's not my idea,' I said. 'But Berlin is my desk. There's no one else who can go in my place. If I put it off this week, I've have to go next week.'

'What's so urgent in Berlin?'

'Nothing is urgent there. It's all routine, but some of the reports can't be adequately covered in writing.'

'Why not?' There was something, some anxiety in her voice that I didn't recognize. I should have been warned by that but I prattled on.

'It's better to listen at length over a glass of beer. Sometimes the asides are more valuable than the report itself. And I have to see Frank Harrington.'

'One long booze, is it?'

'You know I don't want to go,' I said.

'I don't know anything of the kind. I hear you talking about Berlin with such love and tenderness that it makes me jealous. A woman can't compete with a city, darling.' She smiled a cold and unconvincing smile. She was not good at hiding her emotions; it was one of the things I found attractive about her.

'It's where I grew up, sweetheart. When Werner and I get together, we talk of our childhood. Doesn't everyone reminisce when they see old school friends again? It was my home.'

'Of course they do, darling. You don't have to be so defensive about such a dirty old whore. How can I really be jealous of an ugly, chilly heap of bricks?'

'I'll be back as soon as I can,' I said. Before switching off the hall and kitchen lights, I switched on the lights at the top of the stairs.

It was dark, the glimmer of light just enough to make a halo round her pale yellow hair. As I turned to speak with her she flung her arms round me and kissed me furiously. I could never get used to embracing this young woman who was almost as tall as I am. And when she hugged me there was a strength within her that I found exciting. She whispered, 'You do love me, don't you?' I held her very tight.

'Yes,' I said. I'd given up denying it. The truth was that I didn't know whether I loved her or not; all I knew was that I missed her dreadfully when I wasn't with her. If that wasn't love, I'd settle for it until love arrived. 'Yes, I love you.'

'Oh, Bernard, darling' – her cry of joy was almost a shout.

'You'll wake the children,' I said.

'You're always so frightened of waking the children. We won't wake them, and if we do, they'll go back to sleep again. Come to bed, Bernard. I love you so much.'

We tiptoed upstairs and past the children and the nanny. Once in the bedroom I suppose I should have switched on the overhead light, but I went to the bedside table to switch on that light instead. That's why I stumbled over the large and heavy suitcase that had been left at the foot of the bed. I lost my balance and fell full length to the floor with enough noise to wake up the whole street.

'What the bloody hell is that?' I shouted, sitting on the carpet and rubbing my head where I'd cracked it against the bedstead.

'I'm sorry, darling,' said Gloria. She switched on the bathroom light to see better and helped me to my feet.

'What is it? Did you leave it there?' I didn't want to be helped to my feet; I just wanted her not to make the bedroom into an obstacle course.

'It's mine,' she said in a whisper. For a moment she stood looking at me and then went into the bathroom and began putting cream on her face to remove her makeup.

'Good God, woman! Where did it come from?'

For a long time she didn't reply, then she pushed the door open and said, 'It's some things of mine.' She'd taken off her sweater and her bra. She washed her face and began brushing her teeth, staring at herself in the mirror over the sink as if I wasn't there.

'Things?'

'Clothes and books. I'm not moving in, Bernard, I know you don't want me to move in with you. The case is there only until tomorrow; then it will be gone.' She had taken the toothbrush from her mouth so that she could speak and now she stood looking at herself in the mirror, talking as if to her own image and making the promise to herself.

'Why did you have to leave it in the middle of the bedroom? Why bring it up here at all? Couldn't it go under the stairs?' I started to undress, throwing my clothes on the chair. One shoe hit the wall with more force than I intended.

She finished in the bathroom and reappeared, wearing a new frilly nightdress I hadn't seen before. 'The bathroom is all yours,' she said. And then, 'Mrs Dias, your cleaning woman, has to get into that cupboard under the stairs to get the vacuum cleaner.'

'So what?'

'She'd ask me what it was, wouldn't she? Or ask you what it was? And then you'd fuss about it. I thought it was better in here. I put it under the bed; then I had to get some things from it. I meant to push it back under the bed again. I'm sorry, darling. But you're a difficult man.'

