A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [107]
‘Here?’
Saul points to a book with an orange spine, coming back into the room.
‘No, just a little further along. To the right.’
‘The one by James Michener?’
‘That’s it, yes.’
By now we are all swivelled and looking at the book in question.
‘That’s right. Now was he British?’
‘Michener?’
‘Yes,’ Katharine says.
‘I don’t know,’ Saul admits. ‘Why?’
‘Because I have an ongoing argument with my father that he’s from Connecticut.’
Saul doesn’t know that Katharine’s father is dead.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Dave says. ‘I’m fairly sure he’s British.’
Fortner comes back into the dining-room.
‘No idea about what?’ he says confidently, a spring in his step. Everything must have gone smoothly.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ Katharine tells him, settling back into her chair with a faint grin. ‘D’you want any dessert, honey?’
There is pudding, there is cheese, there is coffee.
My sense of relief at the success of the handover has made adrenalin gradually dissipate from me like a deep, muscle-softening massage. For the first time in hours I begin to relax. But out of this comes a tiredness which flattens me towards eleven o’clock like jet-lag. Katharine notices this and offers me more coffee. I drink it and pick at the pudding, a chocolate goo which goes some way to restoring my energy. But it’s difficult to involve myself in the party. I am always outside it, looking in.
At midnight, Katharine herself begins to fade and she is soon making excuses to leave which Fortner is only too keen to pick up on. He came here for the briefcase, after all, not the conversation. Having stood up, he walks over and kisses Susannah twice on the cheek and shakes Dave’s hand, telling them what a pleasure it’s been to make their acquaintance.
‘Goodbye young man,’ he says to me, placing his arm on my shoulder. ‘We’ll be seeing you soon, I hope.’
‘I asked him for supper next week,’ Katharine says, disengaging from her farewell to Dave.
‘Terrific. See you then.’
Saul then walks them to the front door - I remain where I am, listening to Dave talk about his job - and he sees them out. When Saul comes back he smokes a joint with Dave in the sitting-room while Susannah makes a vague attempt at clearing up. By one o’clock the two of them have gone, out into the hall arm-in-arm with warm smiles and promises of meeting again that I do not deserve and do not believe.
Saul now goes for a pee and I sit on the sofa. But it’s late and he’s stoned and when he comes back he doesn’t want to talk. I was expecting a long, involved chat into the small hours, but he just wants to sit in front of the television watching a recording of Match of the Day. As the cassette is rewinding he asks me what I thought of Susannah, and I say how nice she seemed, how funny and smart and easy, and that seems to satisfy him.
On the sofa, beer in hand, Saul follows the match between Chelsea and Manchester United with the attentiveness of the lifelong fan. I half-watch it, my mind wandering back through the events of the day. Fortner will be home by now, going through the contents of the file, preparing the information before handing it over to his case officer in the morning. Will Katharine help him with this, or leave him to it? A car horn sounds long and hard in Queen’s Club Gardens as a Manchester United player is tracked closely down the wing by a defender stooped low like a piano player.
‘Andy fucking Cole,’ Saul mutters. ‘I know battery hens who are more creative in the box.’
Ten minutes later, as I am getting up to go to bed, Saul mutes the sound of the television and looks up at me.
‘Alec?’ he says.
‘Yeah?’
‘Sorry I had a go at you before. About Abnex. I think it’s great you’re doing so well there, doing something you believe in. A lot of people would give their arse to be in your position.’
‘Don’t bother…’
‘No, hear me out,’ he says, raising his hand. He’s more drunk than I had realized. ‘I don’t have any right to criticize you for working hard, for spending time with people in the business. And I like Fort and Kathy, they’re not the issue. I’m just reacting to how