‘These days there’s more point than ever before. But no need to take things as far as morality – surely you can see other grounds for disapproving, practical ones. Suppose her husband finds out; have you thought what damage he might do? And what she might do? At least you should warn him.’
‘I’m sure he’s taken all that into consideration, my love.’
‘Are you really’? When was he last seen taking into consideration anything that might hinder him from doing whatever he wanted to do?’
Still gently, Petrovsky said, ‘We’ve come as far as morality now all right, haven’t we? Moral disapproval of someone doing as he pleases, of that in itself. I’m afraid I’ve never been able to summon up very strong feelings along those lines.’
‘Yes, Sergei, that is your serious misfortune, and others’. All human beings, especially those with good looks or some other advantage over their fellows, need strong opposition when young, that in itself. If it isn’t forthcoming, their characters suffer. They become egotistical, impossible to deflect from any course of action they may have set themselves, and yet erratic, given to abrupt, entire changes of direction for no external cause. I can’t image why it’s always supposed to be the over-indulgent mother who spoils her son when the father is obviously so much more important in teaching him how to behave. It must be more difficult for a father to take in the fact that his son is growing up, that he isn’t still the little boy whose activities are too harmless and unimportant to have a strict watch kept on them. And of course being tolerant is so much less trouble. At the time. But just wait. Our son is now a very dangerous person – to himself. I hope for all our sakes, Sergei, that you’re a less liberal administrator than you are a father.’
When he judged she had finished, he said in the same tone as before, ‘Goodness, I could tell there was a good deal of moral disapproval about. What I hadn’t realised was how much of it was reserved for me.
As they stared at each other, the lines of bitterness and accusation round her mouth and eyes began to fade a little, but there was still an edge to her voice when she said, ‘We all need opposition from time to time, including you, dearest Sergei,’ thinking to herself as so often before that this time there was a chance he might actually do something about the matter in hand.
‘I’ll speak to him. If he knows we know, at least it’ll make it easier for him to come to us in a crisis.’
‘Don’t let him get away with denying it.’
‘I think you can trust me not to do that,’ he said, sounding less than bland for the first time.
Already wondering whether she thought so too, she looked over his shoulder and at once her manner changed slightly but perceptibly. A small figure, no more than a metre and a half high but finely proportioned, had just emerged from the house and now stood for a moment surveying the assembled company before starting to walk down the steps.
Petrovsky glanced briefly at his wife and followed her gaze. Without conscious thought the two moved nearer each other as if the better to resist some form of physical attack. For the new arrival was Director Vanag, who had never been known for certain to do anything whatever in his official capacity except go to his office in Northampton Town Hall five and a half days a week, but who was always brought to mind (though less often mentioned) when someone was recalled to Moscow and never heard of again, or when someone else met an unnatural death in the district. Earlier that very week, the drowned body of a clerk in the administrative department concerned with housing had been pulled out of the river Nene, a man of unblemished public and private life, a man with no visible enemies. He had suffered a blow on the head, perhaps in falling, perhaps not. It was inferred as a matter of course that Vanag had been responsible, the victim’s strongly-presumed innocence being taken by some as positive confirmation, on the argument that indiscriminate ‘demonstrations’, as such acts had become known, were more efficacious than selective ones. According to a simpler and more fashionable view, Vanag was too lazy or incompetent to track down any real undesirables there might have been and ordered the occasional random murder purely as evidence of zeal. Whatever the truth of that, nobody was amused, and the need to stand well with the Director was so thoroughly understood that nobody, except perhaps Alexander, seriously blamed the Petrovskys for inviting him to their parties.
Now he paused again, standing on the bottom step, and again looked about him. As always he was unaccompanied; at no social gathering had he ever been seen with a companion of either sex and, although he was universally believed to be under strong guard night and day, any guards were never identifiable as such. He seemed just on the point of resuming his progress when he caught sight of his hosts and raised his hand to them. It was a curious gesture, prolonged until what had looked like a greeting became something not far from a warning; than he moved off and was lost to sight among his taller fellow-guests. The Petrovskys looked at each other once more, this time in a way that showed deep intimacy and mutual trust, he conveying a mild request for moral support against any difficulties that might ensue, she warmly promising it. They were about to join a nearby group when Alexander, Nina and Theodore came up to them. The latter pair were holding hands and had an air of great seriousness and suppressed excitement and a little discomfort.
‘These two have something to say to you, papa.’ Alexander too seemed ill at ease, but amused at the same time. ‘For some reason they want me to be present when they say it, though I can’t see what business it is of mine.’
‘Have I your permission to speak, sir’?’ asked Theodore.
‘To speak? Why, certainly.’
‘Nina and I are in love with each other, I have asked her to be my wife and, subject to your approval, sir, she has accepted. So I now formally request your daughter’s hand in marriage.’
‘I see. Well… of course. A splendid idea. I formally… award you her hand. A splendid idea. My congratulations to you both. We must arrange a party. An engagement party.’
Alexander and his mother added their congratulations. Petrovsky stepped forward, his arms held out, but Theodore checked him for the moment, took Nina’s hand and put on her fourth finger a ring that featured a large purple zircon or other imitation gem set in a platinum claw. When he had kissed her there were sundry embraces, followed by some discussion of dates. After that Petrovsky said there were other family matters to be discussed with Alexander, and the engaged couple withdrew.
‘Your father looked thoroughly mystified,’ said Theodore with a chuckle.
‘Oh, wasn’t he sweet? Just managing to prevent himself from asking why on earth you needed permission to marry a female indisputably of age. But he came through like a born administrator. I was proud of him. You two should get on like a house on fire.’
‘There was something else he’d have liked to ask, or rather get confirmed – that we’re sleeping together.’
‘Oh, yes. I’m so glad he didn’t, aren’t you? We’d have had to say No, and he’d either have been hurt at our lying to him or been terribly shocked at our unprogressiveness.’
‘I know, but really I think it would be hard to find anybody much who’d understand that we both simply would much rather not until we’re married. Perhaps your mother would.’
‘I doubt it. She’s very moral but her ideas are rather fixed.
And of course someone like Elizabeth would just think we were mad. That reminds me: she says she’ll join the… music society. She’ll do anything within reason that isn’t either dangerous or disgusting. By disgusting she means sleeping with Vanag’s men to get information out of them.’
‘Very sensible. I’m so happy I’m going to do something that isn’t sensible at all and may be both dangerous and disgusting.’
‘Oh, darling, he knows I hate him.’
‘He must know everybody hates him…
‘I beg your pardon, I so rarely have need for that language. Nevertheless good evening, Miss Petrovsky, Mr Markov.’ Director Vanag spoke in a high tenor, almost an alto. He wore one of the badgeless uniforms, very dark blue and buttoned to the neck, in which he was always seen, this version being of distinctly superior cloth to that of his everyday dress. Theodore’s greeting might not have been to his taste, but he had responded to it with what in almost anyone else would have been taken as a pleasant, even attractive smile. The glance of his large, clear grey eyes had similar connections with friendliness and candour. In repose his face, almost unlined and of a healthy complexion, had a wistful, unworldly look. His crisp, sandy hair, cut short and parted on the right, lifted a little in the faint evening breeze. His teeth were small and regular. He was forty-five and looked thirty-five.
‘You must congratulate us, Director,’ Theodore went on. ‘Miss Petrovsky and I have just become engaged to
