He began to photograph everything systematically: correspondence, names of staff and advisors, scientific protocols, weekly progress reports, lists of so-called victims, accounts, bank statements. Everything was here. But just as he allowed himself a small chortle of triumph he realized there was after all something missing. The money: or rather, its source. This wasn’t the sort of operation which the shoestring Catch budget could finance, not when the money was arriving in dirty great lumps, a quarter of a million at a time. Oh no, Miss Field had got herself a benefactor from somewhere, a nice little money machine. A rich lover perhaps; a sugar daddy.
In his mind he sifted through what he’d already read and photographed, but he knew the information wasn’t there. By three, after a last search through the files, he had to admit defeat. But only temporarily. There were ways, and stuff the low-risk policy.
He hovered for a moment over the choice of items in the specially cushioned box in his tote-bag, and finally went for a small crystal handset transmitter. Better range than the wall-socket variety, and that was the main consideration when he wasn’t sure how closely he’d be able to monitor it.
Opening up the telephone handset, he clamped the transmitter’s tiny alligator clips to the connections, and stuck it to the inside of the plastic casing using double-sided tape. Neat as pie.
Closing the handset again, he tested the transmitter, then tidied up carefully, ready to leave.
He got as far as the door, then turned back as a memory struck him, something he’d seen in one of the files. It was a moment before he recalled the file’s pedantic title: Home Office Project Licence Application. He didn’t pretend to understand it all, much of it was in scientific-speak, but the relevant parts shone through all right, and a wonderful idea began to simmer and glow in his mind.
Chapter 26
‘YOU LOOK FINE, fine.’ David’s smile was the sort fathers use on adolescent children, fond but hesitant, in vague fear of rebuff. ‘The rest’s done you good.’
‘It also drove me crazy,’ said Nick mildly, and raised an eyebrow to show he almost meant it.
The waiter arrived with the drinks, a lager for David and a Badoit for Nick.
The restaurant was filling up. It was a nouveau-Italian place in Covent Garden, a cellar done out in neutral pastels with all the plumbing showing. Now and again someone looked Nick’s way then just as quickly looked away again.
‘She’s late,’ Nick remarked.
‘The traffic. A state visit or something. Do you want to order?’
‘No.’
David gave him that soft nervous smile again. He was unusually deferential, Nick noticed, almost as if Nick were some new client who might prove unpredictable.
‘You’ve seen Mel and Joe?’ David ventured.
‘Yesterday.’ Then, because it was what David wanted to hear, he added: ‘I gave them a couple of songs to look at.’
David, terrified of overreacting, hid his pleasure behind a frozen smile. ‘Stuff you might – er – put in the album?’
‘Too early to say.’
David went into immediate retreat. ‘Of course. Too early to say.’
‘Might not be suitable, that’s all.’
‘Whatever you say, Nick. Whatever you say.’
Nick’s irritation rose. All this eager agreement, all this backing away from the slightest risk of confrontation was getting on his nerves. David was sounding like a yes-man. Somehow, somewhere they’d lost touch with each other. Perhaps it had begun a long time ago and neither of them had noticed, perhaps it had happened during the brief American tour. Perhaps David wasn’t even aware of it. Either way, it was a lonely thought.
David rolled his eyes towards the door. ‘Here’s our lady now.’
Nick glanced round. Some women enter restaurants, others make entrances. Susan Driscoll was not entering unobtrusively.
As she strode towards him and reached out to take his hand he tried to work out how she’d changed since he’d last seen her. It was her hair, he thought, though whether it was the colour or the style he had no idea. Grasping his hand, she kissed him warmly on the cheek as if they were old friends. He wondered if she was remembering their last meeting in David’s office almost a year ago. From the breadth of her smile, he guessed not.
‘Well!’ she cried. ‘How lovely it is to see you.’ She leaned her chin on her hands to get a closer look at him. The movement caused her heavy golden hair to swing forward from her shoulder so that you couldn’t help noticing it. He wondered if she practised the gesture. ‘You look so well,’ she said. ‘Have you been away?’
