But then his credulity snapped, and he grinned at her. ‘So … you see, I wasn’t altogether guessing when I said that Professor Nikolai Andrievich Panin was in trouble, Willy darling. Because your boss, Colonel Sheldon—he’s damn right about David Audley: he may be an old man, but he’s a tough old bastard. And he’s in a nasty frame of mind right now, I rather think—a nasty revengeful frame of mind. And not just because some foolish fellow took the liberty of shooting at him in his own home. And he doesn’t regard that as cricket … But some other foolish fellow has terminated someone he values.’ He couldn’t hold the grin. ‘So if this was your home-state, back in the old days, you’d be watching the smoke-signals in the hills, and hearing the war-drums in the distance. Because these are his ancestral hunting-grounds, Willy. So maybe you should be giving Colonel Sheldon’s advice to Comrade Professor Panin, not to me.’
‘Uh-huh?’ She had got her cool back, and she was almost his old lost Willy again. ‘But you haven’t talked to him yet—?’ She busied herself suddenly with plumping up the pillows alongside her, shifting from her almost-central position.
‘The Comrade-Professor?’ In another moment she was going to invite him in beside her. But he wasn’t ready for that: from beside her, he wouldn’t be able to see her full face—her beautiful, golden-freckled, treacherous face. And the rest of her would play hell with his concentration, too. ‘Hell—you know we haven’t!’ (An incongruous recollection of the motorway accident scene returned, when he had wanted to pull rank over the police, to get ahead, and Audley had rejected the idea out-of-hand: ‘But we’ll be here an hour, David!’—‘So I get another hour’s sleep, then. Let the bugger sweat, wondering what we’re up to. I’m not at his beck-and-call, keeping unilateral engagements, anyway, damn it all!’) ‘I’ll phone ahead, to say we’ll be late.’ (That had been when Audley had animated himself for a moment: ‘Tell them I want two rounds of smoked salmon sandwiches, cut thin but with the crusts included … and a bottle of good White Burgundy (they won’t have a decent Graves, they never do) … And I shall want a pudding—something with chocolate—milk chocolate … and their best Sauternes or Barsac, on ice—on ice, mind you, not in the bloody fridge: tell them that, Tom.’)
‘But he left a note—?’
And I’ll bet you’ve read it, too! ‘Yes.’ (That neat, meticulous, grammatical note, traced by a hand accustomed to Cyrillic, if not classical Greek, he had thought.) ‘He said that he’d had a long day, with the flight and all the boring formalities, and the long drive.’ (And meticulously formal, too: ‘My dear Doctor Audley … “ and ’this long journey which we share … ‘ down to ’With respect and sincerity‘—huh!—before that elaborate signature.) ’He wants to meet us tomorrow, somewhere in the open, but somewhere safe, Willy.‘
She pretended to chew on that, as though it was news to her.
Jezebel! She wanted to ask him where, but that was too obvious even for her.
But, instead of answering straight away, she reached across and twitched open the covers on what had to be his team’s side of the rugger pitch. ‘Come inside, Tom.’
He mustn’t be that easy. ‘You said he was in trouble—“big trouble”. What sort of trouble?’ He ignored the unbeatable offer, as though he hadn’t heard it. ‘Bigger trouble than Audley is—?’
‘Yes.’ This time she pretended that she was recalling what had been said to her—a mere cypher clerk suddenly briefed beyond her competence, on matters which she’d never deciphered or enciphered. “They say he’s out of favour, in Moscow. They said he was almost ready for the scrap-heap, Tom. They were surprised he’d even been let out, to talk to your Dr Audley.‘
Was that what his Dr Audley had hinted at? But he had said more than that. And she was fishing now—and she was bloody good at it.
So he could fish back, equally innocently. ‘Do they think he’s open to offers?’
‘No.’ She shook her head so quickly that a golden tendril flopped down, across the rise of one breast. ‘Colonel Sheldon said that was why he was let out—because he never would defect, he said.’
So Colonel Sheldon agreed with his old pal, David Audley. ‘So what exactly does he want with David Audley, Willy?’
‘We don’t know, exactly.’ She smoothed down his half of the pitch. ‘But they gave me three names, to tell you—to tell Dr Audley.’
