Faithless (52 page)

They lived from that day like lovers. After they had made frantic, desperate love, they showered together and then aroused by each other's presence made love again. Eventually they dressed. She gave him her friend's husband's shirt and trousers to wear. They went to the brasserie on Cheyne Walk and ate quails eggs on focaccia toast. They walked along the Thames and looked at the houseboats bobbing on the river and she made up stories about them living there when everything was over and they were free of the world's condemnation. That night they ate a ready meal with best quality ingredients from the top of the range freezer and watched a movie on the luxurious TV. It was about working class Liverpool women meeting Soviet sailors and dreaming of a life far away.  Ailsa snuggled into him and he smelled her hair and watched her when she wasn't aware of it. He wondered whether things would ever be mended on the other side of the shipwreck he'd made of their life.

They went to work as usual.  As John's colleagues watched him, he appeared to them to be troubled with a  grief. They thought it was because he'd lost his wife but in f
act it was because he'd lost his children. And then when Ailsa was there he appeared joyful and delighted. So he was both winter and summer; two incompatible seasons lodged unknown to each other in the same man.

At home they entered a strange honeymoon li
ke period. John walked to work from a house more luxurious than any he'd known. He walked past exotic delicatessens with difficult to identify foods and scents he couldn't place. He stopped outside charming interior decoration stores with quirky and intriguing items that were supposed to tempt you in if you had enough money to waste on them.  All of life was there in Chelsea. And Ailsa was there too. He delighted in her: the way she walked with such purpose for no reason he could see, the way her hair hung in when she was reading, the way she shielded her eyes when the day was bright and how she struggled once on the doorstep with her umbrella when it decided to rain.

4th November, 1985:
In the middle of the week, John left Ailsa at home, and went up to Finchley. He didn't tell Ailsa where he was going in case she told him he was being stupid, though in fact she would have merely watched him with the sadness we reserve those we love when they seem set on hurting themselves. He caught the tube and walked, the way he had done countless times, to the house that had been his and his family's home. But his home was irrevocably gone - as much as if a fire had burned it to ashes. He knocked on the door and Karen answered. She was wearing a t-shirt he had bought her and sweat pants. Radio 4 was on and she was listening to Woman's Hour. He thought she looked pretty.

             
"What do you want?" She said.

             
"I wondered if I could see the girls."

             
She looked at him as if he were an idiot. "We're moving back to Scotland," she said.

             
"What?" He was stunned. "When?"

             
"This weekend. It'll help me to be near my ma. I've spoken to your mother too. She agrees. She's disgusted with you."

             
John had telephoned his mother to tell her that he had left Karen and that he was in love with someone else. She had not understood. Very few women sympathise with a man who walks out on his wife and children. "But when will I see the girls?" he said.

             
"You should have thought about that John."

             
"Can I see them now?"

             
"No."  She closed the door in his face.

He went back every evening that week. Ailsa found out where he was going and tried to reason with him but he wouldn't listen. "Karen's very hurt," she said, "and very bitter, but she will soften. She will realise that you're the children's father and they need to see you. And if she doesn't you can go to court."

             
"But she'll be in Scotland," he said. "So even if I get the legal right; how often will I see them? Once a month? Less?"

The next night was bonfire night and he went up again. Fireworks explo
ded in the sky as he got off the Tube at Finchley. He stood on the kerb looking at the lights behind the curtains. And then the front door opened. He watched as Karen pushed the twins out in their double buggy on the way to the convenience store. They didn't look over at him. He was just another stranger on the street. Karen noticed him but didn't speak. When she came back she went straight into the house. And he lingered there, watching his old front door in the light rain that started. It seemed futile. Then he turned to catch the train back to Chelsea but out of the corner of his eye he saw the door open and he stopped.  Karen came out in an anorak. She walked over to him and he waited, - caught by the thought that she'd seen reason and was going to let him see his daughters before they went to sleep. He even had the ghost of a smile on his face as she approached but she said, "I've phoned the police. I've told them you're harassing me, so I would leave now before they come and arrest you again."

             
"But Karen..."

             
"Don't 'but Karen' me. Don't even use my first name."

             
"I just want to see them."

             
"You can't."             

             
"Are you still going to Scotland?"

             
She nodded. "You'll hear from my solicitor. I hope I don't meet you again." She turned and walked away.

             
He became suddenly angry and shouted after her, "You can't stop me seeing them. I have rights."

             
She paused and looked round. With terrible venom she said, "You'll never see your daughters again if I have anything to do with it; I'll tell them you're dead."

6th November, 1985, London:
The FLUENCY committee met at its regular time in C/SOV's office in Century House. Assembled again were C/SOV, playing host with his Arab coffee set, Philip Neilson, Sue O'Hanlon and Toby Ewing. They assembled themselves, sat down, poured coffee, drank it politely - or with relish in the case of Philip. He and C/SOV knew each other well and they exchanged unkind glances as they observed Sue's sour face as she sipped the thick, dark brew. The Yucca and the Mother in Law's Tongue on the top of the green filing cabinet flourished; the basil plant, that C/SOV had introduced to add to his lunchtime mozzarella salad, had died. But he hadn't noticed.

             
Eventually the gathering came to order. C/SOV was a natural chairman with his urbane welcoming confidence. People spoke when he intended without them realising his orchestration. There had been nothing on the take from the bugs in John Gilroy's flat.