'It's okay,' I said, but I was annoyed and unable to conceal my annoyance.

This silly accident with her suitcase spoiled the mood for both of us. When I came from the bathroom she was curled up in bed, the pillow over her head, and facing away. I got into bed and put an arm around her shoulders and said, 'I'm sorry. I should have looked where I was going.'

She didn't turn to face me. Her face was in the pillow. 'You've changed lately, Bernard. You're very distant. Is it something I've done?'

'Nothing you've done.'

'Is it Dicky? He's been like a bear with a sore head these last few days. They say he's given up his lady friend.'

'You know he was seeing Tessa Kosinski?'

'You told me,' said Gloria. She was still talking to her pillow.

'Did I?'

'A friend of Daphne's saw them in a hotel. You told me all that. I know you were worried about it.'

'It was madness.'

'Why?' she said. She turned her face towards me. She knew the answer, but she wanted to talk.

'Tessa is the sister of an intelligence official who is now working for the KGB. It would be okay for Dicky to have normal social contact with her. It would be okay for Dicky to be seeing her in the course of his job. But treason and infidelity have too much in common. Dicky was meeting Tessa secretly, and that sort of thing makes Internal Security very very nervous.'

'Is that why he gave her up?'

'Who told you he gave her up?'

'Sometimes I think you don't even trust me, Bernard.'

'Who told you he gave her up?'

A big sigh. 'So she gave him up.'

'Why did you think it was his idea?'

'Falling over suitcases makes you paranoid, did you know that, darling?'

'I know that, but answer my question anyway.'

Gloria stroked my face and ran a finger over my mouth. 'You've just told me that Dicky had everything to lose from the relationship. Naturally I concluded that he would be the one to end it.'

'And that's the only reason?'

'He's a man; men are selfish. If they have to choose between their job and a woman, they'll get rid of the woman. Everyone knows how men are.' It was of course a reference to her fears about me.

'Tessa gave Dicky the push, but Dicky likes to tell it his way: strong-willed Dicky who knows what's best for both of them and brokenhearted Tessa trying to put the pieces of her life back together.'

'He is like that, isn't he,' said Gloria. 'He's the worst sort of male chauvinist pig. Does Tessa really love him?'

'I shouldn't think so. I don't think she knows whether she loves him or not. I suppose he amuses her; that's all she asks. She'd go to bed with almost anyone she found amusing. Sometimes I think perhaps Tessa Is incapable of loving anyone.'

'That's a rotten thing to say, darling. She adores you and you've told me a thousand times that you could never have managed without all the help she's giving you.'

'That's true, but we were talking about love.'

'I suppose you're right. Love is different.'

'They're not in love, Dicky and Tessa,' I said. 'If they were really in love, there would be nothing that could keep them apart.'

'Like me pursuing you?' She hugged me.

'Yes, like that.'

'How could your wife have let you go? She must be mad. I adore you so much.'

'Tessa saw Fiona,' I said suddenly, I hadn't meant to tell her, but she was involved. It was better that she knew what was happening. There always came a point at which the job and one's personal life overlapped. It was one of the worst things about the job, telling lies and half-truths about everything. For a womanizer I suppose these things come more easily.

'Your wife came here?'

'They met in Holland, at their aunt's house.'

'What did your wife want?'

'It was the aunt's birthday. Both sisters visit her every year to celebrate it.'

'She didn't go just for that, Bernard; she wanted something.'

'How do you know?'

'I know your wife, Bernard. I think about her all the time. She wouldn't go to Holland to visit her aunt and see her sister except for a very good reason. She must have wanted something. Not a departmental something – there would have been other ways to tackle that; something from you.'

'She wants the children,' I said.

'You mustn't let them go,' said Gloria.

'Just for a holiday, she said. Then she'll send them back.' I was still trying to convince myself that it was as simple as that. I was half hoping that Gloria would encourage that belief, but she didn't.