Maybe not-so-good. Because, if they’d discussed the possibility of Panin’s defection in front of her, they would have talked about a lot more than that. But he must let that pass, for the time being. ‘What names, Willy?’
She took a remembering breath. ‘Zarubin, Gennadiy Ivanovich—’
She might just as,well have said Smith, Peter John, with a couple of hundred million to choose from. But maybe Audley would know better. ‘Yes?’
‘Marchuk, Leonid—Leonid—’ The rest of Marchuk, Leonid got away from her for a moment ‘—Leonid Nikitich Marchuk.’
Another bloody Peter John Smith. ‘Marchuk. Yes—?’
‘Pietruszka. Adam Pietruszka—’ she breathed out her relief at remembering the alien name ‘—Adam Pietruszka.’
Tom got up, and set himself to walk round the end of the bed. The curtains in the big window overlooking the road, through which he had seen that tell-tale sliver of light, were properly drawn now, he noted.
‘Marchuk?’ Pietruszka! ‘Pietruszka? Zarubin?’
‘Colonel Sheldon said he’d know the names.’ She spoke in a small voice, diffidently, as though she knew that her Anglo-Saxon-American accent left something to be desired when she tried to wrap it round Slavonic names.
He came back to her at last, round the last right-turn. Pietruszka! Big smile. ‘Then I’m sure he will.’ Pietruszka, for Christ’s sake! Pietruszka—Piotrowski—Wolski—Chmielewski—Pekala!
But if she was expecting him to react to that last name, then she was going to be disappointed. Because instead he sank into the bed, and took her into his arms, enfolding her softness even as that treacherous fragrance also enfolded him, mixed with her own unique Willy-smell, unforgettable and unforgotten, warm-and-female; and hated her and himself as he did so, in a mutual betrayal.
Pietruszka—that bloody—cowardly—murdering—Red —fucking—bastard — treacherous — swine!
But she pushed at him—tried to push him away, almost convulsively, turning her face from him.
‘You’re so cold—God!’ She pushed at him again, turning her head quickly left and right. ‘God! I’m just crumpet now, aren’t I! I’m just a sodding freebie now!’ She stopped shaking under him, and became boneless and defenceless, staring up at him accusingly. ‘Just a freebie!’
Pietruszka! he thought, as he let himself be repulsed.
She stared at him as though she didn’t know him. And they hadn’t known him either, when he’d been taken out of the Wloclawek reservoir: his own brother had only identified him from a birth-mark on the side of his chest, they had beaten him so badly—
Audley was right: blood for blood!
Everything came together in that instant, and he knew exactly where he was. And, better than that, he was at last where he wanted to be—which was more to the point!
He pulled back from her. ‘I’m sorry. You’re quite right—’ Pull back further: go sideways, away from her ‘—I think I want you more than I’ve ever wanted you … Because I need you … But if I’m cold it’s because I’m scared too, Willy.’
‘Tom … ’ That great lie, which was also not a lie, weakened her and confused her ‘ … I’m sorry, too.’
He sat back on his heels, in the midst of the great disordered bed. At least they were both agreed on something. But she mustn’t know why he agreed with her. And, anyway, it wasn’t a great lie, actually, at all: he was scared, and he did need her … and only a blind idiot wouldn’t have wanted her, the way she was now.
But, beyond David Audley and Nikolai Panin there was Adam Pietruszka now. And that changed the priorities—
Blood for blood! But h
e must control himself, too.
‘Don’t be sorry.’ He sank back into the bed. And, the irony was, he would be warm now that he was in control of himself again. ‘Don’t be sorry. Willy.’ He reached out for her. Then he stopped, and reached up instead for the light switches, even as he re-inserted himself into the bed.
Darkness —
He reached out for her again, and this time she didn’t reject him. Rather, she melted into him.
Darkness and silence. And he could almost feel the high folds of the moorland outside, protecting them.
But then she stirred uneasily, in the crook of his arm. ‘Shouldn’t you tell Audley those names, Tom?’
Zarubin—Marchuk … Pietruszka?
He looked up into nothingness, as she snuggled against him, knowing that the Green Man was up there above him.
