‘Not at all,’ said Peggy. ‘Let’s have some coffee – or would you rather have a glass of wine, or some herb tea? We always have a huge assortment of weird teas. Tim doesn’t approve of caffeine in any form. Thinks it destroys the brain cells.’
‘He may be right, but I can’t do without it – so coffee for me, please,’ said Jasminder. ‘Though when you’ve seen this form, you may think we also need some alcoholic support.’
Peggy grinned. She knew the form. She’d filled in one herself not very many years ago when she joined MI6, before transferring to MI5 to work with Liz.
‘Don’t worry. I’m sure we can crack it, between us. And there’s a bottle of wine waiting over there in case we need help.’
They sat in the kitchen until the coffee was ready, then Jasminder took a large brown envelope from her bag and spread the contents on the dining-room table.
‘I feel a bit pathetic asking for your help,’ she admitted. ‘It’s not as if I’m seventeen and applying to university. I have filled out plenty of forms before. But it’s just these seem so different – and they want to know so much. One of the problems is that I don’t really know if I actually want the job, and whether I want to tell them all this stuff about myself.’
‘Well, let’s have a look at it. I’m sure when we break it down it won’t seem so bad. Let’s start with this part,’ Peggy said briskly, pulling out the personal particulars page. ‘Were you born in the UK?’ Jasminder nodded. ‘Parents born here? No? Well, you’ll need to explain when and why they came here.’
After Jasminder had told her all about Uganda and Idi Amin, Peggy began to realise that this wasn’t going to be as straightforward as she’d thought. ‘Let’s just explain it in a few words in that box there, and if they want any more they can ask you about it when they come to interview you for the vetting.’
‘They want to know all about my relatives next,’ said Jasminder. ‘My brothers will slaughter me if some man in a pinstripe suit comes to the shop to quiz them about their political views.’
‘I don’t suppose they will.’ Peggy wasn’t at all sure if they would or not. ‘I expect they’ll just look them up in some database somewhere. And provided they’re not terrorists or organised criminals, I don’t suppose they’ll take it any further. What’s next?’
It was a question about close personal relationships. Was she married? No. Was she in a relationship? Jasminder hesitated. ‘I’m not sure what to put here,’ she said, flushing slightly. ‘I would have said no, but you remember I told you that I was mugged and how a man drove the muggers off?’ Peggy nodded. ‘Well, I’ve seen him occasionally since then and the other night, well, he stayed over.’
‘Is he going to go on staying?’ asked Peggy. ‘Because it seems to be asking about co-habitation and if you’ve only seen him two or three times, and he’s only stayed once, I don’t think it counts. Not unless he’s moving in.’
‘Oh, no. I don’t see that happening. He’s married and waiting for his divorce to be finalised and he has to be pretty careful. Apparently she’s after his money.’
‘Well, I don’t think he qualifies for the form then. If they ask, when they come to interview you, you could explain it but I don’t think he’s relevant. Not as things are.’
‘That’s good. I don’t know all his details anyway and I’d be very embarrassed to ask him. It’s enough to put any man off if he thinks he’s going to be written down on a form.’
‘That’s true,’ said Peggy. ‘I had to notify the MOD about Tim when we took this flat together and he wasn’t thrilled about it.’
The next few questions caused Jasminder no problem until they came to bank details. ‘What do they want to know about my bank account for and whether I have a mortgage and loans and all this stuff? I don’t want to tell them. It’s not their business.’
‘I think they are trying to protect you,’ said Peggy. ‘They want to make sure you are not liable to be blackmailed. I suppose they also want to make sure you’re not receiving funds from a mysterious foreign source.’
‘You mean they want to be sure I’m not a spy?’
‘Well, yes. I suppose so,’ said Peggy, looking wide-eyed. ‘That may well be it.’
Jasminder shook her head. ‘How ridiculous,’ she said, as she filled in the details. ‘As if I’d tell them if I were.’
By the time the forms were finished it was past eleven o’clock and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon was almost empty. The final problem had been who Jasminder should choose for her three referees. There was no problem about work and university but who to put for her personal life?
‘Could I put you?’ she asked Peggy.
‘No, I don’t think so. I’d have to say that I had only known you a few weeks and I’m sure they wouldn’t think that was long enough. Don’t you have any friends from school or university?’
‘Well, there’s Emma whom I still see quite often. We were at Durham together. She’s a lawyer but she’s quite anti-establishment and if she knew I was applying for a job with the secret state she’d think I’d gone off my head. She might refuse to answer any questions.’
‘Why don’t you ask her? Tell her you’re infiltrating the secret state to make it change its ways and become more accountable.’
‘Maybe that’s what I think I am doing. Otherwise why on earth am I applying for this job?’ asked Jasminder, almost to herself, as she tucked the now closely written pages back into the envelope and put it into her bag.
‘Look, it’s far too late for you to go back on the tube. Why don’t you stay? We’ve got a spare room – it’s only a box room but the bed’s OK. I don’t know where Tim’s gone. I would have expected him back by now.’
‘I won’t stay, thanks. I’ve got an early start tomorrow. Do you have a local minicab firm we could call?’
And ten minutes later, with a hug and a kiss and many thanks, Jasminder left the flat. As the front door closed downstairs, Peggy yawned. It had been a long day. She put the kettle on and made herself a mug of camomile tea, leaving a mug and the packet of tea bags out for when Tim came home.
But as she discovered several hours later when she woke up briefly and reached out in bed, he did not come back that night.
14
Spring was now more than just a hint. The tour boats were out on the Thames as Liz walked along the Embankment. Outside the Houses of Parliament a gardener was giving the grass its first cut of the year. A crispness still lingered in the air, but it was clear that winter had lost the battle.
Liz crossed Parliament Square, then walked along the edge of St James’s Park until she came to the Duke of York’s Steps leading up to Carlton House Terrace. After climbing them, she turned left on Pall Mall, past the row of mausoleum-like edifices that housed some of London’s oldest clubs – the Traveller’s, the Reform, the RAC, the Oxford and Cambridge. This was not Liz’s territory; she felt out of place in an area that seemed to be filled with men who looked like Geoffrey Fane. Though most of these clubs admitted women now, they were not Liz’s kind of women and to her the place still seemed overwhelmingly male.
She turned up St James’s Street, another masculine bastion of clubs, bespoke shoe- and hat-makers, and old-fashioned wine merchants. But the restaurant for which she was heading, where she had arranged to meet Chief Constable Pearson, was refreshingly unstuffy, with an enormous front window through which passers-by could see bright modern furniture and walls decorated with abstract murals. As she walked in, it occurred to her that she really knew very little of the man with whom she was about to lunch.
They’d worked together on a terrorism case in Manchester in the immediate aftermath of Martin Seurat’s murder, but looking back she realised that the shock of his sudden death had put her on autopilot and her memories of the whole affair were vague. Pearson had been in charge during the operation, and had shown Liz a mix of compassion and tact she had only properly been aware of in retrospect.