chapter 6
N ever before, not even when she’d faced the official enquiry into Charlie’s return to London, had Natalia needed the diamond-hard control necessary when her current lover announced the Moscow arrival of her previous lover she’d never expected to see or hear of again. But she managed it. Just. And not rigid-faced, which would have betrayed the effort, or with any shake to her hand or quaver in her voice. She even succeeded with the required indignation at their not having been consulted ahead of the Foreign Ministry agreement and promised to make a formal protest – which she later did, both for the record and because there should have been some discussion – at the discourtesy.
Paradoxically – in a situation of utter paradox – Natalia was actually helped to cover her inner confusion by the stunning unexpectedness of the announcement. Few of her daydreams had been like this, in the early months and years when she’d had fantasies and daydreams, before she’d locked Charlie Muffin away for ever in her memories. She’d expected a letter or a telephone call, a warning of some sort so she could prepare herself and have ready all the words and feelings and even the recriminations.
All of which she supposed she could still do.
Only the fact of Charlie’s assignment was a shock. It hadn’t been a personal, abrupt confrontation. She didn’t think – she knew – she couldn’t have handled that: the self-control was strained to the limit as it was. But now she could prepare herself, take everything at her speed, do everything as and how and when she wanted.
Did she want to meet him again, let him back into her life again as if all the hurt and pain had never happened? It had always been part of the day-dreaming that she did: that he would reappear and finally commit himself and that everything would have a happy ending, like the bedtime stories she told Sasha. But now the daydream could become a reality Natalia wasn’t sure any more. Charlie Muffin was in the past. She was with Aleksai Semenovich now. He was everything that her drunken husband and then Charlie hadn’t been and couldn’t be. Aleksai wanted to marry her but never pressured her, prepared to wait on her terms and for her decision. In the meantime he was a gentle and exciting lover who’d never failed her, either in or out of bed, and who genuinely did treat Sasha as if she were his own: it seemed quite natural, to him and to the child, that it was Aleksai who often read the bedtime story with the happy ending.
‘You should refuse to accept him,’ urged Popov.
Natalia hesitated, her mind divided by too many considerations. There was not the slightest risk of any personal involvement between herself and Charlie ever being discovered. One of Natalia’s first actions after her elevation to chairmanship of the First Chief Directorate of the now long-defunct KGB – from which she had been transferred to become one of four, department-specializing deputy directors in the re-formed Interior Ministry – had been to use her authority to retrieve and sanitize of every personal detail both her and Charlie’s files. And she probably could successfully protest even at this late stage to Charlie’s Moscow posting. Except that it was a very late stage: any objection now would have to be supported with the sort of reasons she didn’t want to present and which, years ago, she’d even obliterated from the records.
There was, however, no reason why she ever had to meet him. Inconceivable though it would be, she could simply avoid ever coming face to face with him. Unless, of course, she chose otherwise. She had the power and the position to do what she liked. She was a department head, so much higher above Charlie in stature and rank that if she didn’t want it to happen, they could remain in the same city for the rest of their lives without ever coming into contact.
Forcing herself at last to answer Popov’s question she said, ‘We need to think carefully about that.’ Not an answer, she told herself, ahead of Popov’s reply. She was letting him make the decision for her instead of deciding for herself. But how could she decide for herself? She needed time to think, like she’d always believed she would have had time to think.
‘OK, let’s do just that,’ he pressed. It was another indication of their familiarity that Popov moved freely about the office and didn’t sit or stand respectfully in front of her. He was at the window now, staring out over Ulitza Zhitnaya at the summer-defying grey day cloaking Moscow.
‘Where’s our advantage, in arguing against his coming here?’
‘He’s a spy! We could make sure his being sent back became public and cause an outcry about our Foreign Ministry accepting him.’
‘It’s obviously a political decision, taken at a high level. They could overrule our objections. And would, to avoid embarrassing themselves. All we would have done is alienate the Foreign Ministry.’
‘Don’t you think you should protest?’
‘Not like that.’
‘Our not being consulted wasn’t an oversight,’ erupted Popov angrily, turning away from the window to look directly at Natalia. ‘First America, now Britain. The acceptance of foreign interference is a direct criticism of us – of me, more than you because I’m operationally in charge of nuclear smuggling.’
Gently, not wanting to antagonize him, Natalia said, ‘The fact is, darling, we haven’t been able to stop it.’
‘That’s not our fault! We didn’t create the nuclear shambles of no one knowing how much of anything was made, where it was stored or who’s in charge of it! All we got is the mess.’
‘How the shambles came about, and who caused it, is in the past,’ said Natalia, still gently. ‘ I know it’s so bad that proper ballistic or warhead counts were never kept, let alone any record of manufacturing materials. And I keep telling anyone who’ll listen, at every meeting I go to. But until we establish where and how big all the stockpiles are, stuff is going to keep disappearing and we’re going to be the butt of every criticism here and in the West.’ Go! she thought. Please leave me alone, in peace, to think! At once she became angry with herself. Aleksai didn’t deserve to be dismissed, even if the dismissal was only in her head.
‘So do I do anything about this? The memorandum came to me.’
‘Not immediately,’ said Natalia, making a decision at last. ‘It’s as much of a political as a practical operational decision. I don’t want to take a stance until I know if there’s any secondary thinking behind it. My initial feeling is that there is probably more benefit for us to accept him, like we had to accept the American, than to make any objection. Let them learn from their own man the chaos we inherited and are having to try to sort out.’
‘I expect he’ll ask for a meeting. The American did.’
‘You’re the operational controller,’ reminded Natalia, quickly. ‘You handle it’
‘Personally?’
‘It would be the right thing, politically. Show the proper level of concern. Which is, after all, our level of concern.’
‘It’s still a criticism!’ complained Popov, again. ‘Particularly sending someone like him. They’re sneering at us.’
Natalia hesitated again, halted by a renewed awareness of the near absurdity of the conversation. It was the sort of situation Charlie would have probably found hysterical, she thought, and wished at once that she hadn’t because what would or wouldn’t have amused Charlie Muffin wasn’t a concern of hers any more. Her first concern, her only concern, was Sasha. And then Aleksai Semenovich. ‘All the offences happened in the old days. That’s all over, like the KGB’s all over.’
‘You know him. What’s he like?’
Had she known him? She’d thought she had but she’d never expected Charlie to abandon her, like he had. So perhaps she hadn’t known him at all. But then he’d always been the chameleon: it had been his strength, to disappear into a background by adopting the colours of his surroundings. So what was he like? Dishevelled, although that had been part of the disguise, like a walking haystack, with hair to match. Invariably walking carefully, on feet that hurt. Very pale blue eyes that saw everything and a mind that missed nothing. And… Abruptly Natalia stopped the mental reverie, discomfited by it. Answering Popov’s question, she said, ‘Difficult for me to remember. He was just one of many and it was a long time ago. Quite small in build. Disarming, in that it was easy to underestimate him…’