Moskva

7 Meeting Anna on the Street

Tom was heading down the steps from the embassy on to Maurice Thorez Embankment when he spotted Anna Masterton standing by a low wall, staring at the frozen river. She was huddled in a sheepskin coat, and carried leather gloves in one hand. Her surprise at seeing him was so overdone he wondered how long she’d been waiting.

‘Find anything useful?’ she asked.

‘Not yet.’

Her smile faded at his answer. ‘Edward says you served in Ulster.’

Tom nodded, face carefully neutral. ‘Both sides of the border.’

‘Do I ask what you were doing?’

‘Best not. I have to ask. Might Alex have gone home?’

‘Home?’

‘To the UK. To her father?’

Anna looked as if she’d just been slapped. ‘He’s dead,’ she said flatly. ‘And this is her home, for now. For better or worse.’

‘I’m sorry. An accident?’

‘Cancer, prostate. Alex took it badly. Well, you would.’ Anna tried to smile. ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’

Tom pretended to glance at his watch. No one senior would read the report he’d been sent to Moscow to write. At least, no more than the necessary skim through to confirm he’d written the bloody thing. ‘The Resilience of Religion in Soviet Russia’.

Maybe he was misjudging his bosses. Maybe he was meant to find a magic lever to bring the whole Soviet state to its knees.

Personally, he doubted it.

You are required to present yourself at the Palace of Westminster on 14 February at 3.45 p.m. Please use the Cromwell Green entrance… You may, if you wish, make a written submission in advance of the hearing.

He didn’t wish. He didn’t wish at all.

Tom was in Moscow to keep him out of the clutches of a parliamentary select committee on Northern Ireland, who’d whine at his absence and note their displeasure and move on to safer matters. Much safer. Safer for everyone.

‘I should probably get back to work,’ he said.

‘You have a deadline?’

‘Oh yes.’ He did too. Although he couldn’t remember what it was.

‘I’d better let you go then.’

‘Anna…’

She turned back.

‘What did you really want to ask?’

‘Oh God, look, between us… All right? Alex was keen on an American boy at the university here. Nineteen, so a bit old for her. They met at the swimming pool. I’ve been trying to leave David messages but they’re not getting through.’

‘That’s where Alex is?’

‘That’s what I’d decided.’ Anna bit her lip. ‘Hope against hope, really. Anyway, after I left you up there, I cracked.’

‘You’re driving out there?’

‘Dear God, no. Edward would want to come. I called the American ambassador’s wife. We get on well enough. The thing is, our embassy keeps a list of British exchange students at Moscow University. We’re their post office. They come in now and then to check on mail from home. The Americans run the same system.’

‘So you got a message to him that way?’

‘He doesn’t exist. At least, there’s no David Wright.’

‘Your daughter told you about this boy?’

‘I lied about Alex not having a diary.’ Anna Masterton coloured slightly. ‘He must have given her a false name.’

‘Or she suspected you were reading it and used a false one.’

That thought obviously hadn’t occurred to her.

‘Where’s her diary now?’ Tom asked.

‘Gone… Along with half her clothes.’

‘Boy trouble is good,’ said Tom. ‘Certainly better than your other options.’ Anna looked so sick he regretted his words immediately.

‘Ask your husband what Alex said in her note.’

‘There wasn’t…’ Anna stopped. Her face hardened, and Tom was glad not to have her as an enemy. She’d make a bad enemy. ‘Bastard,’ she said. ‘That’s why he’s so bloody calm, isn’t it? She didn’t simply vanish. She left a note.’

Tom imagined so. There usually was.

Her glance was sharp. ‘How long have you known?’

Since your husband looked shifty when I asked, would be tactless even for him. So Tom shrugged and said it was just a hunch. He doubted she believed him.

‘Do you have a photograph I could borrow?’

‘Of Alex? Probably. Why?’

‘I’ll go out to the university first thing tomorrow.’