Dear old Koli, whom she’d known as a student in Moscow. Faithful, dutiful Koli, who’d do anything for her, marry her even, if she asked him to, who looked at her with those dark fishlike eyes of his, wanting her, she knew that, burning inside for her, but too terrified to do more than hold her hand. Could she trust him with her secret? No, her guardian voice told her, of course you can’t trust him. He may be someone you’ve known for years but he is also the representative of an occupying power. He works in the Soviet embassy. Tell him nothing. So she lied to him.
‘I was clearing out some things of Julia’s recently and I found a Moscow metro ticket in the pocket of a coat I’d borrowed from her.’ Stay as near to the truth as you dare. ‘I didn’t know Julia had been to Moscow. Suddenly it brought everything back to me, how I miss her, how I’ll never see her again. I’ve tried so hard to shut her out of my mind, to forget her, to remove the pain of her absence from my life. But holding the ticket in my hand made her alive again. That’s what’s behind all this, Koli. I’m sorry. It’s so stupid of me.’ She withdrew her hand and finished the wine in her glass. ‘Thank you for the drink.’
‘Won’t you stay? Have dinner with me?’
She smiled gently at him. ‘Dear old Koli. If I stayed it would be the end of our friendship. You’d have time to discover what I’m really like. The secret of our relationship is not to spend too much time together.’ She leaned forward and kissed him. ‘I know how much you love me, I’ve always known. I’m very fond of you too. But I’m not the woman you think I am. I’m not worthy of such devotion. But don’t think I’m not grateful, I am.’
She smiled at him again, touched his face with her hand and was gone.
7
1
They met in bars or restaurants well away from the centre of the city. Was Martineau consciously avoiding being seen with Eva by his own people, or the Soviets? Or was this the automatic response of Service discipline to a clandestine relationship? Far from questioning his discretion, Eva entered into the unspoken conspiracy with enthusiasm, as if she too felt the same need to conceal her relationship with the Englishman. She would suggest places to eat in the Buda hills from where, secure from prying eyes, they could see the distant city emerging from the Hungarian plain, the twisting snake of the great river catching the sun and burning orange and silver as it wound its way through the heat haze. Martineau was grateful for her complicity and wondered occasionally if there were other reasons for it.
*
When they sat next to each other, he would feel her pressed against him beneath the table. Occasionally she would hold his hand, sometimes tightly, drawing his fingers against her cheek. Or she would lean her head against his shoulder, saying nothing, for no reason that he could discover other than that she wanted to. They would laugh a lot and she would rest her hand on his arm. When he took her home, she would put her arm through his. On the steps of the apartment block she would kiss him goodbye lightly on the lips, and he would feel her body pressing against his once more. Then, with a laugh, she was gone, and all he was left with was her scent and the sound of her steps ringing on the stone stairway as she disappeared up to the fourth floor, taking his dreams with her.
*
On the few occasions when she knew Dora would be out, she asked Martineau over for dinner. She took pleasure in cooking for him, choosing recipes that he would enjoy, wines they could share, wearing clothes that he would admire. (Dora, with all the worldly wisdom of the sixteen-year-old, teasingly asked what had stimulated this sudden interest in her appearance. To her irritation Eva found herself blushing as she denied the charge.) What she loved most about the hours she spent with Martineau was his obvious pleasure in her presence. She was the centre of his attention; when they were together, nothing else mattered to him but what she did, what she said. She was excited by the effect she had on him. How unlike the men she had known in another life! He wasn’t talkative himself because, he said, he liked to listen to her talking. Sometimes she thought he was in love simply with the sound of her voice.
*
What did they talk about? Nothing of importance, he reminded himself in those times away from her when he felt the need to clear his behaviour with what remained of his conscience. Certainly never about themselves. He had given away no secrets, nothing that could be useful to an enemy except, of course, his presence in her life. He saw the danger in that but some risks, he told himself, had to be taken.
She accepted his reticence (did she have any inkling of the reasons for it?) and never asked him anything about himself. He restrained his curiosity about her, knowing that if he questioned her, he would lay himself open to answering her questions. He congratulated himself on the propriety; both political and sexual, of their relationship. It might all change if they became lovers, but that seemed a distant, perhaps unachievable prospect. He’d worry about that if and when he needed to.
*
Why does she love him?
He is so much older than she is. She does not know exactly, but it must be twenty years or more. He gets breathless running up the stairs when he tries to pretend he’s younger than he is. She wants to tell him not to do so but is afraid he will misunderstand her. His hair is white, his face lined, but she doesn’t see his hair or the lines; it is his eyes that have captivated her, dark blue and always watching her, following her, trying, she thinks, to draw her image totally into his mind. He’s untidy, his clothes are a mess. He probably has a wife somewhere – why doesn’t she look after him better? – though he’s not spoken about her and she hasn’t dared to ask.
