‘Maybe.’
‘What’s that mean? “Maybe”. You’re useful. And she’s useful.’
Seb shrugged.
Gimp eyeballed him. ‘But… I’m suspicious.’
‘What about?’
‘I’ll tell you what about. I’ve been here before with someone else, so I’m looking at you and I’m thinking you’re new to this, but you’re not asking yourself what’s going on. And that rings alarm bells. She seduced you. That’s what it sounds like and then she talks. Why? There’s some sort of game going on. I’m getting bad vibes. Not sure why but… I’m thinking you’ve fallen for her, and if that’s true, you’ve just broken rule number one. ’
‘Which is?’
‘Don’t fall for the enemy. Sex is okay. Love and affection isn’t. Remember? It’s work.’
Seb paused, then he said, ‘Look, I slept with her to get her to talk and she did. I got loads of info. So I succeeded. End of.’
‘Maybe you did, but I think there’s more going on…and whatever that is, you’re not telling me. I may look stupid…’
‘I’ve told you, she serves a purpose. She’s not my type. I’m neutral about her.’
Gimp shook his head ‘Sorry, mate, but I’m not buying it. From what I heard, I wouldn’t say either of you were neutral, as you put it, but if that’s what you want to believe, so be it. But watch it.’ He stared at Seb.
‘Okay. I’ll think about it, but look at this. Nixie gave it me to read.’
‘When?’
‘Just as we parted.’
Seb passed over a draft leaflet. Headed with ‘The Truth behind the Lies’, it began with ‘What caused the Economic Collapse?’ followed by a series of questions, ending with ‘What You Can Do.’ The answer given was simple and straightforward; ‘Stop Buying Crap.’
Gimp rapidly skimmed the leaflet and looked up. ‘So what did you say?’
‘Nothing at the time. It was late so I read it later, and when I’d had time to think about it, I tried arguing with her. I said business collapse means rising unemployment and escalating poverty, but I got nowhere. She said there was enough wealth in this country for fair redistribution. She argued growth had to be curbed and the value system changed. The rich should be forced to pay their taxes and the government should stop spending on projects like Langhithe Marshes Nuclear Power Station, and concentrate on renewable sources of energy.’
‘Well, a word of caution. You’re a bit too word perfect. Know what I mean? As if you’ve done your homework? Don’t forget, you’ll still be under scrutiny… it’s likely you’re still not trusted, and maybe never will be… Think about it… So what’s with the this protest? What’s the deal?’
‘Three of them plan to climb Big Ben, and unfurl a banner at the top.’
‘Saying what?’
‘The best things in life are free.’
‘Fucking hell. What a nerve. Is Nixie one of them?’
‘Yep, and her mates. That’s why they were in Pembrokeshire. Climbing practice, she’d said.’
‘I doubt they’ll get through security.’
‘It’s all planned. She’s got a contact inside the Commons. An MP for Somerset, by the name of Freda Arnsberg. She’s introducing the Private Member’s Bill opposing advertisements directed at children, and she’s a member of a group opposed to Langhithe Marshes Power Plant.’
‘They haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of getting that through.’
‘They know that. That’s not the point. What they want is publicity.’
‘I’ve heard of this woman, but I didn’t know she’s involved with Grassroots.’
‘I’ve looked her up. She’s married to a Brit, was brought up in Germany and her parents were involved in the seventies with the Green Movement.’
‘Mmm…I’ll tip off the Met. Ultimately it’s harmless, but we need to protect your identity. If they go in heavy handed, Nixie could get suspicious. You’ve just screwed her, she tells you about a publicity stunt, and it’s busted.’ He was silent for a while and then staring at Seb, he said, ‘Like I say, this could be a trap. It doesn’t need an Einstein to put two and two together.’
‘And make five. I’ve said… that’s not how it was.’
‘Don’t be so bleeding naive. I told you about the women. They’re used as decoys. What makes you think you’re special? You think she fell in love with you? Grow up.’
