A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [73]
Katharine brings her eyes down from the ceiling and exclaims:
‘But you’re doing such good work now, such important work. The Caspian is potentially one of the most vibrant economic and political areas in the world. You’re playing a part in that. I had no idea you harboured these frustrations, Alec.’
I shouldn’t go too far with this.
‘They’re not constant. I don’t feel like that all the time. And you’re right - the Caspian is exciting. But look at how I’m treated, Kathy. Twelve and a half thousand pounds a year and no future to bank on. There’s so little respect for low-level employees at Abnex it’s staggering. I can’t believe what a shitty company it is.’
‘How are they shitty?’ This has caught her interest, but I don’t want to overplay my hand. ‘Tell me,’ she says.
‘Well…’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ve only just started admitting this to myself, but after what happened with MI6, Abnex was a bit of a rebound.’
‘MI6?’ she says, as if she’d never heard of it. ‘Oh yes, of course. Your interviews. How do you mean a rebound?’
‘Well that was my dream job. To do that.’
‘Yes,’ she says slowly. ‘I recall you saying.’
I watch her face for a trace of deceit, but there is nothing.
‘Not for Queen and Country - that’s all shit - but to be involved in something where success or failure depended entirely on me and me alone. Working in oil is OK, but it doesn’t compare to what I would have experienced if I’d been involved in intelligence work. And I’m not sure that I’m cut out for the corporate life.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Let me put it like this. Sometimes I wake up and I think: is this it? Is this what I really want to do with my life? Is this the sum total of my efforts so far? I so much wanted to be a success at something. To be significant. And I still resent the Foreign Office for denying me that. It’s childish, but that’s how I feel.’
‘But you are a success, Alec,’ she says, and it sounds as if she really means it.
‘No, I mean a successful individual. I wanted to make my own mark on the world. MI6 would have given me that. Is that too idealistic?’
‘No,’ she says quietly, shaking her head from side to side in slow agreement. ‘It’s not too idealistic. You know, it’s funny. I look at you and I think you have everything a guy your age could possibly want.’
‘It’s not enough.’
‘Why not?’
‘I want acclaim. I want to be acknowledged.’
‘That’s understandable. A lot of young, ambitious guys are just like you. But do you mind if I give you a piece of advice?’
‘Go ahead.’
After a brief pause, she says:
‘I think you should relax a little bit, try to enjoy being young. What do you say?’
Katharine edges towards me, lending a bending emphasis to the question, and for the first time since she returned from the kitchen we find ourselves looking one another directly in the eye. We hold the contact, drawing out a candid silence, and I tell myself: this is happening again. She is giving it another try. She is guiding us gradually towards the bliss of an infidelity. And I think of Fortner, asleep in Kiev, and feel no loyalty to him whatsoever.
‘Relax a little bit?’ I repeat, moving towards her.
‘Yes.’
‘And how do you suggest I do that?’
‘I dunno,’ she says, leaning back. ‘Get out a bit more. Try not to care so much about what other people think about you.’
In this split instant I fear that I have read the situation wrongly. Her manner became suddenly curt, even distant, as if by flirting with her I broke the spell between us, made it explicit.
‘Easier said than done.’
‘Why?’ she asks. ‘Why is that easier said