Why has she fallen in love with him? He makes her laugh. He cares about her. He listens to her. He is kind to her. He is interested in her for herself, not for what she can give him. She knows because her heart tells her that he will never use her. When he looks at her she wants to melt into his arms.
She loves him because he is a good man, and there have been so few good men in her life.
*
Each day was filled with promise, the certainty that he would see Eva and the possibility that he might sleep with her. Budapest, bathed in summer light, became the city of his dreams where he found in himself a man he had never known existed, one who was capable of loving without reservation. It was an intoxicating discovery of lost innocence, with only occasional shadows that passed rapidly.
At night he dreamed of the naked body he had seen through his binoculars, wanting it with an urgency he could hardly contain. It was when he woke up in the dawn, images of Eva swimming in his mind, that he realized how completely he had fallen in love with this dark-haired Hungarian woman. His passion had knocked his conscience senseless. He lived recklessly and intensely in a world of his own conjuring.
*
When he left her apartment at night, she would lean over her balcony to watch her Englishman walk away. Will he look up at me and wave? Will I see his face under the street light grinning like a schoolboy? There was an innocence about him that touched her. She looked down the street again and he was gone, one minute a distant figure in a crumpled suit, the next vanished in the darkness. He hadn’t looked back. She had known he wouldn’t. He’d kept to the darker side of the street and walked quickly away and out of her life until the next time. Where was he going? Back to the embassy? Back to his wife? How little she knew about him.
‘Mama?’
‘I’m coming in a moment.’
She wanted him all the time, but for the moment there was nothing she could do about that. Why was life so impossible? What was she to do?
2
‘Anna?’
The voice at the other end of the telephone was strained, unnatural.
‘What is it?’
‘There are people here saying Joe has taken secrets to the Russians. It’s not true, is it?’ Esther was upset and she could guess why.
‘Who are these people?’
‘They say they’re from the newspapers.’
‘Don’t believe what they s
ay. They’re trying to frighten you.’
‘What do I do, Anna?’ She could hear the confusion in Esther’s voice and her struggle to hold back her tears.
‘Don’t speak to them. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘They’re talking to Manny.’
‘Tell Manny not to say a word.’
She made an attempt at a laugh. ‘I’ve been trying to shut him up in thirty years. Why should I succeed now?’
‘Go in there now and push them out, if you have to. Tell them you don’t want them in your home. Do anything. But get them out.’
She wanted Esther to catch her urgency and react at once. But she heard her breathing at the other end of the telephone, as if she was afraid to let go.
‘Why are they doing this to us, Anna?’
‘They’re trying to make a story out of Joe’s disappearance.’
‘They’re saying such terrible things about him. I don’t know what to think any more.’
‘Do you believe it? In your heart do you believe he’d go to the Russians with secrets?’
There was a long pause. Esther was struggling, not with her belief in Joe’s innocence, but with the terrors of a world she knew nothing about.
‘Trust your instincts. If they tell you Joe hasn’t gone to the Soviets, then you know he hasn’t. Don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
She put the telephone down. If only she believed what she said.
3
‘Please sit down,’ Watson-Jones says. ‘If you’d like some tea, would you help yourself?’ He motions towards the sideboard on which a tray with cups and a teapot rests.
‘Thank you, no.’ Carswell smiles briefly.
There is an unexpected moment of silence as Carswell settles in his chair. Through the window Pountney can see the garden drenched in sunlight, the carefully mown lawn and the well-tended flowerbeds with their regimented roses. The room they have been given in which to conduct their investigation is at this time of day in shadow and cold. It is barely furnished, with neither the functional design of an office nor the warmth of a sitting room but a cross between the two, the creation of some anonymous government Department. They are sitting round a fake Georgian table; on the mantelpiece there are two china ornaments – a rustic scene, a young man raising his hat to a young woman with milk pails – flanked by a pair of glass candlesticks. He sees two armchairs covered in floral patterns, with a small table between them on which lies an old copy of Picture Post. On the far wall is a print of a fox-hunting scene, the only picture. Hardly homely. Yet this is an atmosphere designed to soften up those they are to interview. He is sometimes staggered by the inadequacies of the administrative branch of the service in which he has worked for so long.
‘I believe you know why we are here. Certain serious allegations have been made about the probity of a number of past and present members of the Intelligence Service. Our task is to verify whether or not these statements are true. We are not a tribunal nor are we a court. We have no formal powers. We are a committee of enquiry acting under very specific instructions. When we have completed our report, it will be up to others to decide if any further action should be taken. Does that square with what you know?’
Carswell nods. ‘Yes, it does.’
‘I need hardly remind you that none of us is free to talk about matters discussed in this room.’
‘Of course.’
Watson-Jones turns to Lander. ‘David, I believe you have some questions.’
‘Thank you, chairman.’ Lander smiles briefly at Carswell. ‘Good morning, Mr Carswell. Thank you for coming.’ Lander glances down at his papers. ‘I wonder if you could begin by clearing up a few points of detail for me.’