‘Look, she came onto me. Big time.’
‘That’s my point. Of course she did, you’re the business. You’ve got a bit of je ne sais quoi, or putting it another way, you know how to play the field when it comes to women. You want to screw her, but she takes the initiative. You fall for it. She’s got the hots for you but my guess is she’s playing you at your own game.’
Seb was silent. His mind went back to the evening with Nixie. Maybe Gimp was right, she was entrapping him and it was all a put on. His mind veered away from the implications. He heard Gimp say, ‘Are you listening?’
‘Yeah, yeah, carry on.’
‘Okay. Big Ben, we tip off security, but advise a light-handed approach. Right?’
‘And I do what?’
‘Same as you’re doing now, keep your eyes and ears open and report back.’
‘Fine, I’ll keep you posted.’
Gimp’s comments had got to him. Whether true or not, again he’d sown the seeds of suspicion in Seb’s mind and that made him uneasy. Was Nixie really playing a game? Could he trust her? He hadn’t made out with anyone like her before. She was a one-off, a woman with her own mind, and she knew what she wanted. He would have liked to wine and dine her. He’d have liked to give her a good time in the champagne bars around Canary Wharf the way he used to with the women he’d eventually taken to bed, even though it was probable it wouldn’t have impressed her.
The visit to Pembrokeshire, meeting Nixie’s father, with his history of activism, and his views on the environment and inequality had raised his curiosity. And her mother hadn’t been what he’d expected. She seemed normal, but she couldn’t have been – not when she snatched him. It was the action of somebody deranged, even though, it had been said, she cared for him when she’d been alone on the island.
As for his own research, the newspapers had raised even more questions. Questions which, if he asked his parents for more info, they’d never answer. They never had opened up to him, and it would be a waste of time to try again.Maybe it was time to implement his plan; go home and do a search. He’d start with his father’s office; go through the boxes and cases dumped in the attic. He’d look for newspaper clippings, hidden away or forgotten. He’d do it. Having made that decision, he felt more focused. He had a plan, a purpose in life. It ran parallel to his undercover work, but it felt strangely similar.
Two days later, he phoned his parents. He told them he was back from the States for a week and that he’d make a flying visit over the weekend. Apparently they were due to leave Saturday for a cruise around Iceland and the Norwegian fjords. That’s fine, he said, there’s still time for a visit, and I’d like to see you. The timing couldn’t have been better. After they’d left, he’d be alone in the house.
He told Grassroots he was visiting an elderly relative. Then he rang Islington Car Hire and arranged to pick up an Audi; his car was something he’d missed. He shaved off his beard, had his hair cut and bought some new clothes from American Apparel in Hoxton. He retrieved the TAG Heuer watch given to him by his parents for his eighteenth birthday. It had been expensive and one of his favourite possessions, but after the sessions with Bill, he’d realised he couldn’t wear it and placed it in a drawer. Now he could.
He went over his cover story. He had to be word perfect, fluent, able to reel off where he lived, what his work was ─ it was all secret, an alliance between the Met and the FBI concerning serious financial fraud ─ but regretfully, he could
say no more. And yes, he was enjoying it, he was proud of his work, but it meant he had to disappear frequently.He planned to wait for the Friday before he left for Lavenham.
Freda Arnsberg in Parliament was to ask a series of awkward questions under the time allocated to a Private Member’s Bill, and while this was going on, Nixie and two others would begin climbing Big Ben. He sat watching the television, flicking impatiently between the twenty-four-hour news channel and Parliament Today, waiting for a news report. Nothing happened. The silence puzzled him. Was there a news blackout?
He continued waiting but by midday, there was still nothing. He wondered if there had been an embargo on news reporting. Had he got the time and day wrong? Two hours later, he came to the conclusion it had to have been pulled. But why and by whom?
Perhaps Gimp was right, Nixie did suspect him. She didn’t trust him and Grassroots’ operations group had recommended some other time, a date unknown to him. Or the alternative, that the Met had flooded the place with cops and the protesters had been frightened off. Whatever it was, he wanted to know. It was playing on his mind.
