The hidden man

15

Mark was lying on the hard, starched bed of his Moscow hotel room, nursing a stomach cramp brought on by two days of cheap Georgian wine and deep-fried meats. Thomas Macklin was downstairs in the lobby cracking jokes with an entourage of deal-hungry Russians wearing badly cut suits and explosive aftershave. Neither of them had any idea of the where abouts of Sebastian Roth.

Ben telephoned him from a booth outside Charing Cross Station. At first Mark thought about ignoring the call, but he had given his number to a good-looking French television journalist whose eyes had worked him over at a bar on Tverskaya. There was just the faint possibility that it might be her, bored and lonely on another cold night in Moscow. He cleared his voice by saying ‘Telephone’ into the room and moved off the bed. His body felt slow and lumpen, a searing pain across his abdomen when his feet touched the floor.

‘Yes? Hello?’

‘I fucked up.’

His brother’s voice was so clear he might have been speaking from the next room.

‘Ben?’

‘I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t sit there and listen to his bullshit. I didn’t have the patience just to ride it out and let everything take its course.’

Mark rubbed his face.

‘What happened? You went to the dinner?’

‘Yeah. Lost my rag. Flew at him. Why d’you give him the photograph, brother? Why d’you do that?’

Dissembled by fatigue, Mark rubbed his head and said, ‘He told you about that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It was just a present, a way of showing him…’

He heard Ben sigh deeply, then the noise of passengers going into the station.

‘Fuck it,’ he said. ‘Look, don’t worry. It’s not important. I just needed to talkto you. I think I would have walked out whatever.’

‘What happened?’ Mark asked again.

‘Nothing. Everything. He was confident, tricky. I never felt comfortable. So I got upset, started asking awkward questions, putting him on the spot. I don’t know why I did it, Mark. I never felt comfortable letting Mum down.’

‘Sure. Sure.’

‘It was like I was just looking for an excuse to lose my temper. You know how I can do that?’

‘I know how you can do that,’ Mark said softly.

‘I mean, I’m not looking for a fight, but sometimes…’

‘I know. I know.’

Ben stopped talking. He was dimly aware of the piss and grime of Charing Cross Station. He fed the last of his coins into the pay phone and said, ‘Look, I’m almost out of money. How’s Moscow?’

‘Don’t worry about Moscow.’ ‘Just go home. Is Alice there? We can talk from your house.’

‘No. In the morning.’ A woman walked past Ben with snow on the shoulders of her coat. ‘Call me when we both know what we’re saying. It sounds like you were asleep anyway. I didn’t mean to wake you up.’

Mark rolled his neck until it clicked.

‘You didn’t wake me up,’ he said. ‘I was just lying here. It’s been a long day. Look, I’m sorry it didn’t workout. Maybe we shouldn’t have forced you into it. It just seemed the best thing to do.’

‘It was the best thing to do, it was,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’