A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [14]
‘Saul, all I want to do is put something back in. Living abroad or living here, it doesn’t matter. And the Foreign Office is one way of doing that.’
‘Put something back into what?’
‘The country.’
‘What is that? You don’t owe anyone. Who do you owe? The Queen? The Empire? The Conservative Party?’
‘You’re just being glib.’
‘No I’m not. I’m serious. The only people you owe are your friends and your family. That’s it. Loyalty to the Crown, improving Britain’s image abroad, whatever bullshit they try to feed you, that’s an illusion. I don’t want to be rude, but your idea of putting something back into society is just vanity. You’ve always wanted people to rate you.’
Saul watches carefully for my reaction. What he has just said is actually fairly offensive. I say:
‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting people to have a good opinion of you. Why not strive to be the best you can? Just because you’ve always been a cynic doesn’t mean that the rest of us can’t go about trying to improve things.’
‘Improve things?’ he says, astonished. Neither of us is in the least bit angry.
‘Yes. Improve things.’
‘That’s not you, Alec. You’re not a charity worker. Leave that to Anneka Rice.’
‘Don’t you think we’ve been spoiled as a generation? Don’t you think we’ve grown used to the idea of take, take, take?’
‘Not really. I work hard for a living. I don’t go around feeling guilty about that.’
I want to get this theme going, not least because I don’t in all honesty know exactly how I feel about it.
‘Well I really believe we have,’ I say, taking out a cigarette, offering one to Saul, and then lighting them both with a stubborn Clipper. ‘And that’s not because of vanity or guilt or delusion.’
‘Believe what?’
‘That because none of us have had to struggle or fight for things in our generation we’ve become incredibly indolent and selfish.’
‘Where’s this coming from? I’ve never heard you talk like this in your life. What happened, did you see some documentary about the First World War and feel guilty that you didn’t do more to suppress the Hun?’
‘Saul…’
‘Is that it? Do you think we should start a war with someone, prune the vine a bit, just to make you feel better about living in a free country?’
‘Come on. You know I don’t think that.’
‘So - what? - is it morality that makes you want to join the Foreign Office?’
‘Look. I don’t necessarily think that I’m going to be able to change anything in particular. I just want to do something that feels… significant.’
‘What do you mean “significant”?’
Despite the fact that our conversation has been premised on a lie, there are nevertheless issues emerging here about which I feel strongly. I stand up and walk around, as if being upright will lend some shape to my words.
‘You know - something worthwhile, something meaningful, constructive. I’m sick of just surviving, of all the money I earn being ploughed back into rent and council tax and TV licence. It’s OK for you. You don’t have to pay rent on this place. At least you’ve met your landlord.’
‘You’ve never met your landlord?’
‘No.’ I am gesticulating like a TV preacher. ‘Every month I write a cheque for four hundred and eighty quid to a Mr J. Sarkar - I don’t even know his first name. He owns an entire block in Uxbridge Road: flats, shops, taxi ranks, you name it. It’s not like he needs the money. Every penny I earn seems to go towards making sure that somebody else is more comfortable than I am.’
Saul extinguishes his cigarette in a pile of cold noodles. He looks suddenly awkward. Money talk always brings that out in him. Rich guilt.
‘I’ve got the answer,’ he says, trying to lift himself out of it. ‘You need to get yourself an ideology, Alec. You’ve got nothing to believe in.’
‘What do you suggest? Maybe I should become a born-again Christian, start playing guitar at Holy Trinity Brompton and holding prayer meetings.’
‘Why not? We could say grace whenever you come round for dinner.