assessment, compared to the ambassador’s. Had Brace got it wrong and gone for Gushkov or Didenko? Enjoying the taste of the cliche, he said, ‘These are interesting times.’
‘If we get them right.’
‘If we get them right indeed,’ agreed Brinkman. This was going to be an easier game than it ever was with Blair. Despite their now-confirmed friendship, there was always a reserve from the American, a slight holding back. Just – Brinkman conceded – as he always held slightly back. Lie, he thought. His holding back wasn’t slight, at all.
‘Imagine some changes soon?’ pressed the embassador.
‘How do you see the situation?’ said Brinkman, turning the question.
‘I’d like to know whether Serada’s illness is medical or political.’
‘Little doubt about that, is there?’ said Brinkman, continuing the role of questioner without expressing an opinion of his own.
‘That’s the problem with trying to interpret events in the Soviet Union,’ said the ambassador, philosophically. ‘There’s always doubt.’
Brinkman had already filed the opinion to London. Knowing he wasn’t disclosing anything the ambassador might take for his own, Brinkman said ‘Serada’s got to be on his way out. And I think Chebrakin will be the successor.’
‘Chebrakin!’ pounced the ambassador, confirming Brinkman’s guess that the man had suggested somebody else.
‘But like you said,’ reminded Brinkman, ‘there’s always doubt.’
‘Been very impressed the way you’ve settled in here,’ said Brace. ‘Very impressed indeed. An asset to the embassy. Imagine London thinks so too. Heard from your father lately?’
‘Not for some time,’ said Brinkman.
‘Give him my regards’ said the ambassador.
‘I will, sir,’ said Brinkman. ‘And thank you, for what you said.’
‘Nothing but the truth,’ said the ambassador. ‘Nothing but the truth. And don’t forget what I’ve already told you. Always willing to help.’
‘I won’t forget,’ assured Brinkman. He didn’t then anticipate how quickly the occasion would arise.
‘You’ve lionised him!’ said Betty Harrison. The Canadian tried to make it a mock protest but Ann guessed there was an element of feeling in what the woman said. Betty coveted the role of the grande dame of the diplomatic wives and would imagine it was to her salon that Brinkman should pay court.
‘We haven’t,’ she said. ‘He and Eddie just seem to get on well.’ She felt a bubble of satisfaction at the other woman’s jealousy.
‘What about you?’ said Betty archly.
‘We both went to Cambridge, although not at the same time. Seem to have a few mutual acquaintances, though’, said Ann.
‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ said the other woman.
Ann, who understood fully what the Canadian had meant, laughed dismissively, refusing to become gossip fodder. ‘I think he is very amusing and great company at a party. But he doesn’t attract me in the slightest.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ said Betty. ‘Have you seen those hands?’
Ann had. And wondered idly how Brinkman appeared to be able to stay so apparently hard-bodied when he didn’t take any exercise that she knew of and the boyish way he had of flicking the dark hair back from his forehead. But only in the way of noticing things about a friend with whom she was frequently in close contact. She hadn’t lied to Betty. The thought of any physical attraction had never arisen in her mind.
‘He doesn’t seem too interested in getting involved with anyone, does he?’ said Ann, carelessly.
Betty seized the remark, able to see several meanings in everything. ‘You don’t think he’s strange, do you?’
‘Strange?’ frowned Ann, not immediately understanding.
‘You know, strange,’ prompted Betty.
‘You mean gay!’ said Ann at last. ‘No, of course I don’t think he’s gay!’ Poor man, she thought, it was like being picked over by a hyena.
‘He dropped Sharon Berring like a hot potato,’ said Betty, warming to her theme.
‘He did not drop her like a hot potato,’ said Ann, conscious that she was in at the beginning of what Betty was rapidly formulating into the week’s top story. ‘He just didn’t submit to having the choice made for him.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Betty at once.
Ann sighed, mildly irritated by the interrogation. ‘I don’t know ,’ she said. ‘I just guessed. It seemed obvious.’
Betty stared at her friend with her head cocked artificially, in obvious disbelief. ‘How’s Eddie?’ she said.
This was getting ridiculous, thought Ann. Openly to lose her temper would be a mistake. ‘Fine,’ she said. Was that true? Ann thought, letting her mind slip sideways. He was fine, physically, and she knew sufficient about the government changes to understand that he should be preoccupied but there had been times recently when she felt he had been closing up against her. Not recently, she thought, self-annoyed at the conscious vagueness. She could date precisely the beginning of her impression, from the moment when he agreed they should try for a baby. And they weren’t doing that as often as she had hoped, although the work preoccupation could be a reason for his tiredness. And certainly not with any success. Ann knew her attitude was illogical – you didn’t become pregnant just by wanting to become pregnant – but she’d expected something to have happened, by now. Maybe she should go back to the embassy doctor, to try to discover if there was a problem.
‘Just fine?’ said Betty, still allowing the disbelief.
‘Absolutely and utterly fine,’ said Ann, controlling herself. She was glad now that at the beginning, when she was enjoying the other woman’s jealousy, she had not boasted about the tickets she had particularly got to surprise Brinkman for the new production at the Bolshoi.
That night in bed she said to Blair, ‘You know what I think about Betty Harrison?’
‘What?’
‘I think she poisonous. I don’t think she spreads rumours, I think she makes them up.’
‘What about?’ asked the American.
‘Whatever takes her fancy,’ said Ann.
‘I thought you liked her,’ he said mildly.
‘I do’ said Ann, confusingly. ‘But I don’t think I’d trust her.’
She waited, hopefully, but felt him turn away.
‘Goodnight,’ he said.
‘Goodnight.’
Chapter Eleven
Very occasionally – too occasionally for it to be considered anything more than the most sensational good fortune – it was possible to cultivate and maintain a source with some internal knowledge in Moscow. Some intelligence officers forged links with dissidents but it was dangerous – apart from closely following their illegal zamizdat – because the KGB monitored the activities rigidly and sometimes infiltrated provocateurs, so there was always the risk of seizure and some highly publicised diplomatic incident, usually expulsion. The majority of intelligence came from assessment, from closely studying and analysing official announcements and seeing who was and who was not in official photographs or at official receptions; frequently making conclusions from details like who was standing in relation to whom at those events. Sources for those assessments were usually the approved newspapers or the approved television coverage. Personally able to observe was a bonus, which was why Brinkman went to the airport for the arrival of the Cuban delegation and there he was a long way away, only able to establish Serada’s absence. To get anywhere near close proximity to the Soviet hierarchy practically ranked with managing to establish an internal source. When Brinkman realised his opportunity he went after it with the unwavering determination with which he had passed every examination and every interview and every aptitude test to jump