Carswell pulls out a pipe. ‘May I?’ he asks.
‘Of course.’ Lander ostentatiously opens his files and with an exaggerated gesture scans the contents of the opening pages, as if he were reading them for the first time.
‘Can you tell us how you learned about Martineau’s affair with the wife of a French embassy official while he was stationed in Moscow?’
Lander stares enquiringly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Carswell completes the task of filling his pipe with tobacco before answering.
‘We were notified by the French about the matter.’
‘You had no suspicions yourself at the time?’
‘None, no. We knew nothing until the French told us.’
‘Did the French inform you at the time of the alleged incident?’
‘No. Some months later.’
‘After the affair was over?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was this notification official?’
‘No. A member of the French Intelligence Service whom I had got to know during the war warned me privately that a French diplomat would name Martineau in divorce proceedings against his wife.’
‘Was Martineau still in Moscow when you were given this news?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘You must have been concerned about the potential threat to Martineau’s anonymity, I take it?’
‘The last thing we wanted was for his cover to be blown in a French court.’
‘What did you do?’
‘After private discussions with our French opposite numbers, it was agreed that we would give Martineau a false name for the purpose of the divorce case and that he would not be asked to appear in court.’
‘The French were happy to go along with this?’
Carswell hesitates. ‘Shall we say, we made it clear it would be in their best interests to do so.’
Lander raises his eyebrows, waiting for details of the deal done with the French but Carswell has no intention of going any further. He sucks at his pipe.
‘I understand that the diplomat was subsequently granted a divorce on the grounds of his wife’s adultery with Martineau. Is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘How would you describe your reaction to the news of Martineau’s affair?’
‘I was disappointed.’
‘Disappointed? Is that all?’
‘We know this sort of thing happens from time to time, but it’s not what we expect from our people.’
‘Was your … disappointment shared by others?’ Is Lander’s hesitation deliberate?
‘By those who knew, yes.’
‘Do I infer from that that not many knew?’
‘Very few.’
‘A handful?’
‘Three people, including myself.’
‘One of the three being the Director-General?’
‘Yes.’
Lander stops, unscrews his fountain pen and writes a few lines in his notebook. When he has finished, he looks up at Carswell.
‘Here was one of your people, a long-time member of your Service, convicted in a French court as an adulterer following an affair he had conducted in Moscow over a period of many months, possibly as long as a year, and your reaction, you tell us, was one of disappointment.’ Lander paused. ‘I am surprised you weren’t a little more decisive than that. After all, Martineau was clearly vulnerable to blackmail by the Soviets over his sexual indiscretion. Did someone go to Moscow to speak to him?’
‘No.’
‘Did you not think of recalling him to London before any more damage might be done?’
‘No.’ Carswell hesitated before continuing. ‘It was common knowledge that Martineau’s marriage was rocky. It had been for some years. We’d done our best to help him through that. It hadn’t affected his competence.’
‘I thought you were in the business of intelligence-gathering, Mr Carswell, not marriage guidance. So, you kept him in post?’
‘Yes.’
‘Would you like to tell me why?’
‘We weighed up what we might lose if we brought Martineau home and decided we had no choice but to stick with him.’
‘You are referring to the importance at that time of the Peter the Great source, I take it?’
‘Yes. We
judged that Martineau’s presence was essential to the continued flow of intelligence from Peter. Any change in the identity of Peter’s controller might damage or stop the flow. Given the high quality of what we were learning from that source, that was the last thing we could afford.’
‘Could we establish the date at which you learned of Martineau’s adultery?’
‘I believe it was March or April 1947.’
‘Can you remember the date on which Martineau told you that the Peter source had been turned by the Soviets?’
‘July 1947.’
‘So, if my mathematics is correct, there is a period of four to five months between the date on which you learned that Martineau was an adulterer and the date on which he informed you that Peter was no longer to be trusted.’
‘Yes.’
‘Am I right in assuming that Martineau’s affair had been conducted during the period in which we received intelligence from Peter the Great?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you claim that you did not know of Martineau’s affair until it was long over.’
‘That is correct.’
Another silence. Lander supports his chin in his hands. It is a deliberate, theatrical gesture. His message is clear. He is thinking. The world must wait on his deliberations.
‘Did it never strike you that the Soviets might have been a little more diligent than your own people, and that they might have discovered Martineau’s indiscretion some time before you did?’
‘We considered the possibility, of course.’
‘But you did nothing about it?’
If Carswell has any reaction to this questioning of his competence, he isn’t showing it. He too deliberates for a moment, playing Lander’s tactics back at him.
‘Like all difficult decisions, it was a matter of degree. Our judgement was that it was in the best interests of the country that Martineau should continue to feed us Peter intelligence.’
‘The benefits of Peter outweighed your concerns about the risk to Martineau?’
Secret Kingdom Page 13