Pietruszka—Piotrowski—Wolski—Chmielewski: no doubts about those names! And Pekala, too!
The Green Man was still looking down on him, with that ancient inscrutable wisdom of his, dark and clear: his green leaves had once been symbolic of the pleasures of the flesh, but he also understood the necessity of sacrifice too, as part of regeneration: so his understanding was part of Father Jerzy’s, pagan and Christ-like and complete.
‘Tomorrow morning will do—’ He had surrendered to exhaustion, and there was no going back on that white flag now; because sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof … and blood for blood was for tomorrow ‘—let Audley get his night’s sleep—okay?’
She sighed. But then she snuggled again, without knowing what she’d accepted … which maybe Jaggard didn’t know … and maybe Panin didn’t know, either … But Audley would know, as Tom Arkenshaw knew now—
Pietruszka—damn his black soul to hell!
Tom felt himself divide, into his English half and his Polish half, as he held the woman he still loved in his arms, and deceived her.
Yet it was not a complete description: Father’s gentler English half had once demanded blood-for-blood, the old Anglo-Saxon wergild—but that was long ago … so that half could cherish Willy now. It was Mamusia’s side which wanted blood—
Somehow, he must preserve David Audley tomorrow, and yet he must exact wergild for Father Jerzy also—
‘Tom, honey … hold me tight, Tom—’
Like Audley, Father also had Norman blood in him. And Norman blood had a pragmatic virtue: it attended to first things first.
So that was what he would do now, then.
7
AUDLEY BLEW his nose noisily, and with evident self-pity, and surveyed the elderly Ford Cortina with distaste, and muttered again under his breath.
Out of the corner of his eye Tom observed the garage man bestow the crisp new bank notes into a back pocket, and the garage man caught his glance and nodded ingratiatingly. ‘She’s a good runner—you can take my word for that, sir,’ he added quickly, in support of his nod. ‘An’ I’ll put your car under cover.‘
‘If you’d just get in the car, David.’ Tom moved into the pause before Audley could explode into disbelief. ‘Then we can talk.’
Audley opened his mouth, but another sneeze caught him before he could pronounce on the garage man’s word; and, before he could recover, Tom had ducked round to the other side of the Cortina and was into the driver’s seat; and, with commendable prudence, the garage man followed him as far as possible, bending down and tapping on the window, leaving Audley isolated.
Tom wound down the window.
‘I know she don’t look much—’ The man massaged his pocket, as though he couldn’t believe his luck ‘—but that engine there … that’s sweet as a bell! You just start ’er up, an‘ listen to ’er.‘
There was 95,000 on the clock, and the state of the bodywork suggested that this was the second time round. But Audley had surrendered to the inevitable and was climbing in on the other side, so he turned the ignition key quickly.
The engine roared—and roared louder as he revved it to drown out what Audley was now saying.
‘What did I tell you?’ The garage man’s reaction was a masterly overlay of gratified confidence above relieved surprise. ‘That’s a good engine, that is—sweet as a bell … An’ two new tyres on the back … You just want to watch the hand-brake—best to put ‘er in gear when you leave ’er on a hill … I still got a bit of work to do on that—like I told you, didn’t I?‘
‘Yes—thank you.’ It wasn’t stopping, it was getting away that mattered now, and the road was open and the way was clear. ‘I’ll be off then.’ He engaged the gear and released the defective hand-brake to suit his words. ‘Goodbye—goodbye—’
‘Goodbye, sir—’ The Cortina’s movement sloughed off its proud owner, but not quite ‘—don’t forget what I told you about the hand-brake—the hand-brake, sir—’
They were moving. And there was a surge of 2-litre power under his foot now, and a clear road ahead and behind, for the time being.
Audley muttered again. And then sneezed again, and blew his nose again, to demonstrate that his cold was much worse this morning, as well as his temper.
Tom put his foot down, listening to the sound of the engine above the other assorted rattles from all sorts of places around him, inside and outside and underneath ‘the good runner’.
‘If there’s one thing I hate—’ Audley managed to speak at last, and with cold concentration ‘—or two things … or maybe even three things—’ A paroxysm of sneezes engulfed all the things he hated.