He rang Nixie. ‘What’s happened to the protest?’
‘Pulled.’
‘Why?’
There was a long silence. ‘Not sure.’
‘A tip off?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, why do you ask?’
‘You’re not saying much.’
‘Nothing much to say.’
She was blocking him, that’s how it felt. ‘When shall we meet up? .I’m missing you.’ It was a try-on, a test, to see how she’d respond.
‘It’s difficult right now. I’m really busy. My mum’s coming up soon. It’s her birthday. But after that, I’ll have more free time.’
‘Okay, let me know.’
It felt like a brush off, and he was disappointed. But it wasn’t his style to wait around for women; anger rapidly took over from the disappointment. He picked up his bag, slammed the flat door behind him, caught a cab to Islington, picked up the Audi, and drove out at speed out of London. He put his foot down for Lavenham.
— 10 —
‘Darling, it’s been so long.’ He avoided his mother’s gaze. ‘Sorry, couldn’t get here earlier. How’s it going?’She didn’t answer but taking his overnight bag out of his hand, smiled. He continued, ‘Well, here I am, your long lost boy.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he hadn’t said that. Why he’d said it, he had no idea. He glanced at her. The comment seemed to have stopped her in her tracks.
Her eyes shifted nervously towards him, but then she looked away. ‘Shall I take your bag up?’
‘No, I’ll do it. Thanks.’
He took the bag from her, walked upstairs to his room, unpacked, and stood staring out of the window. His father was talking to the gardener. He was animated, gesturing towards a triangular bed of newly planted roses, probably giving him instructions of some sort. They moved on to the next bed. His father continued gesturing, with wide expansive hand and arm movements.
He returned downstairs, walked into the kitchen and sat down. He felt edgy, preoccupied with what might lie ahead and what he might find; even a little distant from his surroundings and his mother. She gave him a coffee, and began to talk. Perhaps she was nervous and had picked up something from his mood. She asked nothing about his life, but presented him with the minutiae of her daily life: who she’d seen, who they’d had dinner with, and the prospective cruise round Norway. He switched off, letting the avalanche of words wash over him, the trivia of everyday life that preoccupied her but which even at the best of times, bored him rigid. After a decent interval he apologised and taking his coffee went to the garden room.
Returning home had reminded him of his past involvement with Carole. He began to think about her, how the last time he’d seen her, they’d had sex. He wondered whether she’d heard about his visit and whether she knew his parents were away and whether she planned to drop in on him. If so, it wouldn’t stop there. For certain, she’d want more than a conversation from him. That was the usual routine and up to now he’d complied.
But this time, he wanted it to be different. He wasn’t prepared to play that game any longer. His eyes narrowed as he thought of her. All she’d ever wanted from him was a quick fuck. That was then. But now? He’d had enough. In the past, he’d tried to finish with her, but each time she’d inveigled her way back. This time he wasn’t going to give in. She treated him as her possession, as her plaything, as if he was her gigolo. It had worked once because he was young and inexperienced and he’d found sex exciting. But those times were past. He realised, he disliked her. He felt used by her. He wanted more than sex. He wanted a relationship with someone – someone like Nixie.
His mind returned to Pembrokeshire and when he’d slept with Nixie. She’d been slightly tipsy and as she’d lain by him, they’d listened to the sounds of the evening; the wind, the birdsong, the rain, the sound of the water in the stream close by as it tumbled over the rocks. He’d stroked her warm skin and when he kissed her, her mouth tasted of beer. She’d looked him straight in the eye and smiled.
‘Seb.’ He looked up, dragged himself back to the present. His father was standing in the doorway, looking pleased with himself. The markets must be doing well. He stood up, walked towards his father and shook his hand. ‘Dad, good to see you. You’re looking better.’
‘Thanks, son, things are picking up, and that always cheers me, as you know. How’s the job going?’
