A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [56]
‘Oh, yes,’ says Douglas wistfully. ‘The old boy network.’
‘You wish you were a part of that, Doug?’ Fortner says, nudging him. ‘An old Etonian? An Oxford man?’
‘Princeton’ll do me fine.’
‘So how long have you been with Abnex?’ Katharine asks, changing the subject.
‘About nine months.’
‘You enjoying it?’
‘Yes and no. I’ve had to learn a lot in a short space of time. It’s been a real eye-opener.’
‘An eye-opener,’ she says, as if she has enjoyed this expression. ‘So your background was in…?’
‘Russian and business studies.’
‘You just out of college?’
‘No. I worked in marketing for a bit.’
‘Right.’
Saul asks:
‘How long have you and your husband been living here?’
‘Oh a long time now. Four years.’
The Hobbit has cleverly started up a separate conversation with Bishop and Audrey, one that I cannot hear.
‘And you enjoy it?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ Fortner says, and the heavy, interjectory way that he comes forward, answering the question on Katharine’s behalf, seems to reveal something about the dynamic of their relationship. ‘We love it here. Spending time with the allies. What do you do for a living, Saul?’
‘I’m in advertising. Commercials. I’m an assistant director.’
‘And, what? That will lead into television, into movies?’
‘Something like that,’ he replies. ‘I’m working on a script at the moment, trying to get some development money.’
‘What’s it about?’ Katharine asks.
‘It’s a kind of spoof thriller. A comedy about a serial killer.’
‘No shit,’ Fortner says, laughing. ‘A comedy about a serial killer?’ He clearly thinks the idea is ludicrous. ‘I gotta say I prefer different kinds of movies myself. Old Bogarts and Cagneys. Westerns mainly.’
‘Really?’ Saul replies enthusiastically. He is, albeit unwittingly, playing his role to perfection. ‘You like westerns? Because the National Film Theatre is doing a John Wayne season at the moment.’
‘Is that right?’ Fortner looks genuinely interested. ‘I didn’t know that. I’d love to catch one or two. The Searchers, Liberty Valance…’
‘Me too.’ I sensed immediately that I can use this as a way of establishing a bond between us. ‘I love westerns. I think John Wayne is great.’
‘You do?’ Saul asks, screwing his face up in surprise.
I have to be careful that he doesn’t undermine me.
‘Yeah. It’s a little fetish of mine. I used to watch them with Dad when I was growing up. Henry Fonda. Jimmy Stewart. But especially John Wayne.’
Katharine clears her throat.
‘So you like him too, Saul?’ she asks, as if it were a test of character.
‘Not as much as Clint,’ he replies. ‘But Wayne’s great. One of the best.’
‘The best,’ says Fortner with emphasis. ‘Eastwood’s just a pretty boy.’
‘Maybe it’s a generational thing, honey,’ Katharine suggests. ‘Sorry, guys. My husband has a weakness for draft dodgers.’
I don’t know what she’s referring to and Fortner says:
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘John Wayne didn’t fight in World War Two,’ Saul informs him. ‘He did everything he could to avoid conscription.’
‘Right,’ says Katharine triumphantly.
‘So what?’ Fortner replies. Although his tone is aggressive, he may be enjoying the argument. ‘Wayne did more for the war effort as an actor than he ever coulda done getting shot at on Omaha Beach. He was a patriot, an anti-Communist…’
‘… Who hated riding horses, hated wearing his cowboy outfits, and actively encouraged American participation in the Vietnam War,’ Katharine says, interrupting him in full flow. She has a brazen, mischievous intelligence, a self-confidence not dissimilar to Kate’s.
‘But he made some great films,’ Saul says, perhaps as a way of defusing what he thinks is tension.
And then the idea comes to me. As simple as it is shrewd. A way of guaranteeing a second encounter.
‘I have an idea,’ I suggest. ‘We should solve this by going to see one of these films at the NFT. I was going anyway. Why don’t you join me?’
And without any hesitation, Fortner says:
‘Great,’ shrugging his shoulders. ‘You wanna go too, Saul?’
‘Sure,’ he replies.
Katharine looks less enthused, a reaction which may be more instinctive than