A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [41]
‘Is it just too complicated for me, Nik? Is it just too global and secret and amazing?’
‘I tell you why. It’s not because I don’t allow you to comprehend it. No. It’s because you won’t allow yourself to see it. You see only what’s in front of your nose. You never see the bigger picture, the possibilities your work can offer. You and me, we could go places, make some money. The world is bigger than you, Alec. The world is bigger than you.’
‘What does that fucking mean, Nik? What exact brand of shit are you talking?’
‘You’re a clever boy. I thought this when I first met you. I still think it. But you need to take your head out of your arse. You’re soft.’
It’s time to draw things to a close.
‘Nik, I’m not about to take life lessons from you. These plans, these ambitions you talk about. I can’t tell you how little I care about them. You’re not running Ogilvy and Mather. You’re a crook, a petty thief.’
‘You want to be careful what you -‘
I interrupt him.
‘I don’t have much stuff at the office. Someone will come and get it next week.’
‘Fine.’
And with that he stands up, pivots away from the table and walks out of the cafe, leaving me with the bill.
Now it’s just a question of waiting for SIS to call.
I don’t go outside for twenty-four hours in case the telephone rings, but by three o’clock on Tuesday I am growing impatient. The only person to have rung since lunchtime on Monday is Saul, who was just back from Spain. Perhaps SIS want us to call them.
I dial Liddiard’s office and a woman answers.
‘Seven-two-oh-four.’
They never say anything other than the number of the extension. It might just as well be a laundrette.
‘Patrick Liddiard, please.’
‘May I say who’s speaking?’
‘Alec Milius.’
‘Yes. Just one moment.’
Five seconds of dead noise. Ten. Then a click and Liddiard picks up.
‘Alec.’
‘Good afternoon. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
I can’t tell anything by the tone of his voice. He’s cheery and polite, but that is his manner.
‘I was ringing about the results of Sisby.’
‘Yes. Of course.’
Well say something, then. Tell me. Good or bad.
‘I wondered if you knew anything.’
‘Yes we do.’
And there’s a terrible beat now, a gathering of courage before bad news.
‘I’m afraid that the Board felt you were not up to the very high standards required. I’m sorry, Alec, but we won’t be able to take your application any further.’
My first instinct is that he has mistaken me for somebody else: the Hobbit, perhaps even Ogilvy. But there has been no confusion. Soon every glimpse of promise I have ever shown is ebbing away from me like a wound. Liddiard is talking but I cannot pick up the words: I feel debilitated, bone-weak, crushed. In the circumstances I should try to say something dignified, accept defeat graciously and withdraw. But I am too shocked to react. I stand in the hall holding the phone against my ear, ingesting failure. And because I am not saying anything, Liddiard tries to placate me.
‘Would you like me to indicate to you where we felt the weakness was in your application?’
‘OK.’
‘It was the group exercise primarily. The Board felt you did not display sufficient depth of knowledge about the subjects under discussion.’
‘Did anybody else make it through? Sam? Matthew?’
This is all I want to know. Just tell me that I came the closest out of all of them.
‘For obvious reasons I can’t reveal that.’
I think I detect contempt in the way he says this, as if my asking such a stupid question has only verified their decision not to hire me.
‘No, of course you can’t.’
‘But thank you for your enthusiastic participation in the recruitment procedure. We all very much enjoyed meeting you.’
Oh, fuck off.
‘It’s nice of you to say so. Thank you.’
‘Goodbye.’
And the line goes dead. It’s over that quickly.
9
This Is Your Life
My first instinct, and this