             
"So we move on?" said Philip.

             
"Next!" smiled C/SOV.

             
Sue shook her head looking flustered. She had to make her point and prevail against the gathering of patrician males, who outgunned her by far in education, prestige and family money.

             
"You know he's living with Ailsa McInnes?"

             
C/SOV raised an eyebrow and looked at Philip. "Isn't she one of ours?"

             
Philip nodded. "Previously MOS/3. Came back about six months ago."

             
"I remember her. Very pretty girl as I recall," said C/SOV. "He's done well. Wasn't she married to Duncan McInnes? My cousin was at Pangbourne with him. Rowing blue at Oxford later too as I recall."

             
Sue flushed but bit her lip. "My point is that of course we have nothing on the take from the microphones in his flat. He isn't there."

             
Philip said, "I never thought it would produce anything. If he is working for the Sovs, do you think he talks to his wife about it? Or perhaps whispers secrets to himself while shaving?"

             
"W haven't given it long enough."

             
C/SOV flicked a glance at her, it rested to take in what it needed of her redness and frustration and moved on silently to Toby. Toby was more his kind of man. He recalled a convivial weekend in Oxford at Toby's parents' place; Toby's mother was a friend of his wife. "What about the surveillance, Toby?"

             
Toby shrugged and said, "Nada. Zilch. Niente. Nichto. That's Russian." He grinned.

             
"I know," said Philip. C/SOV smiled.

             
"I forgot you SIS sorts knew everything," said Toby.

             
C/SOV sighed. "So, move on? Who's next?"

             
"Sorry," said Sue in an exasperated tone of voice, "but I don't think we've spent long enough on John Gilroy."

             
Toby looked at her. "Really? We're just going through them methodically. If you have any other snippets to suggest it's him then please share."

             
"Why don't we speak to the wife? I think the split was very acrimonious. If he's told her anything. She might be glad to talk to us," said Sue.

             
Philip looked at her in distaste. "I think that's a bit off. Getting a bitter woman to dob him in. How could we trust what she said?"

             
"This isn't a public school game Philip. This is about national security," said Sue.

             
Philip  said, "I hope this isn't personal Sue. We must keep personal dislikes out of this."

             
She spluttered. "Of course it isn't personal. I just have a hunch."

             
"Well," mused Toby. "I wouldn't want to denigrate hunches. They have their place."

             
"But," said Philip, "the more resources we spend on John the longer it will take us to catch the real source."

             
Sue looked angry. "What if he is the real source?"

  
              "We're being methodical," said Toby.

             
C/SOV looked glanced at his watch. "Can we move on?"

             
"I'm sorry, but I'm sticking to my position. We haven't given it long enough," said Sue.

             
"But you were happy to move on previously.  Now you want to spend more time on John," said Philip.

             
"Tedious as it is," said C/SOV, suddenly noticing his basil plant was dead and a  frown of hurt appearing on his noble forehead. He started to reach over to get it, wanting  to see if he could save its small green life, but checked himself. He would minister to it when they had left.  He turned again to the meeting. "As I was saying, tedious as it is  - perhaps we should vote?"

             
"Well, I vote that we move on," said Toby.

             
"I vote we give it another week with John Gilroy," said Sue.

             
"Philip?" said C/SOV, knowing that his friend knew he had to see the CIA in half an hour and trusting him to shift the business on. Philip looked as if he were wavering. Philip gave a very French looking gesture of non-committal and then said, "Well, I don't want anyone to be unhappy."

             
"And this means?" queried C/SOV, his brow furrowing further.

             
Philip smiled. "Give him another week. I'm sure it won't produce anything but I want us to feel we support one another."

             
"Well, if it won't produce anything, why do it? It's not logical," said Toby.

             
C/SOV raised a finger. "Settled. Another week then. I'm afraid I won't be here next week so Philip can chair. Any other business?"

8th November 1985, 5:30pm, London:
Two days after the FLUENCY meeting took place, John went home from work, but instead of going directly, caught the Tube to Holland Park. It was routine for him to do this once a week. The clocks had changed and it was already dark. The shops were still open and there was lots of bustle. As walked he from the station, there on the lamp post was the blue strip of electrician's tape - diagonal to indicate an emergency. The dead letter box had been filled by the KGB with an urgent message.  He hurried past. He did a short dry cleaning run as he approached the dead letter site, but he was lax and he didn't notice the surveillance. He arrived in Holland Park and there was the empty Cherry Cola can. He sat on the bench where the can was The light was poor. He looked around and saw a woman with a dog some distance away; a businessman with a briefcase walking away; a couple arm in arm coming towards him. With one swift movement he snatched the can so it would look to the world as if it  was his and always had been. As far as observers were concerned he was trying the all new Cherry flavour. He stretched out his arms above his head as if he was stiff from sitting, a gesture to make all think he was calm and unhurried. Then he stood and walked off. He went home to Ailsa, not looking back and not seeing the team following him - lovers, dog walkers and preoccupied businessmen. Walking through Hyde Park, he upturned the can. A roll of paper, protected by a plastic bag, fell out into his hand. He discarded the can in the next bin. He unrolled the rubber band, took off the plastic and unrolled the paper. In Russian, but in clear, it said
Execute Exfiltration as Planned. Do not delay.