Eva had been translating as I spoke. I had no idea how anyone could do that, although it happened daily at the festival. In Ingrid’s murmured answer I heard ‘Rumyniya’, ‘Bukharest’, ‘Ana’ and ‘Marku’. I hadn’t mentioned Marku. Maybe this was the right woman, drastically changed. Ingrid moved one hand to her palm, her feet and her side. Eva waited until she had finished to translate for me, but I was sure that she didn’t translate everything. Ingrid had clearly said Nadia Osipova, the same name that Vasile hadn’t wanted me to hear. Ingrid was telling the truth, but how accurate was the translation?
‘Ingrid says she did help to collect a girl from Bucharest called Ana who was very ill. The priest had been petitioned by her brother, Marku, to find the best treatment and the Communist Party arranged for her to see specialists in the GDR. Sadly, Ana died on the way there. She doesn’t know why the family were never contacted and told this.’
Ingrid was shaking. One hand fumbled onto the table and rested, clenched, by her empty plate.
‘It just seems to be a terrible error. Ingrid is going to contact the authorities in Bucharest and make sure that the family is informed. Is there anything else you would like to know?’
‘No. Thank you.’
Eva spoke to Ingrid. The tone sounded kind, but Ingrid’s eyes filled with tears and her fingers slipped under the raised side of the plate.
She stood, nodded to me, and half-ran from the restaurant. On cue, our food arrived with more wine and vodka.
‘Is she all right?’ I asked.
Eva sighed. ‘She has not had a good day at work, I’m sorry to say. She made a serious error in her translation and might lose her position.’ She shrugged. ‘Not much I can do. But you had your questions answered. What will you do with that information now?’
‘Nothing, I suppose. It was just so that Marku could know what had happened to his sister. As long as he finds out, that’s all I could do.’ I sipped my wine. ‘She didn’t look how I expected.’
‘No? She has aged?’
‘I suppose.’ I could see a small, folded piece of paper under the plate. Ingrid had left a note.
‘It comes to us all.’ Eva’s mouth showed mock disapproval, and she laughed. ‘Are you planning any more expeditions, or are you focusing on the films now?’
‘Just the films, I think.’
‘You’ve seen the winners already,’ she said, slyly.
‘Which films will win?’
‘The Kurosawa from the first day, the Italian film you saw this morning and the Polish one from a couple of days ago.’
‘Oh. How do you know?’
‘I’ve been doing this a very long time. I can spot the winners. If you have notes on those three, you’ll be fine.’
I wondered if I had made good notes on the Polish one. I remembered a grim tale of nineteenth century capitalism. I refused to look at the paper under the plate.
‘They are repeated at other cinemas throughout the festival, if you do need to watch one again. Other than that, we have plenty to interest someone who would like to explore Moscow a little more. Have you heard about the Writers House of Creation? Or, if you like, I could arrange for you to meet a friend of mine, Svetlana. She’s the director of the Central Cinema Studio, Mosfilm.’
I hid my shudder. It was tempting to get some insider knowledge, but all I could imagine was another painful interrogation of a shaking woman. And I couldn’t stop thinking about the note. When Eva stood up, maybe went to the toilet, I could snatch the paper.
‘I think I am going to go to all the films.’ I paused. ‘I have to behave myself and earn my money.’
‘Is the embassy poking its nose in again?’
‘Yes, Christopher is meeting me for breakfast.’
She waved her hand, dismissively. ‘You could stand him up.’
Was everyone in Moscow going to try to persuade me to behave in a certain way? I missed Alan and Ursula, and their conversation which had never seemed to have an underlying purpose that I didn’t understand.
‘I was joking,’ she said gently. ‘I think you are feeling a bit battered today.’
‘I am. There have been a lot of changes in such a short time. Is it always like this?’
‘No. You’re in the middle of a huge international festival in a city you’re unfamiliar with. Everything is different. Is this your first festival?’
I nodded. I was exhausted.
‘There you go, then. It’s not Moscow. It could be New York or Cannes. You’ll be more prepared next time.’
