for their nightly encounters draft pages for the old man to criticise and improve, until he was entirely satisfied with them.
Orlov was conscious of an attitude as soon as he entered Sevin’s quarters. The old man remained as his desk, which he normally left for the more comfortable conference area near the window. As he approached Orlov saw the last ten pages he had presented spread out in front of the other man, heavily annotated with margin notes and corrections.
‘What is it, Pietr?’
‘I don’t understand the question.’
‘The document began so well. Clear and concise, honestly confronting the stupidity of a system of insisting upon norms from antiquated methods and machinery, without a sensible decision to suffer for two years while everything is reequipped and more land put over for private, peasant cultivation. We’ve talked it through, night after night…’ Sevin gestured disparagingly to the sheets before him. ‘This is terrible, Pietr. Your arguments ramble and are inconclusive. In at least three instances I have found your figures demonstrably wrong. What is supposed to be a treatise that will revolutionise Soviet agriculture is lapsing into the sort of meaningless polemic we’ve had and suffered from for the last fifty years.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Orlov humbly.
‘So am I,’ said Sevin. ‘Deeply sorry. This isn’t going to establish a reputation for you. It’s going to destroy one.’ Sevin left unsaid that it could destroy him, too. What the hell was wrong with the man!
‘I’ll rework it.’
‘Don’t rework it,’ refused Sevin. ‘Scrap it and start again. Which is what we’ve got to do with our agriculture.’
‘All right,’ agreed Orlov.
‘So what is it?’ prompted the old man again. ‘Is there a problem?’
Orlov searched desperately for an excuse, hating himself for it when it came. ‘The divorce,’ he said. ‘It’s amicable, to a degree. But it’s always upsetting. You said so yourself.’
Upsetting, thought Sevin: but not to this degree. And if it were true, what sort of leader would Orlov make if a simple thing like a divorce anyway so distressed the man. Had he missed something? worried Sevin. If he had, then it was too late; his sponsorship was known now, to those who mattered. It was impossible to withdraw without losing his position of influence on the Politburo and that was all Sevin lived for any more. He said urgently, ‘The marriage is over. Accept it. Put it behind you and start concentrating upon the important thing. Your future.’
‘That’s what I am thinking of,’ said Orlov. ‘My future.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ann’s affair with Jeremy Brinkman created claustrophobia within claustrophobia: she hadn’t felt able to breathe or think or move. So he had been right, about his absence giving her time to think. She’d accustomed if not adjusted to the greater claustrophobia – Moscow – but without Jeremy and without Eddie the tighter feeling had gone. She’d been able to examine things – everything – calmly and clearly. She thought. She did love both. If that wasn’t usual then it wasn’t usual but for her it was possible. And real love; not dependence upon Eddie and the excitement of the illicit with Jeremy. So it came down to whom she loved better. Which it always had, she supposed. She’d been wrong – so very wrong – treating Eddie as she had. He should have discussed staying on – she did deserve that – but she’d been unjustified raging as she had. Remorse, for what else was happening. And she deserved to feel remorseful. He was kind and gentle and he did love her, like he’d said just before he left for Washington. And she believed he’d never cheated on her and never told her a lie; not an important, mattering- between-them sort of lie. It served her right, after the way she’d been behaving, if he were being drawn back to Ruth. Had she tried hard enough, with Moscow? She thought she had – she didn’t know what else she could have done but she wasn’t completely sure. Maybe what she hadn’t done was talk it through enough with Eddie. She thought he’d known but he clearly hadn’t. If she’d talked it out with him then maybe he wouldn’t have made the commitment in Washington, last time. But he had and now she had to live with it. Or did she? He’d told her she didn’t have to. Which had frightened her, she admitted. The thought of being alone frightened her and the told-you- it-wouldn’t-work attitude of her family frightened her. Like her love for Jeremy frightened her. If only he hadn’t come to Moscow in the first place! And hadn’t been so much fun and been to Cambridge like she had and known the city like she did and liked ballet like she did and that night they hadn’t… Ann halted the torrent, confronting the effort to avoid the responsibility. He had come to Moscow and he had done all those things and they had done all those things and now she loved him, too. Did he love her, like he said he did? She had no way of knowing. He was funnier than Eddie – even when Eddie was trying, which he didn’t very often any more – and more comfortable at dinner parties and wonderful in bed but if she were comparing- which was what she had to do, surely? – she felt that Jeremy was the harder of the two. Ann tried to make the equation a different way. Given the choice, between her and his career, which would Jeremy choose? As she posed the question she realised she already knew how Eddie would choose and then decided that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t completely known. Jeremy did. Ann suspected it would still be the career for Jeremy. But wasn’t that how it should be? No. Or maybe yes. She didn’t know. Dear God, she thought desperately, why did every hopeful answer produce two more unanswerable questions?
Maybe alone in Moscow with Eddie would help resolve everything. She was glad he was coming back today and she was glad Jeremy was still away, so there wouldn’t be any pressure. Maybe she’d have the chance to show Eddie she was sorry and he’d be able to tell her what he’d meant by that strange conversation, the evening he left.
She made an effort, for Blair’s homecoming. The apartment never needed much preparation but she arranged fresh flowers and set the meal after his airport call, so it was ready by the time he arrived. She kissed him, trying to show him how she felt, and said she’d missed him, which she had. He kissed her back and said he’d missed her, too, which in truth he hadn’t because he had been too busy.
Having brought her so much returning from the last trip he had not been able to think of anything better than an assortment of the sort of chocolates which were unavailable in Moscow and she was delighted and said they were super.
When they sat down to eat she said, ‘So how was Paul?’
‘OK,’ said Blair, prepared during the homeward flight. ‘He started getting careless, staying out so that his mother didn’t know where he was and so she asked the counsellors for help. There was a thought that he’d have to go back before the court but we managed to scare him against doing it again.’ Practically all true and it sounded better than last time, he thought.
‘Eddie?’
‘What?’
‘What did you mean, the night you went away? About things not being as bad as I thought they were.’
Blair had guessed she’d come back to it: Christ she must hate Moscow. ‘The leadership’s settled,’ he said, prepared for this too. ‘Chebrakin’s in charge and all the indications are that he’s a strong man who’ll make changes and stay there. I talked things through this time and everyone agreed with me. My agreement to stay on stands, if necessary, but the fresh thought is that we won’t have to. That we’ll leave on time.’
Ann’s face was set, in her disappointment. By herself, able to fantasise and conjecture, she’d imagined something far more positive. ‘So we could still stay?’
Blair shook his head, wishing he could give her more but knowing he’d given her too much already. ‘I told you, there’s been a change of mind.’
‘And could be again?’ Stop it, she told herself.
‘I don’t think there will be,’ he said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. Knowing the downward spiral of the subject and wanting to change it he said, ‘What happened, while I was away?’
‘Jeremy’s gone back to London.’
Blair looked intently up from his food, frowning. ‘Recalled?’
She nodded.
‘When?’ asked Blair.
