Comrade Charlie

36

All she could do was apologize, decided Natalia: admit to Charlie she’d behaved ridiculously and that she didn’t know why and ask him to forgive her and say of course she wanted to stay and be with him for ever. Which she’d always known she did and dreamed about and all she’d thought about from the day he’d left her in Moscow and made even more ridiculous what had happened the previous night. Of course she was frightened: would be, for weeks and months and years. But that wasn’t sufficient reason for what she’d done and said. Or rather, hadn’t said. Natalia hadn’t known then and didn’t know now why she’d been so stupid. Stupid and ridiculous and…her mind seized, trying to find words in either Russian or English brutal enough to fit her idiocy and self-anger and failing. Just apologize: hold him and love him and apologize.

Natalia was impatient for the day to be over, to put things right between them. She was distracted at the air show, which she didn’t enjoy anyway because there was too much noise and too much technical discussion and because she couldn’t really see the purpose of her being there at all. And unconsciously – but dangerously – dismissive to others in the Soviet delegation until Gennadi Redin asked if something were wrong or if she were unwell, and Natalia made a belatedly determined effort to show she was neither and take attention – and curiosity – away from herself. She was early in the hotel bar that night and among the last to leave for the dining room, and table-hopped in their enclosed section until she was sure she was no longer the focus of any particular interest from the KGB escorts.

But always, to the minute, aware of the time. She pleaded tiredness to free herself from the tactile Golovanov over coffee in the lounge and was back in her room by eleven, careful to travel up to the sixth floor with another female interpreter and be seen to enter her room. Inside she stayed close to the door, intent upon the sounds from the corridor. The lift arrived, forcing her to withdraw, the first time she tried to leave. Natalia allowed five minutes before attempting to leave again. This time the corridor was deserted. She locked her door and in seconds was at the central stairway which looped around the lift-shaft, pushing through the firedoors but stopping on the landing, listening now for the sound of anyone climbing up to confront her. She heard nothing and started down, walking quite openly, the explanation of changing her mind and deciding to rejoin the late-night group in the coffee lounge or the bar already prepared, as it had been every night she had descended like this. Natalia encountered no one going down to the third floor, where she stopped, listening once more. There was still no sound from below. And the corridor along the third floor was empty. Now she hurried, thrusting through the firedoors and scurrying the short distance to Charlie’s door, which was ajar as it had always been.

He was half on the bed, his back against the headboard, the television on but with the volume low. He got up at once, coming to her, and Natalia reached out and clung to him, her head against his chest, and found herself crying – like so much else without knowing why.

Charlie smoothed her hair and she felt his lips against her forehead. He said: ‘You’re OK. You’re safe. What is it?’

Natalia shook her head, still against his chest, and said: ‘Nothing.’

‘You’re crying!’

‘I could hardly wait to get here. I’ve been so miserable, so angry, with myself all day. I don’t know…’ Natalia foundered to a halt. Why were the words in her head at other times never there when she needed them!

‘I don’t…’ started Charlie.

‘I’m sorry,’ Natalia interrupted, wanting to say it all. ‘So very, very sorry. Last night was a nonsense – I was nonsensical – and I can’t understand…’ There was another momentary stumble. ‘…I’m ashamed and sorry and say you’ll forgive me.’ Babbling like a fool, Natalia thought: I’m babbling like a fool – I am a fool – and making myself appear a bigger idiot.

Charlie pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. Natalia was red-eyed and red-nosed and serious-faced. He said: ‘That it?’

She jerked her head up and down, not speaking because she couldn’t get the words in the correct order.

He smiled at her and said: ‘You’ve got a dew-drop on the end of your nose.’

Natalia gave a cry and swivelled away from him, scrubbing her hand across her face and said: ‘My god…I don’t believe it!’

‘Actually you didn’t have.’

‘But…’

‘I had to do something to stop you cutting your wrists and bleeding to death.’

She smiled back at him shyly. ‘Oh I love you so much!’ And she did: utterly and completely. How could she have the previous night…she began to think and then stopped, because she didn’t have to go on. He’d forgiven her, made a joke about it and he was the most wonderful man she’d ever known and she was going to be with him for the rest of her life. For ever and ever and ever.

He led her further into the room, to the only easy chair again, and said: ‘Last night was a nonsense, wasn’t it?’

Natalia gave a helpless shoulder lift. ‘I don’t know why…’

‘… You already told me.’

‘You haven’t said you forgive me.’

‘You haven’t definitely said you’re going to stay.’

‘I’m going to stay, my darling,’ assured Natalia fervently. ‘Of course I am going to stay.’

‘You haven’t told me about Eduard,’ Charlie reminded solemnly.

‘Perhaps because I don’t want to.’

‘What happened!’ demanded Charlie, misunderstanding.

Natalia told him of Eduard’s last leave and of her son’s coarseness and of how much the boy had reminded her of her abandoning husband. ‘He was awful! Disgusting! I hated it!’

‘He’s still your son,’ frowned Charlie, in another reminder.

‘He doesn’t want me, need me, any more,’ insisted Natalia. ‘I’m sure his only reaction to my not going back will be to worry about his career. And under Gorbachev I don’t think that will be affected: that he’ll be affected.’

‘There’s a lot to plan. To work out,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ll do it all.’

‘I won’t defect,’ Natalia announced.

Charlie stared at her, bewildered. ‘What!’

‘I’ll run with you. Stay with you. But I won’t go through the debriefing routine: tell your people things that will make me a traitor.’ The determination had not been so positively formed in her mind the previous night – she hadn’t had such a determination the previous night – but Natalia abruptly wondered if subconsciously that hadn’t been partially responsible for what she now considered an aberration. Maybe Charlie would understand. Maybe he wouldn’t. It was, after all, illogical, although not at all to her. Technically she would be a defector, a traitor: fit the description of all the denunciations that might be made against her. But not in reality, according to her own definition. She was remaining in a foreign, alien country with the man she loved and who loved her, in return. But that was all. She didn’t intend disclosing any details of her previous operational life, any secrets. She felt for the Soviet Union as only a Russian could feel: could understand, even. She wouldn’t betray or disgrace it.

‘I see,’ said Charlie doubtfully.

‘I hope you do.’

‘There’ll be pressure.’

‘I won’t need to apply for asylum, if I’m your wife,’ pointed out Natalia.

‘No,’ Charlie agreed, but still doubtfully. Professional decision time for him as well, he realized. There was no point in discussing it with her now, overcrowding her with ideas of change and sacrifice.

‘I can’t avoid the way I feel,’ offered the woman.

‘I said I understood.’

‘When?’

The decisive question surprised Charlie. Even more surprising – astonishing – he realized that although he’d