A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [136]
‘By the way,’ she says, shifting ground suddenly. ‘That gift you gave us, the CD. It’s great. Terrific. Just exactly what we were hoping for.’
I absorb this, the first piece of good news in days.
‘I’m glad,’ I say, but nothing else.
‘It took a long time for you to find it but it was worth the wait.’
There’s the sound of a tap running in the room where she is talking. She must be using the phone in the kitchen. Fridge magnets, a wooden rack of wines. My concentration wanders and I can think of nothing to say.
‘So maybe we’ll see you before too long, huh?’
‘That would be nice.’
I cannot lift myself out of this sapped funk: the intensity I need for JUSTIFY has somehow vanished. I cannot even lie with my voice on a phone.
‘You sure you’re OK, Alec?’
‘Just a bit tired, that’s all.’
‘Maybe you should take a vacation. They work you too hard.’
This is when I see Tanya coming out of Murray’s office, her eyes flooded with tears. I think at first that she has been fired, but this is sadness for another person; it isn’t the grief of self-pity. Her cheeks, the stretch of her face, has flushed to raw pink, like someone with a bad cold. She has a handkerchief balled tightly in her right hand which she is pressing weakly against her nose. I am the only other person in the office.
‘Alec?’
‘Sorry, Kathy. Look can I ring you back?’
‘Sure. Get some rest, will ya?’
‘I will.’
I replace the receiver slowly, without saying goodbye. Tanya is slumped now at her desk and I start walking over to console her. Murray appears in the doorway, arms propped on both sides at head height.
‘Can I have a word?’
He does not wait for me to answer, turning back in the direction of his office on the opposite side of the corridor.
‘You all right?’ I say to Tanya.
‘You’d better go in,’ she says.
‘Shut the door, will you?’
Murray is standing in the bright spring light of his window, which overlooks a merchant bank and a small block of flats. He has his back to me, staring out over the City. He is very still. A man who has found a calm within himself so that he may deliver bad news.
I close the door. Someone walks past outside and I hear a woman’s voice, in concerned tones, asking Tanya a question.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
‘It’s about Harry.’
Murray turns and I find that my head lolls downwards, shamed into staring at the carpet.
‘He’s been badly injured in a fight in Baku. A robbery. Three, they think, maybe four local boys attacked him. Knives. He’s in bad shape.’
We’ll take care of him.
‘He’s alive?’
‘Intensive care.’
We will see to it that Harry Cohen no longer poses a threat to the operation.
‘Where?’
‘He’s in a hospital in Geneva.’
‘What’s the extent of his injuries?’
‘Three broken ribs. Internal bleeding. Broken arm, hairline fracture to the skull. They don’t think there’s been damage to the brain but it’s too early to say. He’s not been conscious.’
‘Does his girlfriend know?’
‘Already in Switzerland. Mum and dad as well.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
At this Murray appears to shiver.
‘What are you sorry for?’ he says, like a clue to something he has doubted about me. ‘What does it have to do with you?’
‘It’s just a figure of speech.’
Nodding. ‘A figure of speech.’
He turns back to the window.
‘He’s not going to die.’
The way I say this makes it sound like a statement of fact, not a question.
‘No. Chances are.’
‘That’s good, at least. I’d better see if Tanya’s OK.’
‘Yeah. Take her out for a coffee or something.’
‘Sure.’
I leave Murray’s office, closing the door behind me. Tanya, still seated at her desk, is being comforted by one of the girls from personnel who is sitting on her haunches, her arm half around Tanya’s back. They both look up, as if expecting me to speak, and I say, ‘It’s unbelievable,’ but the words may come out too softly to be heard. Neither of them replies. I cross the room, take my coat off the rack,