A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [17]
‘Not me. Mr Lucas told me in my previous interview that officers are able to tell their parents.’
‘Yes.’
‘But as far as friends are concerned…’
‘…Of course.’
‘That’s what I’d come to understand.’
Both of us nod simultaneously and suddenly, for no better reason than that I want to appear solid and reliable, I do something quite unexpected. It is unplanned and dumb. A needless lie to Liddiard which could prove costly.
‘It’s just that I have a girlfriend.’
‘I see. And have you told her about us?’
‘No. She knows that I’m here today, but she thinks I’m applying for the Diplomatic Service.’
‘Is this a serious relationship?’
‘Yes. We’ve been together for almost five years. It’s very probable that we’ll get married. So she should know about this, to see if she’s comfortable with it.’
Liddiard touches his tie again.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘What is the girl’s name?’
‘Kate. Kate Allardyce.’
He copies this into his notes. Liddiard writes down Kate’s name in his notes. Why am I doing this? They won’t care that I am about to get married. They won’t think any more of me for being able to sustain a long-term relationship. If anything, they would prefer me to be alone.
He asks when she was born.
‘December 28th 1971.’
‘Where?’
‘Argentina.’
A tiny crease saunters across his forehead.
‘And what is her current address?’
I had no idea that he would ask so much about her. I give the address where we used to live together.
‘Will you want to interview her? Is that why you want all this information?’
‘No, no,’ he says quickly. ‘It’s purely for vetting purposes. There shouldn’t be a problem. But I must ask you to refrain from discussing your candidature with her until after the Sisby examinations.’
‘Of course.’
Then, as a savoured afterthought, he adds:
‘Sometimes wives can make a substantial contribution to the work of an SIS officer.’
5
Day One / Morning
It’s six a.m. on the morning of Wednesday, 9 August. There are two and a half hours until Sisby.
I have laid out a grey flannel suit on my bed and checked it for stains. Inside the jacket there’s a powder blue shirt at which I throw ties, hoping for a match. Yellow with faint white dots. Pistachio green shot through with blue. A busy paisley, a sober navy one-tone. Christ I have awful ties. Outside, the weather is overcast and bloodless. A good day to be indoors.
After a bath and a stinging shave I settle down in the sitting-room with a cup of coffee and some back issues of The Economist, absorbing its opinions, making them mine. According to the Sisby literature given to me by Liddiard at the end of our interview in July, ‘all SIS candidates will be expected to demonstrate an interest in current affairs and a level of expertise in at least three or four specialist subjects’. That’s all I can prepare for.
I am halfway through a profile of Gerry Adams when the faint moans of my neighbours’ early-morning lovemaking start to perforate through the floor. In time there is a faint groan, what sounds like a cough, then the thud of wood on wall. I have never been able to decide whether or not she is faking it. Saul was over here once when they started up and I asked his opinion. He listened for a while, ear close to the floor, and made the solid point that you can only hear her and not him, an imbalance which suggests female over-compensation. ‘I think she wants to enjoy it,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘But something is preventing that.’
I put the dishwasher on to smother the noise, but even above the throb and rumble I can still hear her tight, sobbing emissions of lust. Gradually, too rhythmically, she builds to a moan-filled climax. Then I am left in the silence with my mounting anxiety.
Time is passing. It frustrates me that I can do so little to prepare for the next two days. The Sisby programme is a test of wits, of quick thinking and mental panache; you can’t revise