Wings of the Morning (36 page)

This morning, David paused to wonder what Sol would think of his intention, the commitment to himself which had sprung from his conversation with Hugh Dundas. He fancied he could see the beard
quiver with excitement.

THIERRY CESTAC — 1991

Paris. Christmas Week with short days, a cold and sleeting rain. Cestac walked to his house in the Latin Quarter following a long lunch at a local brasserie. He was accompanied
by Toussaint, keeping his eye on the hordes of shoppers. Both men had turned up the collar on their coat and were walking briskly.

It had been a most interesting conversation. Cestac had been surprised to hear again from the Russian who chaired those meetings at the Embassy about the Mozambique business. That had been what,
five years ago, maybe going on six. At the restaurant, he seemed much as Cestac remembered him, still a sleek looking fat cat and now confident enough of himself to come alone. Cestac would not
have done the same and Toussaint was now his permanent shadow.

As soon as he got home and into his study, Cestac dragged out his comprehensive world atlas. He settled down to study it along with the notes which he had taken during the lunchtime
conversation. He was not surprised to be so ignorant of the lands which made up the USSR. Geography had held little interest for him during his school days and in those times anyway, all that vast
part of the world was closed, covered in red and decorated with hammers and sickle. Cestac was a well read man and kept himself properly aware of world affairs so he was perfectly conscious of the
implosion of the Soviet Union, its official confirmation now just days away. What he had not appreciated until today’s session were the possible benefits to him personally.

His host at lunch had explained that he was himself not Russian born, but a native of Kazakhstan which was about to become independent, the largest and wealthiest of all those former Soviet
Republics which were on the point of being turned loose. Yari, as he now called himself, had covered some of the big picture facts and statistics before moving on to explain a particular injustice
of fate which was now threatening him and many of his circle. Yari spoke good French and laid it out for Cestac.

‘In the old days, the command structure of the USSR was overwhelmingly centralised: top down management as they would say in today’s business schools. That meant that if you were
born in what you could call the Provinces, so in my case anywhere in Kazakhstan including Alma Ata, you struggled to get out. You strived to get to Moscow, through university there and on to a
career ladder, probably in the military or better still, the KGB which is what I managed to do. That achievement got you status and a real future, unless you lacked self discipline like that idiot
you put out on the rubbish tip.

The whole system meant that we high flyers left home young and stayed away, only going home for a family visit maybe once a year or even less. The contemporaries of your age who didn’t
make the first grade were out of your life and anyway you didn’t want to know them: they were losers.’

He wagged his finger at Cestac, ‘Now, the cruel irony is coming home to roost. Because you see, the second and third division guys who stayed behind have had all these years to consolidate
their positions, to scratch their way along in what used to be regional, back water government, the best of them getting to run the local waterworks, power supply and so forth — even the
rubbish disposal.’

Yari allowed himself a chuckle before he went on, ‘The worst of it, M.Cestac, is that these undeserving and inadequate people are now set to make themselves very rich indeed.’

‘How come?’ Cestac asked.

‘Because they’re there. They’re on site, in position, fingers on the buttons. And believe you me, my friend, independence in a dump like Dushambe is going to make huge
opportunities for graft and power in the pocket. It won’t last forever, but there’s surely going to be time and chance to fill your boots if you’ve got the balls for a few
risks.’

‘OK. I follow the argument and I’m sure you want to get into the action. But where do I come into this and what’s in it for me?’

‘Like this,’ Yari replied, ‘You see, I need people, the sort you can identify. I need them very fast indeed and I don’t have the time or the contacts to find them. I will
pay you top dollar to recruit them for me.’

‘Is this for protection? Are you expecting to get taken down when you go home?’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised. I won’t be popular turning up to push to the top of the queue. But it’s more than that. What I really need is a small, private army. I need guys
with me to help in some ruthless persuasion. I’m going to have to fight my way to the top of a pile, and then fight some more to stay there. But I’ll pay big time. It’s worth it
for me. This is the chance of my lifetime.’

‘Could be,’ said Cestac, ‘and yes you’re right. I have the names and contacts. But for myself, I’m not so much interested in money.’

‘I know that. That’s why I asked to meet again. What holds your interest, M.Cestac, is power. Power and influence. And that’s what I’m offering for your
participation.’

There was a pause in their exchange before Cestac called for more wine over which they had settled to talk facts and figures. This was the detail which Cestac was now mulling over in the calm
privacy of his study. He was going to do it, for sure. The opportunity was irresistible and he could see that there would be only one chance. But it needed some careful planning, both to succeed
and to ensure that he was not himself sacrificed in the process. Cestac trusted no one, especially not a former KGB supremo now on the make for himself.

AISCHA GOMES — 1994

The year had started well for Aischa. During the first week of February, David and she managed a lunch at The Mansion House for the Oxford Five which meant that there were ten
of them round the table. Aischa was pleased to be hostess for David, his other half rather than another guest. Alexa flew over from Paris with Hugh. They stayed one night and returned to her
parents the following day. Hugh was off to Japan, but Alexa would remain in France for as long as she was needed. Her father Joffrey had gone downhill during the last twelve months and was thought
to be fading fast.

