It wasn’t. Rosamund said that Hélène always prepared more food than the household could possibly eat and that laying another place at table would be the easiest thing in the world. As Xavier and Luc showed Peele around the garden, Kite tagged along, simultaneously impressed by Peele’s chutzpah and anxious to know when they would have the chance to talk.
An opportunity finally presented itself after lunch. Eskandarian had gone back to his office after speaking to Peele only briefly, not about Rushdie or the ayatollah but – of all things – the laws of cricket. As usual, Jacqui and Martha were helping Rosamund and Hélène with the washing-up; Luc was firmly of the view that kitchens were for women or professional male chefs and sat with Peele, Xavier and Kite on the terrace drinking coffee.
‘Fancy a game of pétanque?’ Xavier suggested, swallowing the final triangle of a Toblerone he had bought at Charles de Gaulle.
Luc thought this was a great idea and immediately stood up, clapping his hands together and dividing the four of them into teams.
‘The men against the boys,’ he said.
‘You’re on,’ Kite replied.
Throughout the ensuing match, just as had been the case at every moment since his arrival, Peele made no attempt to communicate with Kite about the operation. Every word they exchanged was all of a piece with Peele’s job at Alford and his former role as Kite’s tutor. There were no discreet looks, no indications that he was alarmed or frustrated, nothing at all to suggest that his relationship with Kite was anything other than that of a popular history beak and his former pupil. Only when Kite and Xavier had roundly defeated their opponents by five games to one, and Xavier had gone into the house to use the bathroom, did Peele make his move.
‘So Lockie. It’s been very good to see you. I want to hear all your plans. The A-level results are exactly where you must have wanted them. Congratulations indeed. Can I help with Edinburgh, with UCCA forms, with anything at all?’
Luc, who was standing with them, plainly wanted no part in the conversation. He went into the house to check on Rosamund and Eskandarian, promising to dig out a French novel from his office which Peele had shown an interest in at lunch.
‘Keep smiling,’ Peele whispered as soon as Luc was out of sight. ‘We’re catching up, I’m happy to see you. Neither of us has anything to worry about.’
He was beaming at Kite, wholly in character, the tone of his voice and occasional bursts of laughter completely at odds with the words that were coming out of his mouth.
‘Listen carefully. I don’t know why you haven’t been able to come to the house, why the bloody Gameboy wasn’t working, but not to worry. Things have moved on.’
‘Xavier saw Abbas talking to Bijan in a car in Mougins yesterday. I think they’re planning something.’
Peele seemed surprised that Kite should know this.
‘We saw it. The Falcons have had Bijan’s car for twenty-four hours. Abbas has sold out Eskandarian to the exiles.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Smile, Lockie. Smile.’
Peele turned away from the pétanque court and began walking in the direction of the pool. Kite realised that their faces could now only be seen by someone on the access road. The villa was directly behind them.
‘Abbas thinks you’re sympathetic to Bijan. If he’s been off with you, that may explain it. They discussed using you as a conduit to Eskandarian, but now the landscape has changed.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kite was trying to fathom why Abbas had betrayed Ali.
‘If they can’t get to Eskandarian in the open, their backup plan is to hit the house. Abbas will make himself scarce, Bijan and his merry men will come up the drive. They’ll likely shoot Eskandarian in cold blood, wherever he happens to be.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yes, he’ll need some divine intervention.’
Kite was astonished by Peele’s sangfroid. They turned towards the pool. Martha and Jacqui were sunbathing on loungers, listening to ‘Every Time You Go Away’ on the ghetto blaster. Peele had his arm around Kite and suddenly stepped back, saying: ‘You’re joking? That’s not possible! He really said that?’ with an accompanying laugh. It was like watching a film with the dialogue dubbed into the wrong scene. Kite saw that he was supposed to play along, so he said: ‘Seriously. I’m not joking!’ and grinned for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. Peele continued, sotto voce.
‘There’s something else, Lockie. Luc is not who you think he is.’
Kite struggled to maintain a poker face. The remark winded him, both because Peele had delivered it with such apparent thoughtlessness and because it spelled doom for Xavier.
‘What do you mean?’
‘French liaison is all over him. Your lunch guest Paul doesn’t work in the film industry. He’s DGSI. Befriended Luc in Paris over a year ago, suspecting that he was breaking Iranian sanctions. Pretended to be a scriptwriter, went whoring with him in Paris. Luc thinks he’s the best thing since sliced baguette. Keep smiling.’
Kite did so. He wished that he had a cigarette to smoke so that his gestures and attitudes might appear more natural.
‘He was arguing with Ali last night,’ he said. ‘They had a big row.’
‘We know.’ Peele turned towards the access road. ‘Got the whole thing. Eskandarian has been working with Luc for most of the decade, importing dual-use components for military technology that explicitly break the sanctions. Now that Rafsanjani is in place, he wants to bring that relationship to an end. Ali is forward-looking, more angel than devil. Wants to help bring Iran in from the cold, engage with the western powers, change the economic dynamic, move away from