'What mother could send her children back, not knowing when she'll see them again, if ever? If she goes to such trouble to arrange to see them, she'll never want to give them up again.'

Gloria's opinion didn't make me feel good. I felt like getting up and having another drink, but I resisted the idea; I'd had enough already. That's what I think,' I said. 'But if she goes through the courts for custody, she might well get them. I'm going to get a legal opinion about it.'

'Are you going to tell your father-in-law?'

'I just can't decide. She's asking politely, and only asking that they go on holiday with her. If I refuse that request, a court might see that as refusing reasonable access. That would count against me if she pursued the matter and wanted custody.'

'Poor darling, what a worry for you. Tessa told you this last week when you went there for drinks?'

'Yes,' I said.

'You've been in a rotten mood ever since. I wish I'd known. I was worried. I thought perhaps…'

'What?'

'You and Tessa,' said Gloria.

'Me and Tessa?'

'You know how much she'd like to get you into bed.'

'But I don't want to go to bed with her,' 1 said.

'Now who's shouting loud enough to wake up the children?'

'I like Tessa, but not like that. And anyway, she's married to George. And I've got you.'

'That's what makes you so interesting to her. You're a challenge.'

'Nonsense.'

'Did you tell Werner about Fiona meeting Tessa? Did you tell him she wants the children?'

'No.'

'But Werner's your best friend.'

'He couldn't help. He'd only worry himself sick. I didn't think it was fair to burden him with it.'

'You should have told him. He'll be angry that you haven't confided in him. He's easily hurt, anyone can see that.'

'It's best this way,' I said, without being really sure it was best.

'When are you testifying before the committee?' she said.

'I don't know.'

There's a rumour that you've refused to go.'

'Oh, yes.'

'Is it true?'

'No, it's not true. Dicky told me that the committee had scheduled a time to hear evidence from me, but I said that I would need written orders.'

'To go before the committee?'

'I want written orders that specify what I can tell them.'

'And Dicky won't give you that?'

'He wouldn't even give Werner guidelines to what he could reveal.'

'He refused?'

'He dithered and changed the subject. You know what Dicky's like. If I'd asked him one more time, he would have developed a head cold and been taken home on a stretcher.'

'Everyone else is giving evidence. Aren't you going rather far, darling?'

'These are not our people on the committee.'

They are MI5.'

'I am not authorized to tell MI5 anything and everything about our operations.'

'You're just being pigheaded.' She laughed as if pleased I was giving someone else trouble rather than her.

'It's not just a matter of a combined committee: we've had those before, plenty of them. But it looks as if Bret has been shunted off onto that committee while they decide whether he should face an enquiry. If Bret is suspect… if Bret might turn out to be a KGB agent, why should I go over there and fill in the blanks for him?'

'If Bret is really suspect, the people on that committee must know,' said Gloria. 'And in that case, they'll make sure that you provide no evidence that would matter if it got back to the Russians.'

'I'm glad you think so,' I said. 'But they're more devious than that. I suspect that the Stinnes committee wants to use me as a blunt instrument to beat Bret across the head. That's the real reason I won't go.'

'What do you mean?'

'That committee isn't called the "Stinnes committee" – it's called the " Rensselaer committee". Was that a Freudian slip? Anyway, it's a good name because that committee isn't primarily interested in Stinnes except as a source of evidence about Bret. And if they finally get me over there, they won't want to know about how we enrolled Stinnes – they'll be asking me questions that might trap Bret.'

'If Bret is guilty, what's wrong with that?'

'Let them provide their own evidence. They think I'll play ball with anything they want. They think I'll cooperate in order to prove that I'm whiter than the driven snow. Dicky more or less told me that. He said I should be pleased that suspicion has fallen on Bret because now they'd be less inclined to believe I was helping Fiona.'

'I'm sure he didn't mean that,' said Gloria.

'He meant it.'

'You're determined to believe that the Department doesn't trust you. But there are no restrictions on you, none at all. I bring the daily sheets up from Registry. If there was any restriction on what you could see, I would know about it.'

