Khrushchev turned away, shaking his head. “There’s some juice somewhere here. Help yourself.”
When they both had their drinks and were seated Khrushchev said, “Tell me about Eisenhower and his people.”
Aarons thought for a few moments. “Well, Eisenhower seems to think that business people and lawyers are the best government officers. Dulles was a lawyer, his deputy was the head of Quaker Oats. The Secretary of Defence used to be the head of General Motors.” He shrugged. “It was a cabinet to please Wall Street.”
“Yeah, but what are they like? Who’s going to make trouble for us?”
“Not Eisenhower. He genuinely wants peace. But most of all he wants a quiet life. The public love him.”
“What about McCarthy?”
“He won’t last long.”
“How is it they haven’t caught up with you all this time?”
For long moments Aarons was silent, and then he said, “I don’t really know.” He paused and smiled. “I think they would have a hard job pinning anything on me.”
“Why, do you pay off some cop?”
“No, that would be crazy. I keep no written records of anything. What I get comes back here within the hour if it’s transmittable and if it’s not it goes within the hour up to my contact in Toronto.”
Khrushchev nodded as if he understood. “You don’t look like a spy. You don’t even look like a colonel.”
Aarons smiled. “I don’t feel like it, comrade Minister. I feel like a bookseller.”
Khrushchev didn’t look particularly impressed or amused.
“This man McCarthy, why does he always attack intellectuals—writers, film people, actors, scientists and so on?”
“They influence people’s thinking.”
“And why are they communists anyway?”
“They’ve got imagination. They’re dreamers, creators, and they’re romantics. Communism seems like an answer to a lot of problems.”
“And what made you join the Party?”
Aarons laughed. “I don’t think I ever did. The Party joined me. I got it from my father.”
“Was he an intellectual?”
“No. He was a very poorly paid worker. He worked at a glove factory before we moved to Paris.”
“Why did you move?”
“Because of the pogrom against the Jews.”
“They’re dreamers too—the Jews. Dreamers and romantics.” He looked at his watch and then at Aarons. “They looking after you all right—girls and …” he paused and grinned, “… and orange juice?”
“Yes, comrade.”
Aarons stood up as Khrushchev stood up, nodding to him as he headed for the door.
An official car took him back to Lensky’s place and as he thought about his meeting with Khrushchev he wondered if Khrushchev had looked at his file. Did he already know the answers to his questions? Or more likely he wasn’t important enough for a Minister to spend time checking on him.
Lensky had got him onto a plane to Amsterdam that left late in the evening of the same day. As they waited at the airport Lensky said, “Don’t answer if it’s difficult—what did K want?”
“We just chatted. He asked me about things in the States. He didn’t seem well informed. Most of what I told him could have been put together from the newspapers. Why doesn’t our embassy do that?”
“Too busy protecting themselves. And even if they did it would never get to K unless it suited the plotters.”
“What the hell are they plotting?”
“God knows. It goes on all the time, like a permanent chess game. Moving the pieces and taking the pawns. Right now they’ve given up on K. They know he’ll get the job but they’re scared he’ll start changing things. Letting a few cats out of the bag. You’d better go—they’re calling your flight.”
Lensky patted Aarons’ arm, turned, and walked away. Aarons turned to watch him. He looked like any old man, shoulders bent and a tendency to shuffle. But he was better dressed than most old men in Moscow. He wondered why Lensky had stuck it out for so long. He could have sneaked out long ago.
CHAPTER 43
It was Bill Malloy who diffidently suggested that the Aaronses should move to a better neighbourhood. They were eating together, the two couples, at Aarons’ place.
“What’s wrong with this place?”
Malloy smiled, “Tell him, Tania.”
“No. You tell him.”
“You haven’t noticed how it’s changed, Andrei. It wasn’t all that good when you first came here but it’s quite unsuitable for a decent bookshop now.”
“But it’s near the library, it’s central and most of our trade now is not in the shop but by mail.”
Malloy shook his head. “Andrei, you don’t notice what’s going on around here. Beggars, hookers all along the street, pimps, petty thieves and hoodlums on every corner. It’s not the Broadway Melody any more, people don’t even shuffle off to Buffalo any more let alone dance down 42nd Street at three in the morning, and Angelo’s and Maxim’s have long gone.”
Aarons turned to Tania, “What do you think, honey?”
She smiled, “Well, I think some of the academics who come to see you are a bit surprised at the location.”
Malloy chipped in, “You’d make a good profit on the lease, Andrei.”
“Why, if it’s so undesirable?”
Malloy shrugged. “Highly desirable to undesirables.”
“Where should we go?”
“There are apartments just off Union Square that have been done up. I acted for the developers. There are two or three still available if you’d like me to put you in touch.”
“Are they expensive?”
“Not beyond your means, Andrei. And plenty of room for your books and an office as well as good living space.”
Aarons looked at Tania, “How about you handle it?”
She smiled. “We don’t have to move if you don’t want to, my love.”
“I think it’s a good idea. I just hadn’t noticed what was happening round here.” He looked at the others. “Bridge, five cents a hundred?”
They laughed and the girls stood up to clear the table. Aarons was a recent convert to the game, an assiduous follower of Ely Culbertson.
Despite Bill Malloy’s influence it took three months before they had completed their move. Tania had always kept on her studio and her apartment but both businesses were now prosperous enough to allow her to furnish and decorate the new place to make sure that it was somewhere