Conrad and Tepee Aveling came to London for a couple of nights so they could be at the party and give themselves a rare break. King and Pente arrived together but by chance and from different
directions. King was urbane as ever, but Aischa thought Pente was looking weary although the noise level was increased by his presence: also the smoke cloud. She wondered how he kept going but he
seemed irrepressible.

Martin and Ruth Kirchoff were there of course. They both loved these occasions which invigorated Martin and Ruth sparkled with her wit and welcome. The lunch was a huge success. They were still
sitting there at nearly 6 pm, moving round the table to usurp each other’s chairs and to ring changes to their company and conversation. Aischa noted a warm gossip between Tepee and Alexa who
were such good friends, and as normal, Pente got into a huddle with King Offenbach.

Aischa’s concern was to see Martin looking a little nervous — or was it wounded? — that David spent so much time with Hugh Dundas. She had a word in David’s ear and was
gratified that he responded at once, including Conrad and Martin in their conversation. It was a happy interlude, a recognition of over thirty years friendship amongst the original Oxford Five.

After that, Aischa spent the remainder of the European winter in the mild climate of Lisbon and David flew down to join her for a couple of weekends. They walked and talked. He gave her news of
his steady progress on his grand plan and from all of this, she could understand the significance of Hugh Dundas. Her David had the vision while Hugh had the means. They made a formidable pair but
she feared for other relationships along the way, and that included her own with the man whom a part of her wished that she did not love so completely. By his own acknowledgment, David Heaven was
both driven and selfish, almost paranoid about personal commitment and prepared to sacrifice human contentment before the altar of his dream. She tackled him again when he was with her as spring
was starting to break out on the banks of the Tagus.

Aischa opened the conversation in their apartment when they were having a drink before dinner. The apartment was a story in itself. On a visit two years ago, they dined as always at their
special restaurant, chez Giacomo where he revealed that he was going to sell the restaurant. He had grown too tired to go on, and his son in Perugia lacked the funds to join him. On a whim, David
stepped in with financial help. Within a month, son Mario and his Isabella arrived with their brood of five to breathe new life into the restaurant and insisted on taking his father into a family
house which they rented down by the beach. This left vacant the apartment above the business which had been home to Giacomo for many years, so David had entered into a long lease on the property.
Aischa refurbished and redecorated it and when the work was finished, she and David had the first home of their own. She made it into an entrancing oasis, rich in character and priceless for them
in its quiet and calm. They continued their habit of always eating in the restaurant on the first night of a stay together, and on these occasions Giacomo turned out from his semi retirement to
lead them to ‘their’ table and to wait on them for their meal. The food improved under the influence of the younger Mori’s, but the high quality service continued as it had always
been.

So in their home, their love nest, their retreat from a busy world, Aischa could speak frankly to him. She started to talk to David by repeating her respect, her regard and her love for him. He
was her man, and she wanted no other. But as she said, she had him only part time. She reminded him that they had been lovers for over twenty years and in all that time, they had never been
together for longer than a week, never apart for more than three months. She had only once lost her patience and her temper. She had stalked out of their hotel in Rome — the only time either
of them had visited that beautiful city — vowing that she would never see him again. But she had been in Lisbon again a year later when he went to see Alves, and Aischa had known of it, had
tracked him down at his hotel, said not a single word to him until she had removed the clothes from both of them and got him inside her. And then. ‘Don’t ever leave me again’.

But they were older now and should be wiser. What was she to expect for the future? David heard her out in silence, his eyes following her face as she moved gracefully around their sitting room
with occasional gestures to emphasise a point. When she finished, with her question hanging over them, she came to sit next to him in the window seat and he took both her hands between his as he
continued his gaze. He leant forward to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek and then he sat back to make his reply.

‘Well said, Aischa. Well and bravely spoken, quite right in every detail. You know, my Darling, I keep going over the same thing myself — to myself, and every single time I’m
flying to join you. I confess I sometimes take comfort from thinking that Hugh and Alexa are in the same boat, but then I reproach myself. It’s not at all the same and Alves is no barrier to
be compared with their Janey. The problem is with me: it’s my fault and my responsibility.’ He smiled at her, but Aischa was not to be put off.

‘David Heaven. You’re very good at this mea culpa stuff, but it won’t do and you know it. It’s not I want to hear.’

‘Yes, yes. I know that,’ David rose and started his own circuit of the room as he spoke.

‘OK. Well here goes with a full answer. I’ll start with a declaration.’

He stopped for a moment to fix his eyes on her face and then continued speaking as he walked.

‘I love you Aischa. I’ve been in love and in thrall since that evening when you walked into my hotel with Rafa, and I’ve never lost that feeling since. Not for a moment. But I
wonder if you really understand the extent of that love, and all the forms it takes. Aischa, God knows how often we’ve talked about my background, my childhood and all that and I’m not
going over it all again now. But you see, you’re the love of a mother to me, you’re the love of a family, you’re the love of friends. You’re companion and confidante and
counsellor and kick-me-in-the-arse all rolled into one. And most important by far, you’re my lover: passionate, thrilling, sensual, sexy. Completely knock out every single time.