‘Well. It’s going well.’
‘Like it?’
‘Yeah, a challenge, but with plenty of opportunities.’
‘Well, good, tell me more later. I thought we’d go out for supper tonight. The Great House Hotel. Heard of it? There’s a new chef. Supposed to be superb. Great reviews.’
His mother came and stood beaming by his side. Evidently, they were pleased by his visit, but as he listened to their conversation, it struck him how bizarre it all was, that an event so traumatic, as being snatched from his crib, so soon after his birth, was never alluded to. It was as if it had never happened. It was crazy.
But for the sake of appearances, this time, he’d make an effort to be pleasant. He’d ignore his mother’s empty tittle-tattle and his father’s malicious asides, and focus on the purpose of his visit. Until they left for Norway, he’d play the role of the dutiful son and try his best to make sure the evening would be enjoyable.
It had gone well. Even his father had been amusing with his malicious yet witty tales of working in the City. The thing is, he’d said, no one can tell the difference between truth and lies but it doesn’t matter, because everyone is the same. They all share the same purpose, to make money by manipulating the markets, and hang the consequences. It’s just one big game, he’d said, and the rules change every day. Seb made no comment, but it crossed his mind how different his father’s values were compared with those in Grassroots, but he kept his mouth shut, and listened and observed.
They left early for Norway the next day and after waving them off, he made himself a coffee. He could breathe now. He took his coffee to the garden room, put on his headphones and leant back in a sun lounger, intending to relax for a while before beginning his search. He was conscious he was putting off the moment before he began. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Maybe he’d find nothing, or alternatively, that the information he did find, would disturb him. He couldn’t forget that moment when he’d realised that Nixie was the daughter of the woman who’d snatched him. It had made him feel strange and he didn’t want a repeat of that.
Half an hour later, as he was about to drift off to sleep he heard a loud tapping on the window. He glanced up. Carole was standing outside in the garden. He wasn’t pleased. He stood up and reluctantly let her in. ‘I was just going out,’ he said.
She was smiling
broadly and dressed in her riding gear. She ignored what he said. ‘I rang the front door but you couldn’t have heard. Your mother told me you’d be here for the weekend. Can I come in, have a quick coffee.’
‘I’m going out soon.’
‘Fine, just wanted to see how you were.’
‘I’m well, thanks. I haven’t much time.’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘You seem preoccupied,’ she said.
‘Yes, I am. I was listening to my music.’
‘Well, I didn’t want to interrupt you.’
‘You have already.’
He drummed his fingers on the side table, and stared out of the window.
‘You’ve got a new car. The number plate’s different.’
‘What about it?’
‘Just commenting…’
‘Look, I’ve got things to do. Is there anything in particular you’ve come to see me about?’
‘Just wondered…’ She glanced at him from under her eyelashes and looked coyly at the floor.
Her facial expression irritated him. A wave of dislike passed through him. For the first time ever, he thought she looked old. She’d been round the block too often to carry off the coquette look.
‘Wondered what? If it’s what I think it is, the answer’s no. Look, I’ve been thinking.’ The words he used were spontaneous and unplanned. ‘Time’s up for you and me, Carole.’ She appeared not to hear and continued smiling. He repeated, ‘I said it’s over.’
Still no response. ‘Did you hear me?’
She heard him that time. She looked taken aback. She pursed her lips in annoyance, turned away for a moment then, looking him straight in the eye, she said, ‘You’re ditching me? Just like that. After all this time? You’re brutal.’
‘I have to be, otherwise you don’t get it.’
‘We’ve known each other for so long.’
‘Exactly right. So long is too long.’
She stood glaring at him. He stood his ground, watching her closely, waiting for her next move. She came towards him, pressed her body against his and draped her arms round his neck, holding her face up as if she was about to kiss him. He took a step back and pushed her away. ‘Don’t… do… that. I’ve told you. It’s over.’
Truth and Lies Page 11