‘I’ve been drying out.’
Her smile didn’t falter. ‘Where did you go – Clouds? My friends tell me it’s the best.’
‘A place in Arizona.’
‘Mmm. Sounds lovely. And do you do all that follow-up? AA meetings and all that. They say it’s the most fantastic brotherhood. Better than a club.’
‘I keep in touch.’
‘Well,’ she breathed, withdrawing gently from the subject. ‘That’s wonderful. You look wonderful.’ And, giving a soft laugh, she reached out and brushed her fingers lightly against his arm in a gesture that was curiously intimate. His instinct was to pull up his drawbridge and retreat fast, yet there was something so direct in her manner, so well meaning, that he decided to reserve judgement, for the time being at least.
David launched the subject of the restored charity concert.
‘It sold out in three days,’ Susan said, throwing up her elegant hands in delight. ‘Even at the extortionate prices we’re charging. And the advertising’s gone well. We should clear over a hundred thousand.’ She turned her eyes to Nick’s. He noticed their colour, a clear grey-green, and a distant memory came to him, of a morning when they had woken up together, long ago. But his recollection of his feelings at the time was strangely clouded, and no clear emotion came through. He knew that he hadn’t loved her – though he had liked her well enough for a while – but there had been something disturbing in their relationship, something that had resulted in difficulties and unpleasantness, particularly towards the end, though he couldn’t remember exactly what the problem had been. His memory, never brilliant, had faded dramatically during the drinking years.
‘It’s so inadequate to thank you, but I will anyway,’ Susan said in her light dancing voice. ‘It’s such a nightmare this fund-raising,’ she sighed. ‘Such a hassle thinking of brilliant ideas only to find they’ve all been done before. But to get you and Amazon – well …’ She gave an expressive little shrug.
‘Glad to help,’ he murmured.
She fixed him with those eyes again. ‘I know it’s probably a great bore for you.’
The first course arrived. ‘It’s just another concert.’
‘Of course, but …’ She paused, tucking her chin down and casting him a long upward look. ‘Can I come straight out and ask you something?’ She gave a sudden laugh that was self-deprecating and charming all at the same time. ‘Then I can get it over and done with, and I won’t have to spend the rest of the meal in misery, working out how on earth I’m going to find a way of asking you.’
It was bound to be something he didn’t want to do, but at least she was asking. Some charity organizers just sprang things on you at the last minute, on the principle that once the event was under way it was almost impossible for you to make a scene. ‘Ask away,’ he said.
‘It’s our main donors – you wouldn’t shake their hands at the party afterwards, would you? You know, say a couple of words to one or two of them. It wouldn’t take long – fifteen minutes at the most, then you could slip away – through a back entrance or something. It’s just so they can go away saying they met you. It makes such a difference.’
David tore himself away from his pasta. ‘Can’t be done in fifteen minutes. More like thirty. And Nick’ll be very tired.’
‘They’re business people, are they?’ Nick asked.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Corpora
te moguls, I’m afraid. Seriously boring. But what can you do? Some of them are very generous.’
‘We know the sort,’ David said drily, raising his eyebrows at Nick.
Nick smiled. ‘They say they can’t stand pop music. They say they only came because their kids made them, then admit they quite liked the show. They say it took them back to their youth.’
She laughed again, but her eyes remained on his, watching for his answer.
He made up his mind, though he knew he’d probably regret it. ‘I’ll come for half an hour,’ he said.
David shot him a well-don’t-blame-me look. Susan bowed her head and said simply: ‘Thank you.’ Her voice, soft and low, had a slight tremble to it, and she closed her eyes for an instant, as though saying a little prayer of thanks.
Before today, warmth was not a word he’d have associated with Susan Driscoll – brittle would have been nearer the mark – but he was rapidly opening his mind to the possibility that he had misjudged her.
