Your Face Tomorrow 3: Poison, Shadow and Farewell

you look at it, perhaps they do better things because they're being of service to the country' Since we were speaking in Spanish, I was grateful that she didn't use the word 'patria but 'pais' but it nonetheless sounded horribly like one of the first things Tupra had said to me at Wheeler's buffet supper. Perhaps those who stayed longest by his side, of whom I would not be one, ended up adopting his ideas. Perez Nuix, however, said the phrase in such a neutral tone that I couldn't tell if she was serious or quoting our boss or being sarcastic.

'Don't tell me that by arresting Dearlove, putting him inside for several years-if, that is, he doesn't get bumped off during his first few days there-has been of some service to this country. Or, for that matter, the death of that Russian boy; he'd probably only just arrived in England and was here illegally, thus ensuring that no one will dig too deep or kick up much of a fuss. What did you call him, 'an instrumental victim'? I thought the usual term was 'collateral victim,' although in Spanish it should be 'lateral' rather than 'collateral' I couldn't resist adding this pedantic clarification.

'They're different things, Jaime,' she pointed out. 'Victimas co-laterales or laterales aren't usually instrumental, they occur more by chance or by mistake or by mere inevitability. Instrumental victims, on the other hand, always perform a function. They're necessary for something to succeed.' She paused again, took another sip of her drink, and remained silent. It occurred to me that perhaps she had often been through what I was going through now. When she did speak again, she did so hesitantly: 'Look, I don't know, I simply don't know; Tupra doesn't confide in me anymore and hasn't for a long time now, and he didn't ever tell me much even when we were on better terms, I mean when he trusted me more or had more of a soft spot for me; he always keeps pretty much to himself. It seems unlikely that the State or the Crown or them,' and she pointed upwards, by which I assumed she meant the bigwigs in the SIS or Secret Intelligence Service, who, at least in the past, embraced both MI5 and MI6, 'would have ordered such a trap to be laid, such an operation, for a rock singer, a celebrity. But you never know: in America, declassification has uncovered the most ridiculous things- reports on people like Elvis Presley or John Lennon who were being kept under surveillance by the CIA or the FBI-so anything is possible. We don't know what Dearlove was doing, what he might have been getting up to, who he was involved with and who he might have blackmailed, who he could frighten with threats which, coming from him, would seem quite credible (insofar as someone like him can have any credibility, of course) or on whom he bestowed his favors. Insignificant, inoffensive and apparently purely ornamental people can prove to be full of surprises. Singers and actors often turn out to be real nutcases, they join weird sects or convert to Islam, which nowadays is no joke, as you know. One of the first lessons you learn in this job (although it's better still if you know it before you start) is that no one is insignificant, inoffensive and purely ornamental.'

'The time I talked to Dearlove longest was in Edinburgh,' I said, 'or, rather, I overheard him talking to an old friend of his, Genevieve Seabrook, which makes it more likely that he was telling the truth because, with her, there would be no reason for him to put on an act; anyway, it seemed to me that he wasn't involved with anyone, still less anyone desirable, that it wasn't even a possibility. He was complaining that in England he had no option now but to pay for sex. I doubt he could have been a serious threat to anyone, certainly not to anyone requiring the protection of the Secret Service. I had the impression that he was a man in decline, but eager to disguise that decline. In fact, he could already see himself disappearing, not so much from the world, but from people's memories. That worried him a lot, made him feel embittered and anxious.'

'As I said, it's highly unlikely that the State would have acted against him in this way. I'm more inclined to think it was a personal act of revenge by Tupra, some unfinished business-after all, they used to see each other socially quite a lot-unless Tupra did it as a favor to someone else. Or maybe it wasn't a favor at all, we shouldn't dismiss the idea of a contract.'

'You mean somebody paid to have it done?'

'Yes, why not, like I said before, this man Dearlove might to all intents and purposes be on the way out, but from what one hears, during his lifetime, he must have been with dozens of minors of both sexes, doubtless with some who were, in their day, desirable, to use your expression, either physically or socially or because of their family connections. Many of them will be adults now, some might be in possession of their own fortunes and would therefore have more than enough money to pay for such a contract killing. Then there are fathers and brothers too. I don't know, maybe Dick Dearlove ruined the life of Tupra's younger brother or sister. Perhaps he corrupted Tupra himself And she laughed at the idea.

