‘Your father’s a busy man, darling,’ said Ruth. ‘If he made a promise he’ll keep it.’
‘The vacation is soon now.’
‘Why not write again to remind him.’
‘I’ve written twice already. He hasn’t bothered to reply.’
‘That’s not fair,’ defended Ruth. ‘He always replies.’
‘You know what I think?’ said Paul. ‘I think he’s dumped us, just like before.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Brinkman had acquired few possessions in Moscow. Wanting to travel lightly he bothered only with an overnight shoulder-bag – and that more for effect at the airport than for necessity – and left everything else to be shipped out as diplomatic luggage, by the embassy. He took particular care packing the icon that Ann gave him on his birthday, sure it was going to have special meaning for both of them. He was cleared up and ready early in the day, like a deprived child anxious for its first holiday. He remained careful, in everything. He paid Kabalin, the muttering maid, three weeks’ salary and said he looked forward to returning, to ensure that her inevitable report wouldn’t cause any uncertainty before he was able to leave, although he knew that in the few hours remaining it would be unlikely that any report would be properly channelled or assessed. She thanked him and promised to come in as she always did while he was away and Brinkman said he would appreciate it, knowing that she was lying. She hadn’t stolen as much as he expected and Brinkman reckoned he’d been lucky. He guessed she’d come under some severe investigation, which was unfortunate but unavoidable.
Brinkman moved aimlessly around the apartment, impatient for Ann’s call, idly looking around to impress it upon his memory. It would be a good memory, he decided. He’d achieved everything he set out to do, on the posting; more, in fact. And no one could detract from that. He’d proved himself, to everyone. It didn’t matter what credit Maxwell attempted to claim; his reputation had been established before this. What was happening today was just planting the flag on top of the mountain, like the flags had been planted in that preposterous film he’d watched, waiting for contact with Orlov.
He looked at his watch, calculating against the time difference. It would have already started by now, in London. The aircraft would have probably gone to France overnight. Maybe the snatch squads who were going to work outside the restricted areas, too. He wondered where those who were going to be on the inside picked up the international flight, to put them in the right terminal area. There’ll be a hell of a row, of course. France protesting – because they had to – about violation and invasion of sovereignty and Russia denouncing everything and everybody. All because of him, thought Brinkman, in private, gloating triumph. He pitied everyone he was leaving behind in Moscow. Life was going to be unbearable for a long time after this. He guessed Russia would insist upon some expulsions from the British embassy here and wondered who it would be. Someone senior, if they tried to equate the action against Orlov’s rank. Properly to do that would mean the ambassador, he supposed. All because of me, he thought again.
He snatched at the telephone when it rang and promised Ann he would be with her in fifteen minutes. He made it in ten. She didn’t hold back when he kissed her and he thought her eyes were wet and wondered if she’d been crying at the thought of his going.
‘I never really thought you meant it,’ she said. ‘About leaving, I mean. I just thought it was something you said, to try to make me make a decision.’
‘Now you know it wasn’t,’ he said. He paused and said, ‘But I want you to make up your mind.’
She shook her head, not in refusal but in perpetual uncertainty, looking away from him. If it had to be it had to be, thought Brinkman. He said, ‘Eddie lied to you, Ann. About how long you’re likely to be here. I can’t tell you how I know: all I ask is that you trust me. But there are going to be a lot of things happening here. Things which are going to upset a lot of forecasts. Eddie’s going to be kept on here not just for months but for years. Which means – if you stay – that you’ll be here for years. You’re going to become the den mother of the diplomatic wives, like Betty Harrison. You’re going to see them come and you’re going to see them go and you’ll still be here.’
‘No!’ she said. ‘Eddie’s never lied to me. He told me that and I believe him. He said it wouldn’t be as bad as I first thought.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ he said, his anger slipping. ‘Bugger all, and you know it. He was trying to squeeze out of a corner and so he said something that sounded OK, to get you off his back. But it doesn’t mean anything. Can’t you see that?’
Ann nodded, dumbly. It was vague, just like he said it was. ‘I’m not brave enough,’ she said.
‘I’ll make you brave,’ said Brinkman urgently, seeing the crack widen. ‘Just leave. Just leave Moscow – use whatever excuse you like – and then let him know you’re not coming back.’
‘I couldn’t do it like that,’ she said at once. ‘That wouldn’t be
…’ she hesitated at the word ‘I know it doesn’t sound right, but that wouldn’t be honest. If I’m going to leave then I’ll tell him to his face.’
‘Tell him then.’
‘I don’t know if I want to.’
‘Don’t tell me again that you’re confused: I’m fed up with hearing it!’
‘Don’t pressure me all the time!’
‘You know what you want to do. So do it!’
‘Why did you ever have to come to Moscow? If you hadn’t come here everything would have been all right.’
‘You know that isn’t true.’
‘I’ll decide,’ she said.
‘When? And don’t say soon: don’t try to run away again.’
‘A week,’ she said. ‘I’ll decide in a week. I promise.’
If she hadn’t intended to do it she would have refused now, here, on the spot, thought Brinkman. She was going to come with him, like he’d known she would all along. He held out his arms and she came to him, her arms tight around him. He wanted to make love to her and knew she wanted it too. There wasn’t time: not for how he wanted to make love. He didn’t want a snatched, illicit screw. That was all over. He wanted her to be his wife and now he knew she was going to be. ‘I must go,’ he said, seeing at once the frown of annoyance that he wasn’t going to do what she expected.
‘I thought you’d have more time.’
‘There’ll be all the time in the world, later,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said distantly. ‘All the time in the world.’
‘A week?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘I’ll be waiting. It’s going to be wonderful, Ann. Believe me, everything is going to be wonderful.’ Did Orlov love Harriet as much as he loved Ann? He must do, Brinkman supposed.
The moment of actual parting was difficult for them both, each holding to the other, reluctant to sever the physical contact but Brinkman knew he had to: it would be ludicrously stupid to ruin everything by staying here an extra thirty minutes when they had a whole lifetime ahead of them.
‘I’ll be waiting,’ he reminded her.
‘I know.’
‘I love you.’ He waited but she didn’t respond and he smiled and kissed her, unconcerned. She’d pleaded with him not to pressure her and he wouldn’t.
By his very absence the Soviet authorities would identify him with what happened – so the consideration was really unnecessary but Brinkman didn’t take an embassy vehicle to the airport, deciding instead upon one of the officially approved airport taxis. As the vehicle started to clear the Moscow suburbs a clock-tower suddenly appeared before him. Six, he saw. Orlov would be at Sheremetyevo now, maybe going through the routine of a departure ceremony. Brinkman hoped the man’s nerve held. It was the one uncertainty that remained, whether Orlov would actually be able to go through with it without someone in the party and there would be KGB guardians in the party because there were on every overseas Russian trip – becoming aware of his anxiety. Maybe he should have gone earlier to the airport, to see the man through. But why? There was nothing he could have done. They hadn’t arranged that he should be there, during the last meeting, so his unexpected appearance might have had the reverse of that intended, alarming the man even more.