'Perhaps you're right,' I said. 'But there's still an undercurrent of suspicion. Perhaps it's just a way of keeping me under pressure, but I don't like it. And I don't like Dicky telling me that Bret's being convicted will let me breathe easy.'

'Do you think the committee was convened by the Director-General as a way to investigate Bret Rensselaer?'

'The committee was the brainchild of someone higher up the ladder. The old man wouldn't be arranging for MI5 to help us wash the dirty linen unless he was ordered to do it that way.'

'Higher up the ladder?'

'I see the hand of the Cabinet Office in this one. The Coordinator of Intelligence and Security is the only man who can tell both us and Five what he wants done. The D-G made it sound like his own idea so that the Department wouldn't feel humiliated.'

'Humiliated by having MI5 investigate one of our people?'

'That's my guess,' I said.

'If Bret is guilty, does it matter how they trap him?'

'If he's guilty. But there's not enough solid evidence for that. Either Bret is a super-agent who never makes a bad mistake or he's being victimized.'

'Victimized by whom?'

'You haven't seen at close quarters the sort of panic that develops when there's talk of an agent infiltrating the Department. There's hysteria. The other day Dicky was remembering all sorts of amazing ramifications of a trip to Kiel he made with Bret. Dicky was turning Bret's reaction to a KGB man into conclusive evidence against Bret. That's how the hysteria builds up.'

'They say that where Bret went wrong was in the launderette,' said Gloria.

'At first I thought so too. But now I'm inclined to see it as evidence in Bret's favour. The kid who came through the door shouted "Go" to us. Why did he do that, unless he thought Bret was Stinnes? He was expecting someone to run off with them. Everyone is trying to believe that it was something Bret arranged to eliminate Stinnes, but that doesn't make sense. It was planned as an escape; I see that now. And don't forget that Bret could have picked up that shotgun and killed me.'

'And the bomb under the car?'

'Because they thought Bret was in the car.'

'And you say that clears Bret?'

'I told you, those hoods were trying to spring Stinnes.'

'Or to kidnap him,' said Gloria.

'Not on a motorcycle. A back-seat passenger has to be willing to go along.'

'If Bret is completely innocent, there's so much else to explain. What about the Cabinet memo that Bret sent to Moscow?'

'There's evidence that Bret's copy got to Moscow. But there was only one copy of that memo in the Department. Why shouldn't Fiona have sent a photocopy to Moscow? She had access.'

'And then used it to frame Bret?'

'I'm only saying that all the evidence against Bret is circumstantial. We aren't certain that Moscow ever got the report that followed the memo. There isn't one really good piece of it that nails Bret beyond doubt.'

'You can't have it both ways, Bernard. You say they put the bomb under the car in which Stinnes was sitting because they thought Bret was inside it. Either Moscow is going to immense trouble to frame Bret or else they tried to kill him. But those two actions are incompatible.'

'Both actions would benefit Moscow. If that bomb had killed Bret, the Department would be in an even worse state of panic. As it is now, they have Bret under observation, they have a measure of control over who he sees and what he does. Everyone feels that if Bret is guilty, he'll fail prey to the interrogator, especially with Stinnes inventing some difficult questions for him. They're comforting themselves with the idea that Bret will cooperate fully with the investigation to avoid a long jail sentence. But if Bret was dead, things wouldn't look so rosy. There'd be no way to pull the chestnuts out of the fire. We'd have to be digging out all the material he'd handled, supervetting all Bret's contacts, and doing the same sort of complicated double-thinking that we did when Fiona went over there.'

'If a dead Bret is worse for us than a live Bret, why haven't they tried again?'

'They don't have hit teams waiting in the Embassy, sweetheart. Such killings have to be planned and authorized. A hit team has to be briefed and provided with false documentation. It all went wrong for them at the launderette, so now there will probably be some KGB officials arguing against trying again. It will take time.' What I didn't say was that Fiona might be one of the people arguing against another attempt on Bret's life, for I suspected that Bret's life might depend upon what she decided.