Putting her salad aside, she began to talk about the old days which she seemed to remember with some fondness. But it didn’t take her long to sense his lack of interest. ‘So tell me,’ she said, shifting onto safer ground, ‘where are you based nowadays?’
‘Kensington. I’ve just bought a house.’
‘Oh? You’ve given up the country life then?’
‘Kensington’s quite leafy.’
She gave a soft laugh. ‘But not many cows.’
‘Not that I’ve noticed.’
‘But then London has its compensations, doesn’t it?’ she ploughed on. ‘Theatre and concerts and things. I adore London, but it might as well be Siberia for all I get to see of it nowadays.’
There was a small silence.
‘Don’t you get entertained a lot?’ he managed.
‘Oh, official entertaining, yes – dreary receptions, the occasional opera if one’s lucky. But theatre, dinner parties with friends …’ She shook her head and a slight frown furrowed the smooth line of her forehead. ‘I thought I was in for a quiet life but, well – ’ She seemed to become aware of David who, having finished his pasta, was half listening to the conversation. She broke off with a brave little laugh. ‘Let’s just say things don’t always work out the way you expect them to.’
What’s this? Nick wondered. Are you trying to tell me that under all this brightness you’re unhappy? Since Alusha’s death even the most casual of his friends had unburdened their troubles on him as if, having marked him as a fellow sufferer, they felt confident of a sympathetic response. Was the whole world suddenly unhappy, he wondered, or in his years with Alusha had he simply been too wrapped up in his own life to notice?
Aware that the conversation had faltered, he murmured: ‘The Ministry of Agriculture, isn’t it? Lots of farmers, I suppose.’
She rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘Worse.’ Her voice was heavy with ridicule. ‘Factory openings. Beef federations. Milk marketing boards. Agrochemical giants.’ Her mouth twitched with amusement, on the point, he guessed, of doing a sharp demolition job on the agrochemical industry, until the amusement drained out of her face, as if she had remembered something serious. He had a feeling he knew what that something was.
‘Your wife— Did they ever find out … ?’ she began cautiously. ‘It was a chemical, wasn’t it?’
David emerged from a mouthful of veal in cream sauce, looked nervously at Nick and took refuge in a hasty wave at the wine waiter.
‘Well, no one’s exactly sure,’ Nick answered quietly.
‘But … there was a suggestion, wasn’t there?’
‘It doesn’t really matter now.’
‘No …’ she said uncertainly. ‘I suppose not.’
No one spoke for a moment. The restaurant seemed very noisy.
‘But you know, if you’d wanted any help … access to information …’ She paused, her fingers lacing an intricate pattern under her chin, her eyes steady and clear. ‘I’d have done all I could. Anything …’ The word hung in the air.
‘Thanks,’ he answered simply. He caught David looking impressed at the calmness of his response.
Susan eased the conversation effortlessly away onto food, recounting some disaster she’d had with an unknown fish in a foreign restaurant. She was good at smoothing things over, Nick noticed, something she’d probably learned in her years as a politician’s wife. As he listened he realized she never mentioned her husband, either directly or indirectly. Was this intentional, he wondered, or a reflection of the discontent she’d already hinted at?
She told her tale entertainingly, with wide graceful gestures and frequent explosive laughter. His mood lifted. Against all the odds, he was enjoying himself, which just went to prove that you could never tell what might come out of even the most unpromising situation.
Yet was it really so unexpected? In the last year he’d been so careful to avoid new people and unfamiliar situations, so in dread of the effort they demanded, that he’d forgotten how refreshing a new face could be. Old friends, fond as they were, couldn’t help humping the luggage of the past around with them. Susan represented the best of both worlds, he realized, an old friend with the virtues of the new.
There was something else about her too, an energy, an obvious and unquestioning appetite for life that in his present mood was rather beguiling. She was like a sun, sending out light and vitality in every direction. Her brilliance was a little remorseless perhaps, but with no dark shadows attached.
Catching his eye, she accused: ‘You’re laughing at me.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ she declared, looking rather pleased at the idea. He noticed her skin which was the colour of pale honey as if she’d been abroad a lot but had taken care to keep out of the sun.
