The Lost American

Chapter Nine

The evening was an undoubted success – genuinely so – not because of the effort Brinkman put into making it so. And he made every effort, bringing in everything through the embassy concessions and cooking the beef to perfection and entering triumphantly with the Yorkshire pudding and enjoying Ann’s obvious delight and Blair’s appreciation of the remark at their introductory meeting, which was why he had made the effort at all. He accepted their praise of his ability as a cook, but dismissed it with some deprecating remark that if he hadn’t learned he would have starved at university. It naturally created a conversation between himself and the woman and able to talk more fully on this occasion they found mutual acquaintances who overlapped at Cambridge, which provided the subject for a fresh round of chatter. Blair sat contentedly on the sidelines, not understanding the talk of the Long Vac or the intricacies of punting or the rituals of picnics beside the Cam. After the meal Brinkman served perfect coffee and left the brandy open between them on the table, playing the overture from Swan Lake on the second-hand stereo. That led the conversation to the ballet, of which Brinkman said he was a fanatic – which he was – and which Blair admitted honestly that he found boring. And a fresh focus of interest was established between Ann and the Englishman.

‘One of the few good things about living here,’ said Ann.

‘Do you often get to the Bolshoi?’ he asked. Her obvious disappointment with the city registered but Brinkman decided against pursuing it.

‘Not as often as I’d like: Eddie’s not keen, as he said.’

‘Let’s choose carefully and take him sometime and educate him,’ said Brinkman. He felt sufficiently comfortable with the American to make such a comment and Blair smiled amiably back, unoffended.

‘I’ll give it a shot if you’ll come to ice hockey and let me educate you about that,’ said Blair.

‘Deal,’ agreed Brinkman, happy with the evening. He hoped he’d made a point they recognised by not inviting anyone to make up the numbers.

Brinkman led the conversation because he was the host and because he liked telling stories at small gatherings but he remained constantly alert and ready to defer if Blair tried to take over. The American contributed sufficient for politeness but no more, appearing quite content to play a subsidiary role. Ann laughed at all the jokes and anecdotes, the smile almost permanently on her lips. They didn’t however overstay, excusing themselves before midnight.

Nothing was very distant in the diplomatic enclave and as they walked back to their own apartment Ann said excitedly, ‘I can’t remember enjoying myself more for a long time.’

‘It was fun,’ agreed Blair, tolerantly.

‘Betty Harrison was right.’

‘What did the font of all social gossip in Moscow decree?’

‘That he was the best thing to arrive for a long time.’

Blair unlocked their apartment door, standing back for her to enter. ‘He’s a clever guy.’

Caught by something she imagined in the tone of her husband’s voice, Ann stopped in the passageway and said, ‘Don’t you like him?’

‘Sure I like him. Why ask that?’

‘Thought maybe you didn’t, from the way you spoke.’

Blair shook his head, continuing on into the apartment. ‘He’s all right.’

‘Wonder why he’s not married?’

Blair pulled a face at her question. ‘How the hell would I know! Guess he doesn’t want to be. Maybe he’s tried and it didn’t work. Perhaps Betty Harrison knows the answer.’

Ann had been waiting for the opportunity and decided they were both sufficiently relaxed tonight; or rather, he was. She was already in bed when he emerged from the bathroom. She said, ‘I went to see the doctor a few days ago.’

Blair stopped, the concern immediate. ‘What!’

‘The doctor: I went to see him.’

‘I heard that,’ said Blair impatiently. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing much. I was having heavy periods so I thought I should talk to him about being on the pill.’

Blair came and sat on her side of the bed, the worry obvious and Ann despised herself for the deceit. ‘It hasn’t caused any problems, has it?’

‘No,’ she said, immediately reassuring. ‘He just thinks I should come off it, that’s all.’

‘Sure,’ said the American, relieved. ‘Whatever he said.’

‘He gave me a very thorough examination: blood pressure, stuff like that,’ said Ann. ‘There’s really nothing wrong.’

Blair got up, going around to his own side of the bed. ‘What are you going to do?’ he said, getting in beside her.

‘Diaphragm,’ said Ann cautiously.

‘Oh.’

‘It’s just a bit more mechanical, that’s all.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed in the darkness. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘I could always use nothing; not bother.’

He was silent for a long time. Finally he said, ‘Does it matter very much to you?’

She turned towards him and said, ‘Yes, darling. It matters very much. I love you and I want to have your baby.’

There was another silence and then Blair said, ‘We’ll talk about it. Not now but we’ll talk about it.’

You didn’t make babies by talking, thought Ann. But he hadn’t said no. It was going to work, she thought, excitedly. It was going to work!

Natalia made the move because he hadn’t, determinedly, for several nights.

‘No,’ he refused.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ Coward, he thought. There was never going to be a simple, easy way; never the right time. So why not now?

‘Sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’ He knew she was looking at him in the darkness but he didn’t turn towards her.

‘Do you want to talk to me about something?’ Natalia invited.

‘No,’ said Orlov, running away.