'Do you think Bret knows he's in danger?'

'This is just one theory, Gloria. It could be wrong; Bret might be the KGB mole that everyone thinks he is.'

'Will they make you go before the committee?'

'The D-G won't want to go back to the Cabinet Office and say I'm being difficult, and yet the Coordinator is the only one who can order me to do it. I think the D-G will decide it's better to delay things and hope the committee will decide it can manage without me. In any case, I've got a breathing space. You know what the Department is like; if the committee insists on me attending, they'll have to put it in writing. Then I'll put my objections in writing too. In any case, nothing will happen until I come back from Berlin.'

'When are you going?' said Gloria.

'Tomorrow.'

'Oh, Bernard. Couldn't it wait a week? There's so much I wanted to talk about with you.'

'Is there?' I said, fully alerted. There was something in her voice, a plaintive note I recognized. 'Is it something to do with that suitcase?'

'No,' she said, quickly enough to indicate that she really meant yes.

'What's in it?'

'Clothes. I told you.'

'More clothes? This house is full of your clothes now.'

'It's not.' Her voice was harsh and she was angry. And then, more rueful: 'I knew you'd be beastly.'

'You remember what we agreed, Gloria. We are not going to make this a permanent arrangement.'

'I'm just your weekend girl, aren't I?'

'If that's the way you want to think about it. But there are no other girls, if that's what you mean.'

'You don't care about me.'

'Of course I do, but I must have just a bit of wardrobe space. Couldn't you take a few things back to your parents… and maybe rotate things as you need them?'

'I should have known you didn't love me.'

'I do love you, but we can't live together, not all the week.'

'Why?'

'There are all sorts of reasons… the children and Nanny and… well, I'm just not ready for that sort of permanent domestic scene. I must have breathing space. It's too soon after my wife left.' The words came out in a torrent, none of them providing any real answer for her.

'You're frightened of the word "marriage", aren't you? That really frightens you.'

'I'm not even divorced yet.'

'You say you're worried about your wife getting custody of the children. If we were married, the court would be more sympathetic to the idea of you keeping them.'

'Perhaps you're right, but you can't get married before you're divorced, and the court will not look favourably upon a bigamist.'

'Or look favourably upon a father living with his mistress. So that's the reason?'

'I didn't say that.'

'You treat me like a child. I hate you.'

'We'll talk about it when I come back from Berlin. But there are other people involved in such a decision. Have you considered what your parents are likely to say to you if you moved in here?'

'What they'd say to you, that's what concerns you, isn't it? You're worried about what my parents are going to say to you.'

'Yes, I am concerned about them.'

She began to cry.

'What's wrong, darling?' I said, although of course I knew what was wrong. 'Don't be in such a hurry about everything. You're young.'

'I've left my parents.'

'What's that?'

'All my things are in the suitcase – my books, my pictures, the rest of my clothes. I had a terrible row with my mother, and my father took her side. He had to, I suppose. I understand why he did it. Anyway, I've had enough of them both. I packed my things and left them. I'm never going back.'

I felt sick.

She went on: 'I'm never going back to them. I told them that. My mother called me names. She said awful things about me, Bernard.'

She was crying more seriously now, and her head fell onto my shoulder and I could feel the warm wet tears on my bare skin. 'Go to sleep, sweetheart. We'll talk about it tomorrow,' I said. 'The plane doesn't leave until lunchtime.'

‘I not staying here. You don't want me, you've told me that.'

'For the time being…'

‘I not staying here. I have someone I can go to. Don't worry, Bernard. By the time you come back from Berlin all my things will be out of here. At last I can see you as you really are.'

She was still limp in my arms, still sobbing with a subdued and desolate weariness, but I could hear the determination in her voice. There was no way she was going to stay except on promise of marriage and that was something I couldn't bring myself to give. She turned over to face away from me and hugged herself. She wouldn't be comforted. I remained awake a long time, but she went on sobbing very quietly. I knew there was nothing I could do. There is no sadness to compare with the grief of the young.