A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [66]
‘Things remain as they were,’ he says. ‘If the operation is a success, the Security Service will consolidate its relationship with you. Your position will become permanent.’
‘That was always the precondition,’ I say, speaking for him. And in a tired echo, Hawkes says:
‘Yes. That was always the precondition.’
17
The Special Relationship
Standing easy against the fridge in the kitchen at Colville Gardens, Katharine sweeps hair out of her face and says:
‘Alec, I’m gonna take a shower, is that all right? I’m kinda hot after our walk. If the phone rings, the machine’ll pick it up. You be OK for a bit; watch TV or something?’
‘Sure.’
Her cheeks have rouged to a healthy flush after being outside in the fresh air of Battersea Park.
‘Why don’t you fix us a drink while I’m gone?’ she says.
I know what she likes: a fifty-fifty vodka tonic in a tall glass with a lot of ice and lemon.
‘You want a vodka and tonic?’
She smiles, pleased by this.
‘That’d be great. I got some olives in the refrigerator.’
‘Not for me.’
‘OK. Leave ‘em. They’re really for Fort. He eats them like candy.’
The kitchen is open-plan, chrome, gadget-filled. Their entire apartment is like this: expensively decked out, but clearly rented, with no evidence of personal taste. Just a few photographs, some CDs and an old clock on the wall.
‘You like a lot of lemon, don’t you?’ I ask as Katharine crosses to a cupboard above the sink. She takes down two highball glasses and a bottle of Smirnoff Blue and sets them down on the counter. She is tall enough to reach up without standing on tip-toe.
‘Yeah. A lot of lemon. Squeeze it in.’
I move towards the fridge and open the freezer door.
‘That’ll be the best ice you ever had,’ she says from behind me.
‘The best ice? How come?’
‘Fort’s started putting Volvic in the tray. Says he read somewhere it’s the only way to avoid getting too much lead or something.’
I half-laugh and retrieve the tray. By the time I turn round, Katharine has left the room. I break out two cubes and throw them gently into a glass. Then I pour myself a double vodka and sink it in a single gulp.
Gladiators is on ITV.
I look around the other three channels but there’s nothing on so I mute the sound and flick through a copy of Time Out. There’s a swamp of plays and films on in London that I will never get to see because of work. All that entertainment, all those ideas and stories just passing me by.
After about ten minutes I hear a ruste at the sitting-room door and look up to see Katharine coming in. She is wearing a dark blue dressing gown over white silk pyjamas, her hair still wet from the shower, combed back in long straight even strands. She looks up at me and smiles with softened wide eyes.
‘Good shower?’ I ask, just to disguise my surprise.
‘Great, thanks. Oh, are you watchin’ Gladiators?’ She sounds excited, picking up the remote control and putting the sound back on. The thin silk of her dressing gown flutters as she sits down beside me, releasing an exquisite mist of warm lathered soap. ‘The British version of this show is much better than ours.’
‘You actually watch this?’
‘I find it intriguingly barbaric. She’s pretty, huh, the blonde one?’
The dour Scots referee says: ‘Monica, you will go on my first whistle. Clare, you will go on my second whistle,’ and before long two tracksuited PE teachers are chasing each other around the Birmingham NEC.
‘So, you hungry?’ Katharine asks, turning away from the screen to face me. ‘I’m gonna make us some supper.’
‘That’d be great.’
I am still getting over the pyjamas.
‘You wanna stay here or help me out?’ she says, as if there were no choice involved.
‘I’ll come with you.’
In the kitchen, Katharine goes to the fridge and takes out a tray of freshly made ravioli which I make all the right noises about. Did you make them yourself? That’s amazing. So much better than the packet stuff. The delicate shells are coated in a thin dusting of flour and she sets them down beside the fridge. I help by putting a large pan of salted water on the stove, placing