'Is that possible, do you think? Tupra can't be many years his junior. And does Tupra have brothers and sisters?'

Young Perez Nuix laughed again, this time at my naivete or my literal-mindedness.

'No, of course not, I'm sure no one could ever have corrupted Bertie or done anything to him that he didn't want done. To be perfectly honest, I find it hard to believe that he was ever innocent and malleable. Besides, as I'm sure you realize, I was being ironic. I've no idea if Tupra has siblings or not, I've never heard him say a word about his family or his origins, I don't even know where his name comes from.'-'Peter didn't know either,' I thought, 'although he made fun of it.'-'No one knows much about him. It's as if he'd sprung into being by spontaneous generation.' Perez Nuix had gone back to calling him Bertie and, in doing so, had adopted a slightly evocative tone, without realizing, without intending to; I wondered just what had gone on between them. However, she immediately returned to the matter in hand. 'What I'm trying to say is that the possibilities are at once limitless and secondary, so there's no point delving into it.' Again I noticed that faintly commiserative look and again I felt that it perhaps saddened her to see me going through a process she had already been through herself. It might also be that the subject bored her, even annoyed her. 'Who cares anyway, Jaime. It's none of your business. Even what happened is none of your business, although at the moment you think it is. Well, it isn't. You've got to get used to that fact. It won't happen often, but I suppose it's the first time it has since you joined. It might never happen again. But you have to get used to it, just in case, simply because of those possible exceptions. If not, you won't be able to continue in the job.'

'I don't think I am going to continue,' I said.

Young Perez Nuix looked surprised, but my feeling was that she was only pretending, as if she thought that not affecting surprise would be rude and show a certain disdain for me. According to Tupra, she was the best, she would know me well, perhaps better than I did, especially since I wasn't interested and had given up trying understand myself-what was the point? ('No one can know you better than you do yourself, and yet no one can know himself so well that he can be sure how he will behave tomorrow,' that, I thought or remembered, is what St. Augustine had said.) Yes, she was pretending, a little:

'Really? When did you decide that, while you were in Madrid or since you got back? Are you sure?'

'I'm almost sure,' I said. 'But I want to talk to Tupra first. He's not in London today'

'And all because of this Dearlove business? And what are you going to say to Tupra? What are you going to ask him: why it happened? That's his affair or possibly someone else's, but he'll never tell you. Sometimes even he doesn't know why; he gets an order, carries it out unquestioningly and that's that.' She looked at her glass. I raised a cigarette to my lips in the hope that she would continue talking, I would pretend ignorance of the hotel's no- smoking rule until someone protested. 'It's your decision,

Jaime, but it does seem a little over the top to me. As Bertie always says, it's the way of the world. Let things settle in your mind. Wait until it's sunk in that you have nothing to do with what happened to Dearlove and the Bulgarian boy. Ideas float, nothing is so easily transmitted. As soon as you put it into words, that idea was no longer yours, it was simply out there. And all ideas have the potential to infect others. Just wait a little, and one day you'll see I was right.'

'That isn't the only reason,' I told her. 'But it's definitely a contributing factor. I don't think I decided here or in Madrid, but in full flight, on the plane.'

'A man of firm principles, eh?' And her voice took on a slightly sarcastic edge, then immediately became more serious. 'They're not really so very firm, Jaime. No one who works in this field can afford to be that principled. You may be valiantly buckling on your principles now, but that's a different matter.' She sometimes used rather literary turns of phrase-'con denuedo,' 'valiantly'-due to her inevitably bookish rather than real-life knowledge of Spanish. 'I'm not criticizing you; it helps, it has its merits, we should all do it more often. But what you put on can always be taken off again.'

I remembered what Tupra had asked me the first time I was called on to interpret someone (the day when he had first urged me: 'Say anything, whatever comes into your head, go on'), when he asked me to stay behind in his office for a moment so that I could give him my opinion on General or Colonel or Corporal Bonanza or whatever he