Faithless (30 page)

             
Angie was in the house when he arrived. She and Karen had the twins one apiece on their knees. They were all watching Roland Rat.  As he came into the room, brandishing his flowers like a shield, Angie said, "Oh, flowers. He must be feeling guilty Karen."

             
Karen looked over at them. "Carnations? You know I hate carnations."

             
John grimaced. "Sorry, I forgot. I can go and get some others."

             
"Give them to Angie. She might like them."

June 1985, London
: Over the next week John attended meetings with K3 and SOV/OPS and the SIS targeting and counter-intelligence officer TCI/3 in Century House. The new K4 officer dealing with the Embassy was John's friend Rob and he was indoctrinated into Vinogradov case so that he could feed in any targeting information from the surveillance and intercept take. K3 decided that John would be allowed to work the case supervised by Ailsa.

They found themselves in the office at Gower Street one evening when nearly everyone else had gone h
ome. They had never mentioned the kiss since they returned from Copenhagen. Ailsa had initially avoided him, he thought, but now things were back as they were before the trip.  It was a beautiful summer evening and Ailsa suggested that they walk and talk. "Duncan's away at some NATO thing in Brussels so I don't have to rush home," she said.

             
"I can't be too late," said John, "but I'll phone Karen to let her know I won't be home on time."

             
"I'll meet you outside."

When he came down after phoning she said, "
All ok?"

             
He nodded. "As much as it was going to be. I said I'd be back by nine."

             
They stood on the junction of Euston Road and Gower Street. "This isn't very inspiring scenery." She hailed a cab and told the driver to take them to The Mall. They got out near Admiralty Arch and walked down into St James' Park past the joggers and couples sitting on benches and children feeding ducks and swans with breadcrumbs.

             
"Do you want an ice cream?" she asked.

             
"No, but you feel free."

             
She bought an ice cream cone and they strolled along by the lake enjoying the late sun.

             
"You're technically working for me," she said. "Think that'll be a problem?"

             
"I have no problem having a woman for a boss."

             
"Good," she said. "Because I'm strict."

             
She was being flirty. He smiled but said nothing.

             
"So, Vinogradov - how are we going to do it?" she said.

             
"Well from what we know, he has no hobbies. He doesn't jog. He doesn't watch birds. He doesn't collect single malts. He's not religious, even though he went to church a couple of times in Copenhagen. A bit tricky really." he said.

             
"I'll find a way. I'm a mistress of deviousness," she said.

             
"And what cover are you going to use?"

             
"I don't know. Isobel Parker -journalist. I have all the documents for that one."

             
"Don't you get a bit bored of being a journalist?" he said.

             
"Well I do rather. I could be Isobel Parker – show-jumper. I could turn up in jodhpurs. Like the picture on that Jilly Cooper book that's on all the book-stands at the moment. What is it
Riders?
The sexy tale of women in tight trousers who love to squeeze powerful muscled beasts between their thighs."

             
"It's certainly a look that might interest him. I  think of you like someone out of that kind of book, you know."

             
She laughed out loud. "Have you read it? I thought of you as more a Dostoyevsky kind of guy."

             
"No, I haven't read it. I just imagine what it's like."

             
"You should try that with all books. It would save you a tremendous amount of time. Then you could pontificate about things you know nothing about with a great air of authority." She licked her ice cream and with a twinkle in her eye said, "Ah sorry, I forgot - you already do."

             
He stopped walking. "Do you really think that?"

             
She gently punched his arm. "I was teasing you. I don't know if you've heard of a thing called a sense of humour? I believe you can get them in Harrods."

             
"I never shop there."

             
"That would explain a lot."

They had walked along St James' Park and were now about to cross the Mall and walk into Green Park. H
e watched out for traffic. "I once saw the Queen Mother here going past in a car," he said.

             
"I hope you waved."

             
"No. She did though."

             
"Very unpatriotic of you not to respond. Anyway tell me why you thought I was a Jilly Cooper character?"

             
It was still hot despite the hour. People were sitting in groups on the grass on either side of the path through Green Park.

             
"I don't know  - a spoiled posh girl. I bet you go to lots of polo matches and Henley every year."

             
"We did when I was growing up. But really you don't know anything about me. I could be a secret revolutionary. Just like Philby and Blunt. They were upper class."

They crossed Piccadilly and walked up towards Curzon Street House. He said, "I want to show you a little garden where I used to go to e
at my sandwiches."

             
"What an inspiring image. Junior secret policeman eats sandwiches in a touchingly beautiful garden."

             
"Are you always sarcastic?"

             
"Yes. Why? Did you mistake me for someone caring?" She smiled and looked carefully at him as they walked along. She had to shield her face from the slanting sun so she could see him properly.

