He ended his talk on an optimistic note, saying that however difficult the immediate future might be, there could be no return to the heavy-handed days of Party control. Looking at her watch, Liz was surprised to see that the Russian had spoken for more than two hours – yet her interest had never flagged.
Afterwards Sorsky had stayed on to answer questions and several of the students then persuaded him to join them in the bar of the Student Union. Feeling a bit of an outsider among the postgraduates, Liz was about to leave, but Sorsky saw her and said, ‘You come too, please.’
In the smoky student bar, they had all talked until late in the evening, bombarding Sorsky with questions about Russia and his life there. He was entertaining, telling them funny stories about the ridiculous ways of the old bureaucracy, but also asking them about their lives, and insisting on paying for more wine. When they moved on to bottle number three, he had even sung a Russian folk song. As the party finally broke up, he shook hands with the boys and kissed the cheeks of the girls, and said he hoped to see them all again.
As Liz walked back to the hall of residence with Sylvie, a postgraduate who lived on the same floor, she said, ‘That was fun.’
Sylvie agreed. ‘Wasn’t it just? And isn’t that Sorsky a charmer? He certainly seemed to take to you.’
Liz would have thought no more of it or of him, but a week later she ran into Sorsky coming out of the Library. He seemed pleased to see her, and suggested going for coffee. Liz hesitated – she was revising hard – but it seemed churlish to say no. So they went into a nearby café, where after some initial awkwardness they talked easily.
Liz found herself describing where she had grown up – Bower Bridge – and realising how much she missed the contryside. Which Sorsky seemed to understand at once – he told her he was from a small village himself, and that however much his professional life lay in the capital these days, his heart was always in the country.
Liz had warmed to him; so much so that she’d told him how her father had been diagnosed with cancer the year before, and how she had had to spend time at home helping her mother run the estate while her father underwent first chemotherapy then radiotherapy. He seemed better now, she said cheerfully, though inwardly she knew her father’s remission might prove all too temporary. Sorsky had been sympathetic, but tactful too; sensing Liz didn’t want to say much more about her father, he had changed the subject to the seminar he’d addressed. He’d been surprised when she explained she was still an undergraduate, and had asked what she was going to do next.
‘I don’t want to be an academic,’ she said firmly.
‘Good,’ he said, and waved one hand dismissively, ‘that’s the last thing you should do. You seem very interested in the world – you should do something that makes you part of things.’
Which was exactly what Liz had been thinking. The problem was, what? He must have seen the doubt in her face for he said, ‘There are lots of opportunities for someone like you – you just need to find them. We need people who think clearly about the world – you could work in business, looking at foreign events and interpreting them. Or do something with the UN, if you want to travel. Or for your own government.’ He was looking at her appraisingly now. ‘The Foreign Office, or perhaps something closer to home. I will be interested to hear what you choose.’
‘Or more likely what chooses me,’ said Liz with a laugh, beginning to feel embarrassed that she’d told him so much about herself. She glanced at her watch, ‘I had better get back to my books,’ she said.
Sorsky stood up. ‘I understand. But perhaps before I go back we could meet again.’ He was watching her face.
‘That would be nice,’ said Liz. Would it? Yes, it would; she liked this man.
‘Let me give you my phone number – I’m staying in one of the university flats. Perhaps after the Easter break you would ring me, and we could meet again.’
Liz took the slip of paper and they said goodbye. She couldn’t really make him out. Was he interested in her? It seemed odd to have given her his number, instead of asking for hers. Perhaps that was the Russian way. But she decided she would call him after the break.
And she almost certainly would have, especially since just two days later a friend happened to show her an advertisement in that day’s Guardian.
Liz had never even remotely contemplated joining the Security Service, since everyone knew MI5 and MI6 were filled with Oxbridge public-school types, and very few women.
But something in the ad spoke to her, and she wrote off for an application. When the form arrived, she broke off from her last-minute cramming and filled it in. As she licked the stamp and posted the envelope, she realised that if she hadn’t had coffee with Sorsky she would never have answered the ad – You should get a job that makes you part of things.
But after Easter, while Liz was still at home in Wiltshire, her father took a sudden turn for the worse. She stayed an extra week, trying to study when she wasn’t helping her mother keep him comfortable and making sure that his instructions for the estate were carried out. Only when his illness plateaued did she go back to Bristol where, with only ten days left before her exams began, she revised frantically.
And when she finished her Finals she felt so washed out that she didn’t do anything for days. She thought at one point of ringing Sorsky, but then she received an answer to her application – she was wanted for interview on the following Tuesday in London. The letter warned her that this was just the first step in a long process, and reminded her that she should keep the fact of her application to herself and very close members of her family.
The interview had gone well, and then there had been another, and another after that. By then she had forgotten all about Alexander Sorsky, who must have returned to Moscow when the term ended.
Chapter 7
‘And I never saw him or heard from him again,’ she finished.
Fane sat silent for a moment, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on the desk, fingertips meeting steeple-like. Liz had omitted any mention of her own feelings towards Sorsky at the time he was showing an interest in her. She knew only too well what Fane would make of that.
Lifting his head to look straight at her, he gave a sardonic smile. ‘So Sorsky’s the reason you joined MI5?’
‘Hardly,’ said Liz. ‘Apart from that one conversation, we didn’t discuss my future plans. And the Service was never mentioned at all.’
‘I don’t mean he recruited you.’ Fane gave a short laugh. ‘But he put the idea into your head. He obviously made an impact on you – and you on him. It explains things.’
‘Does it?’ It was true enough, she thought, that without Sorsky’s encouragement to look further afield, she would probably have ended up as a teacher or working in business; certainly something quite different from the intelligence world. But it was very difficult to see how Sorsky’s casual piece of advice of twenty years ago could have triggered this situation. His insistence that he would speak to Liz and only Liz was most likely a calculated move to ensure that his approach was taken seriously and was passed on by the Geneva Station. Though how he had learned not only that she’d joined MI5, but that she was still there, was a mystery.