Binns’s attitude evaporated.
‘You’ll go down to Pulborough tomorrow?’
‘Yes — I expect there’ll be some technical questions waiting for me in the office.’
‘This time tomorrow then?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Adrian …’
‘What?’
‘I know … perhaps I’m the only one who does … how much the breakup of your marriage to Anita means. But remember who you are and what you’re doing. What you’re involved in at the moment is far more important than your personal life. It’s the most important thing you’re ever likely to get involved in and that’s a sweeping statement considering the people we’re called upon to debrief. I’ll try and see to it that you’ve got enough time to devote to Anita and whatever meetings you’ll need to finalize things with her. But you have no choice. If a meeting with Anita clashes with something I want you to do, then the meeting with Anita must suffer.’
He stopped, breathless after his lecture.
Adrian was silent for a moment, analysing the doubt that had been placed in his superior’s mind by the taped interview and the reaction to it of government ministers’. Was it justified? Did Anita mean more than two Russians who had a lot of space secrets? He left the questions unanswered in his mind.
‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ he said, stiffly. ‘I’m aware of my responsibilities, to you and to the department. And I recall the undertakings I gave when I joined the service.’
Binns smiled, anxious to thaw the feeling between them.
‘I don’t doubt you,’ he said, placatory. ‘I’m just sorry that personal pressure should come at a time like this.’
Adrian walked down the corridor to his own office, the realization growing of how close he had come to being removed from the debriefing. Sir Jocelyn did doubt him, of course, which is why he felt he had to give the warning. So the possibility still existed that he would be reassigned. He wondered if the hollowness were hunger or something else, the accusation of failure at one thing he had always been fragilely confident of doing well.
The office was empty when he entered and he looked at the clock. Miss Aimes had left forty-five minutes early. He sighed and wrote ‘Miss Aimes’ on the jotter, knowing he would not raise it with her the following day. Perhaps she would see it on the reminder pad and know he intended to and behave differently in the future. He knew she wouldn’t do that, either. ‘Soon,’ he promised himself, ‘I’ll do something soon.’
The questions were in the safe and he glanced at them, noting the similarity to those posed to Bennovitch. He returned them, for collection the following morning on his way to Sussex and then stood, ready to leave the office.
At least Miss Aimes hadn’t seen him wearing yesterday’s shirt. Anita would, though, because he didn’t have time to change and now the shops were closed, so he couldn’t buy another one.
As he walked from the room, he looked hopefully at the window-sill, just in case. It was deserted.
‘They took him out by a roundabout route,’ said Kaganov. ‘He went by road to Versailles and then to Brussels, by helicopter.’
‘And by NATO helicopter to England,’ finished Minevsky, expectantly.
The chairman nodded.
‘So he’s there,’ mused Heirar. He sounded relieved.
‘Yes.’
‘How long before we seek consular access?’ asked Minevsky.
‘I’ve decided to delay it,’ said Kaganov. ‘I thought we’d wait a further twenty-four hours, giving a full three days.’
‘Yes,’ said Minevsky, ‘It would probably be better.’
Heirar nodded, in silent agreement.
Chapter Four
Adrian was early, so he wandered past the flat and then down a side road, finally completing the block. He was still ahead of time. He looked inside and saw the hall porter staring at him, so he entered.
‘Twenty-eight,’ he said.
‘The two girls,’ said the man. ‘Miss Sinclair and Miss Harris.’
The two girls — how ordinary and natural it sounded. She’d readopted her maiden name, he realized.
‘Yes,’ said Adrian.
‘They expecting you?’
The porter was bristle-moustached and trying to portray the role of guardian of young innocents in London. Adrian noticed that the Military Medal ribbon on his uniform was stitched on upside down. It would be cruel to tell him.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I’ll check,’ announced the porter, challenging Adrian to argue.
‘Yes,’ said Adrian, ‘you’d better.’
The commissionaire replaced the house phone and said, ‘Miss Harris says you’re to go up.’
My wife. The contradiction echoed in Adrian’s mind, like a shout. Not Miss Harris, my wife.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
The apartment block impressed him with its luxury. The other woman must have money. Adrian anticipated the meeting as the lift ascended, Anita guiltily shrewish the other woman mannish, probably in tweeds, hair cropped short, standing protectively over her.
No one replied when he rang the bell first and so he pressed again, his hand shaking. His finger slipped off the button. Anita answered and Adrian stood looking at her, suddenly gagged with embarrassment.
‘Hello Adrian,’ she said.
‘Hello.’
Happiness radiated from her, like warmth, her face clean, polished almost, demure in a black sweater and contrasting oatmeal skirt. He felt a surge of emotion and wanted to kiss her. She was a slender girl, thin almost, black hair bobbed short to cup her unusually pale face. For years her doctor had treated her for anaemia before accepting her colouring as natural and only since she had been living with the other woman had she accepted the advice that Adrian had offered soon after their marriage and stopped spending half an hour a day on careful makeup.
He felt her eyes flicker over the crumpled suit, rippled with its concertina creases, and the collapsed shirt. Miss Aimes would have looked like that, the smug, knowing glance. She stood aside for him to enter the flat, a comfortable, lived-in place. There wouldn’t be seats that ended halfway along his thigh, numbing his legs. He sat down and discovered he was right.
Each sat tensely, alert for the other, searching for words.
‘I’m not coming back,’ announced Anita abruptly.
‘No,’ said Adrian.
‘I’ve thought about it and considered everything. There’s only the two of us to consider. No one will be hurt,’ she said.
No one? What about me? Am I no one? That mental shout of protest again.
Aloud he said, ‘That’s right.’
‘So we’ve just got to accept what’s happened.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake Adrian,’ she shouted, suddenly, so unexpectedly that he jumped. ‘Why the hell don’t you say something? I’ve just told you I’m never going to come back, that I’m going to live here with another woman. Isn’t there any reaction? Don’t you want to hit me? Don’t you want to call me a whore or a queer or something? Must you accept everything that ever happens to you without protest?’
Adrian looked at her, helplessly, thoughts refusing to coalesce.
‘I’m … I’m sorry …’ he tried, but she burst in.
‘you’re sorry. What the hell do you mean, you’re sorry. I’m the one who should be apologizing, not you.’
Adrian could think of nothing to say.
‘I want a divorce,’ said Anita, after a pause.
‘I thought you would,’ said Adrian. ‘I’ve made some inquiries already.’
‘Will it be difficult?’
Adrian shook his head. ‘Not really. It’ll just take time. Could be as long as three years, maybe more, because we haven’t been living apart for very long.’