cause problems.’
‘I just thought you should know,’ said the relieved Orlov, discerning the old man’s acceptance. Moving to further deceit, Orlov said, ‘I realise from what I’ve learned since I’ve been back how important it is for things properly to be seen to be right, by those who matter.’
Sevin smiled, taking the bait. ‘It is astonishing,’ he agreed, ‘how puerile things like positioning at conference tables and arrangements of photographs are considered to matter by men who are supposed to be making decisions that can affect the world.’
Orlov hesitated before the final move and said, ‘Who will be attending the reception at the American embassy?’
‘It’s important,’ insisted the old man. ‘First outing since Chebrakin’s accession. Chebrakin himself doesn’t plan to attend, of course. Didenko is definitely going but then he’s a man under pressure anxious to prove himself still a viable figure. I’ve been proposed but I think I’ll decline. Zebin will go. Okulov, too. There’ll be others, of course.’
Orlov hadn’t expected the advantage of one of the men about whom there had already been speculation in the West, in advance of Chebrakin’s appointment. He said, ‘There’ll be a lot of concentration upon Didenko: there were forecasts that he had a better chance than Chebrakin on this occasion.’
Sevin grew serious. ‘That’s a good point,’ he said. ‘An extremely good point.’
Delicately, not wanting the line to break, Orlov said, ‘Would it matter?’
‘Like I said,’ reminded Sevin, the educator. ‘Positioning at tables and in photographs and at public functions are considered important.’ The old man stopped, for a moment’s further reflection and then he said, ‘I think you should go.’
‘Me!’ said Orlov, as if the proposal startled him.
‘The first outing since Chebrakin’s accession,’ repeated Sevin. ‘It might seem premature but sides will be taken – contenders considered or dismissed as unimportant – as early as now. And Pietr?’
‘Yes?’ said Orlov.
‘Don’t make it obvious but try to stay as close as possible to Didenko. Let’s get the idea established now among the uncommitted on the Central Committee and actually within the Politburo that there’s an equality in stature between the two of you.’
What was he doing to this man? thought Orlov, agonised. Despising himself, he said, ‘If you think it’s important.’
‘Yes,’ insisted Sevin. ‘I think it’s important.’
Sokol accepted objectively that the cause of Blair’s return to Washington could be absolutely innocent but with matching objectivity never regarded anything a known and identified intelligence agent did as absolutely innocent. He annotated Blair’s file for the man to be subjected to surveillance tighter than normally imposed, even on someone named on the special Watch List.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They had not met all together, either on any public occasions or privately, since Blair’s return from Washington and Brinkman was glad. The telephone calls from Ann – always her to him because he could never know when Blair would be at home – were quite frequent and Brinkman knew that Ann was glad, too, neither sure how they would handle the moment when Blair was included. It had to happen eventually, of course – for it not to have done, after their earlier closeness, would have made Blair suspicious – and Brinkman was grateful it was going to be at a reception, crowded with people and distraction, so that any awkwardness wouldn’t be obvious.
It was an official affair, with protocol to be observed, which meant Brinkman had to arrive earlier than he would have liked. He didn’t see Blair or Ann immediately. The first face he recognised was that of Wilcox, the British Head of Chancery. They had a strained conversation about cricket, about which Wilcox was an acknowledged fanatic and Brinkman almost entirely ignorant apart from the basic principles. Eventually he moved on to the buffet table, not hungry but using it to occupy the time. Brinkman hadn’t expected the number of people who were there. His attendance was logical because the guest list contained the names of at least eight members of the inner Soviet government and if they accepted it would not only be an opportunity of seeing them in close proximity, like the visit of the British delegation, but also of watching them on parade on the first occasion after Chebrakin’s election. He hadn’t anticipated the interest would be as great from everyone else.
He heard a shout and smiled at the approach of the Harrisons. Brinkman had returned their hospitality and accepted it again – without the enforced accompaniment of Sharon Berring – and there had also been occasional encounters at official functions like this but it hadn’t become a positive friendship.
‘Stranger!’ accused Betty Harrison.
‘Busy,’ said Brinkman. It was true after a fashion, he supposed. He and Ann had played games about Betty’s reaction if she’d known. Playing one now he said to the woman, ‘What’s all the news?’
‘Is there ever any news, in Moscow?’
‘If there is, you always know about it, Betty.’
She gave a mew of feigned offence but Brinkman knew she was pleased at the acknowledgement. ‘I do hear that the wife of a certain someone at the Australian embassy is becoming well known to the Moscow authorities for her liking of the local brew.’
‘Drinking is Australia’s national sport,’ said Brinkman. To Harrison Brinkman said, ‘How are things in the wheatfields?’
The Canadian grinned. ‘Things seem to have gone quiet, don’t they?’
‘Tonight might be interesting,’ said Brinkman.
‘I sometimes think you people would be better off reading tealeaves in cups,’ said the woman.
Harrison frowned and Brinkman was surprised she said it, innocuous though it was. Appearing to realise the offence Betty tried to recover, smiling over Brinkman’s shoulder. ‘More strangers,’ she said, beckoning.
Brinkman turned, as the Blairs walked up to them. Because of the level of the reception – ambassadorial rank – dress was formal and Blair was wearing a black tie. It was the first time Brinkman had seen the American in a dinner suit. He thought the man looked ill at ease. And he thought Ann looked stunning. She wore a black evening dress, one shoulder bare, with a single diamond clip the only jewellery apart from earrings. She had her hair up, in a chignon, a style she hadn’t adopted before. She smiled at them all, appearing quite controlled and said, ‘Hi.’
‘Hello,’ said Brinkman, relieved she wasn’t finding it difficult. He searched for his own feelings and was surprised by them. He was jealous, he realised. He resented the proprietorial way Blair cupped his wife’s elbow and the man’s closeness to her and everyone’s acceptance that Ann belonged to him. Brinkman stopped the rush of impressions, astonished at himself. What possible, conceivable justifiable right did he have to feel jealous? Presenting himself with the question, Brinkman tried to answer it. Did he love her? He didn’t know – not honestly know – any more than he knew if Ann loved him. It was a word they avoided, like they were avoiding actually looking at each other now. Jealousy wasn’t love; it was coveting something belonging to someone else. Did Ann belong to Blair any more? Another thing they avoided but he thought he knew the answer. Blair had offered her the way out – although he had no way of telling if the man had been serious – and Ann hadn’t taken it. There wasn’t a furtive telephone call or a hurried, snatched meeting when there wasn’t some reference to how much she was going to hate staying on, after the scheduled time. And there could only be one obvious inference from that.
Ann was talking animatedly to Betty Harrison, using the woman as he tried to use her earlier, and Blair was discussing something with the Canadian. As a waiter passed Brinkman said to Ann, ‘Can I get you a drink?’ aware the moment he spoke that he was being overly solicitous and that Blair was turning towards the man anyway. Committed, Brinkman said hurriedly, ‘Both of you,’ and Betty saved the moment by saying, ‘Always the perfect gentleman.’ Brinkman handed glasses to both of them, wondering if the flush he felt burning his face were obvious.
‘I was just saying to Ann that we haven’t seen nearly enough of each other.’
‘No, we haven’t,’ agreed Brinkman, glad to be taken over by the woman.
‘Things have been a bit disorganised, with Eddie being away,’ said Ann.
Soon, thought Brinkman, Betty Harrison was going to realise how steadfastly he and Ann were looking at her