David called for the bill.
‘Already? And we’ve hardly talked about the concert!’ Susan gasped in mock horror. ‘Aren’t there lots of things we should discuss?’ she asked, striking a serious pose. ‘Things you’ll need on the day? Or anything you don’t need? Mr Weinberg and I’ – she indicated David with a slight movement of a long finger – ‘we’ve covered security and transport. But what about home comforts – champagne, food, that sort of thing? I’ve looked backstage – it’s a bit of a tip, but I can do something with the dressing rooms, jolly them up, you know.’
‘It’s really not necessary.’
‘But it’s no trouble. It’s my living, after all.’
It was a cue. He took it. ‘Oh?’
‘I’m an interior designer.’ She gave a jaunty little bow. ‘Newly established but trying hard. All reasonable commissions considered’ – she lowered her voice confidentially – ‘which means I’ll take on anything to get established.’
‘You find the time?’
‘Oh, I find it.’ There was a note of determination in her voice. ‘It’ll be easier when I get a few big commissions, of course. Less rushing about. And I’ll have our new place to practise on. We’re moving closer to the Commons.’
She paused, then, with a spark of calculation she could only have intended him to see, her eyes brimming with amusement she asked: ‘I don’t suppose your new house needs doing up, does it?’
He played along. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Let me show you some ideas,’ she said instantly, her face alight. ‘And if you hate them – well …’ She raised her shoulders to suggest this was unlikely. ‘If you like them – then we can take it from there.’ She spread her hands like a showman.
Out of the corner of his eye Nick caught David giving him a stare which, if he’d chosen to look, was probably loaded with caution. Maybe in reaction to that, maybe because he’d taken a sudden liking to the idea of change, maybe because Susan had made him laugh, he heard himself agree.
She gave a small exclamation of pleasure. ‘I’ll need just two things to get started,’ she declared breathlessly. ‘One’s your address, of course.’
He put his hand out to Davi
d for a pen. ‘And?’
‘Some idea of the style you’re looking for. Traditional, minimalist, neutral … you know.’
An image of Ashard flittered into his mind, the cavernous drawing room, muted and cool, the cosy library with its crackling fire and wood shelves, the bedroom overlooking the park, heavy with silks and soft brocades. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.
She brushed the idea aside with a light twist of her wrist as if it had hardly been worth considering in the first place. ‘Fine,’ she said, ‘absolutely fine. We can do it from another angle altogether. Just wander round the house, and you tell me what you don’t like about the present decor. That’ll tell me almost everything I need to know.’ She broke off. ‘How does that sound? Am I rushing things? Do you want to think it over?’ She widened her eyes, giving him a look of apprehension that wasn’t entirely convincing.
‘No, that’s fine.’
She grinned at him and, pulling a pocket diary out of her bag, opened it at a back page and pushed it towards him. He wrote down his address and phone number.
‘Now tell me,’ she said, ‘when would you like me to come round?’
He shrugged.
She laughed, shaking her head as if he was a child whose little foibles were to be indulged as well as enjoyed. ‘Well, what about tomorrow? Teatime? I love tea. I’ll bring sticky buns.’
He didn’t like sticky buns. He didn’t like tea much either. He heard himself say: ‘That’d be great.’
When he’d finished shaving, Schenker scrubbed a brisk flannel over his upper body, patted himself dry, applied fresh deodorant and put on a clean shirt laundered by Jeeves of Belgravia. He had a sudden doubt about the shirt. Blue medium-width stripe on white – too City-ish? And the style, with its deep collar – too Stock Exchange? Too assertive? Maybe. But did it matter? The days when he stood in fear and trembling of the group board were over. Half of them had come up the hard way, like him, and were unlikely to begrudge him a touch of style, while the others, Establishment to the core, wore shirts with stripes visible at fifty yards. Anyway, with what he had to tell them today, they wouldn’t be looking at his shirt.
Requiem Page 49