             
"I think you're a crab," he said suddenly.

             
"Intriguing. You want me to ask you why you think that?"

             
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

             
She suddenly linked her arm through his and they continued to walk along. "Don't sulk. It's unbecoming. Anyway, why am I a crab?"

             
"Hard shell. Soft interior."

             
She laughed. "Oh, you're good. Did you read that in a magazine?"

             
He laughed at himself. "In fact yes."

             
She mimicked wide-eyed wonder and said in an American accent. "My sign is Cancer. What's yours Johnnie?"

             
"Shut up, you teasing cow. Anyway here's the garden."

             
They had walked through a small passage past a primary school that was housed in a dignified old building that looked like a private, though very grand, house. Ahead of them was the public garden with its trees and flowers and wooden benches.

             
"Yes," she said. "Mount Street Gardens. I love it here. My father lives just around the corner."

             
"I thought he lived in Inverness."

             
"This is his London house. Just off South Audley Street."

             
"Is he in?" He was joking.

             
"Let's go and see." She was serious.

             
"I don't want to meet your dad."

             
"Come on." Her arm was still linked through his and she pulled him through the gardens past the American Church and then left into a dead end street. A pretty little house stood at the end of it. The sun had gone down and though it was light outside, the interior of the house was gloomy. There was a light on.

             
"Really, I don't want to meet your father," said John. He unlinked his arm, feeling guilty that he enjoyed the touch of her.

             
"No, on second thoughts, I don't want to see him either. He'll be with his current woman Alegra. She's an Italian model -  younger than me. Alegra, I ask you. Sounds like a fucking car."

             
"Isn't he married to your mother still?"

             
"Yes, but she's in Scotland. She knows of course. She stays with him for the big house in Morayshire and the money and the littler house in Monaco and the flat in Los Angeles and did I say the money?

             
"I'm sorry," he said.

             
She was angry.  "What are you sorry for?" She looked puzzled. John realised she wasn't angry at him. She looked away. "And he can't even claim he's unfaithful for love."  She looked back at John. "I think if you are unfaithful because you've fallen in love, that somehow makes it different.  What do you think?"

             
He stared at her. In the slanting light of the evening sun, she was blindingly beautiful but, he realised, broken. Tenderness for her vulnerability welled up in him. Finally he said, "I think falling in love's a very dangerous thing."

             
She nodded. "I never have. You'd better go. Time's up."

             
She looked wistful and sad, standing with her adulterous father's house behind her like a symbol. Her sadness dissolved him and he knew if he stayed there would be no turning back. After she was out of sight, all the way home she was in his head. Even though he didn't want her to be.

When John got home the sun had gone down. The house was quiet. He stepped into the living room and heard the hiss of the gas fire and felt its warmth. He saw Karen had put up an anti-war poster - it had Ronald Reagan carrying Margaret Thatcher as if in a movie. It said
"She promised to follow him to the end of the earth; he promised to organise it!"
The twins were crawling around and they recognised him with beams of delight. Eilidh pulled herself up on the sofa and made a sound of welcome. He felt his heart melt at the sight of her soft face and blonde curls. Morag rolled over on her back to see him better. He knelt and tickled her under the chin prompting a gurgle of delight. Then he tousled the red fuzz on her head to her obvious annoyance.

             
"Where's your mummy girls?" he said. They continued to smile. He could see the door to the bedroom was open. He felt a flash of fear. That was always there, on the edge of thought most nights he came home, but ever present.

             
"Karen?" he called through. There was no answer. Louder this time he shouted, "Karen!" and he ran, the babies watching his rapid passage with silent wonder.  "Karen!" and there she was sitting on her bed reading a book. She had her Walkman on. "Karen what are you doing?"

             
She pulled out her earphones. "Reading
Middlemarch
and listening to
Heart of Glass
."

             
"Why didn't you answer when I called?"

             
"I didn't feel like it."

             
"What about the girls? The fire's on. They could have burned themselves."

             
"But they didn't."

             
"That's hardly the point. Karen what's the matter with you?"

             
She put the book down and glared at him angrily. "The matter with me? Are you saying I'm mental?"

             
He shook his head. "I didn't say that. But you're not looking after the girls."

             
"And where have you been?"

             
"At work. You know that."

             
"So you haven't been looking after the girls either."

             
"No, but..."

             
"But that's my job? While you go out and enjoy yourself with your important work."

             
He stood in the door. "I thought that's what we'd agreed. One of us needs to work. You wanted to give up teaching to look after the kids. You said children needed their mother. I said we could afford the loss in salary so you could do that."