Still nothing behind. Which was reassuring, even if it also shamed Tom a little for all the proper precautions he had wished on the poor old bugger this morning, before and after their hasty breakfast.
‘What do you hate, David?’ Still nothing. And what made him feel worse was that he felt better himself: better after last night (which had been better than better); and better because there still wasn’t anything behind, as they climbed up on to the high shoulder of Cherwell Down, into open moorland, where anything behind would be nakedly following; and best of all (although that was treacherous to Willy, to think it best), because he had always wanted to see Mountsorrel—(to hell with them all—Jaggard and Audley, Panin and his po-faced Minder … even, almost, with Willy herself!)—he had always wanted to see Mountsorrel! ‘What do you hate, David?’
Audley emitted a growling sound, half hate and half common head-cold. ‘I hate Ford Cortinas—and particularly two-tone brown Cortinas!’
Now that, thought Tom happily, was irrational, in the circumstances. ‘Two-tone Cortinas, David?’ There was nothing behind, for a mile or more.
‘My wife bought one once, fourth-hand—’ Audley caught himself suddenly, as though he realized at last what a fool he was making of himself. ‘Damn it, Tom! What the hell are we supposed to be doing at the moment?’
That was fair enough. ‘We’re just taking precautions, David. That’s all.’ But he mustn’t sympathize with Audley too much. ‘What other things do you hate?’
‘Huh!’ Audley was getting back his cool, in spite of his cold. ‘I’m too old to enjoy your precautions—if that’s what you mean by all this bloody cloak-and-dagger business.’
Should he count ‘cloak-and-dagger’ as Things Two and Three? ‘But I’m your Minder—remember, David?’
‘Remember?’ The old man slumped down resignedly. ‘How could I forget?’ He sniffed against the cold. ‘Although it’s a bloody long time since I’ve been professionally-minded … But no—I remember … ’ Then he gestured towards the battered dashboard, with its gaping hole where the radio had been. ‘This is a precaution, is it?’
They came to the cross-roads on the top. ‘This is a different car. The one we had yesterday was in the hotel car park all night. So I couldn’t watch it absolutely.’ So I was busy last night—okay? ‘So now we’ve got a clean car.’
Grunt. ‘Metaphorically speaking.’ Grunt—sneeze—
Poor old bugger! ‘It was the first place that offered cars for hire, David.’
End of s
neeze. ‘So you’re into not trusting anyone, then? Even here?’ Audley considered his handkerchief with distaste, much as he had surveyed the Cortina. ‘Or do you know something I don’t know?’
He mustn’t think ‘Poor old bugger’ again. ‘We’re meeting Panin this morning—“in the open”, like he wants … And someone took a shot at you yesterday, David—and you didn’t think that was his doing, I know. But that doesn’t matter, because if it wasn’t him then it was someone else … In fact, I’d rather it bloody-well was him—at least we’d know it then, wouldn’t we!’ He put his foot down again, and began to think better of the garage man in spite of the body-rattles. ‘But, in any case, there’s also poor Basil Cole to bear in mind: somebody knows too damn much—you said so yourself. So a bit of cloak-and-dagger is fair enough. Okay?’
Audley said nothing for a few seconds. Then he harumphed chestily, and fumbled again for his handkerchief, and finally blew his nose again. ‘You’re saying someone—somebody—may have bugged that big black monster of yours last night? To keep tabs on us today? Someone—somebody—who managed to follow us all the way to the Green Man last night?’ He paused, to let the memory of the M4/M5 drive speak for him. ‘Like Superman, perhaps?’
It was time to poach Audley to rights. But it might be as well to do it circumspectly. ‘It could have been bugged when I left it outside Basil Cole’s house last evening, David—they could have been watching and waiting for us … So I was careless there: we should have changed horses somewhere down the line yesterday, instead of here … just in case.’ And now was the time to frighten him. ‘Or … alternatively … ’
He didn’t have to drive far before Audley cracked. ‘Alternatively—?’
They were already coming off the high moor, down into one of those ancient valleys where prehistoric men had grubbed a living of sorts: and, in the case of this particular valley, where Gilbert of Mountsorrel had briefly been king of his castle in King Stephen’s short days.
For the Good of the State Page 18