‘I suppose.’ I didn’t even know what I was eating. ‘Is this beef stroganoff?’
‘Yes. It’s a favourite of mine. You didn’t mind going straight to the main course, did you?’
‘No. It’s a relief to not have to keep eating for hours.’ I put my cutlery on the plate and sat back. She signalled and the waiter immediately cleared the plates. Eva signalled for them to take Ingrid’s empty plate too. She picked up the paper as if she knew it was there, and put it in her pocket.
‘Ingrid must have dropped this. I’ll get it back to her. You should have an early night, Ted. These events are more tiring than you’d think. Let’s have a toast, to friendship.’
We clinked small vodka glasses, and she downed hers. I copied, and managed not to choke.
‘And good luck with Christopher tomorrow.’
She escorted me from the Metropol, and said goodnight before heading towards the Bolshoi. I stood there for a short while, looking at the statue of Karl Marx. I felt shaken. Was this onslaught of surveillance and persuasion what Marx had planned?
I walked back to the Natsional and watched everyone I passed with particular care until I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I snapped, ‘Tell Christopher to get lost,’ before turning to see Ingrid. I held a hand up. ‘Sorry.’
She mimed handing me something and looked at me hopefully. ‘My note?’
‘I didn’t get it. Eva has it.’
Her face fell and she nodded, took a small notebook and pen from a pocket and quickly wrote something before tearing the page out and handing it to me.
‘Give Marku. Girl holy.’ She crossed herself. ‘Don’t look. Holy girl leave safe.’ She put a finger to her lips, and slowly walked towards Red Square.
When I got back to the room I looked at the paper: Erlöserbund Catholic Convent, Bonn. I would never remember that. I added the name to my notes on Girl from Hanoi, as if it was a reference to the film, and then I tore the note into small pieces and flushed it away.
It took me a long time to sleep. I wished that I hadn’t waited to take the first note.
KGB Second Chief Directorate
2nd Department: British Commonwealth
‘FISHERMAN’ ADDITIONAL REPORT:
FOR ADDITION TO WALKER FILE
The intervention of ‘Ingrid’, approaching the subject and exchanging words with him, caught us by surprise. There is an investigation into how this was allowed to happen. Her knowledge of English may be greater than we thought, or she tried to convey a message in German or Romanian, which is unlikely. The note which was intercepted was in grammatically correct English, so there may be an English speaker involved in this as well: ‘Meet me in front of the Bolshoi’. The translating group will be the first to be questioned.
Despite the translation limiting the impact of her narrative, ‘Ingrid’ did mention the name ‘Nadia Osipova’, despite having been told not to, and conveyed a number of relevant body parts through hand signals. The subject watched this with interest, but little apparent understanding of the condition it referred to.
The subject’s apparent interest in Lobnoye Mesto (‘The Place of Skulls’, looking at the site, leaving the Smith guide open at this page) didn’t result in anything after three days’ observation. No one waited there for a noticeable time, or left any kind of object or message for collection.
Walker’s file contains precise descriptions of his movements on each day, but there have only been rep
eated visits to an ice-cream stall on Red Square, other than the three hotels: Natsional, Rossiya, Metropol.
Walker is displaying increased levels of anxiety, looking around himself more often and critically evaluating faces. This may be partly connected with the successful removal from his circle of the man who was tasked with looking after him, and he became more dependent on the woman. The woman has been affected more than the subject by the removal of Sullivan. She has not removed herself from the scene as we wished, but she has distanced herself from Walker. The subject remains enamoured as well as confused. This may still work in our favour.
It is felt that directly acting to remove the woman would be too obvious as a technique, and the British Embassy are already overly interested in what is happening around the subject. This was a positive move for us when it caused a split between the subject and the woman, but it seems as if their position is shortly to be reversed just as we are starting to make progress. The threat remains that, if this woman were to warn him off any specific people he is speaking to, he would want to please her.
His increasing awareness of, and emotional reactions to, meaningless encounters mean that it is best that we remove the subject from the hotel and allow him to settle in a more private place before any suggestions are made.
As so much is being concealed from the subject, it has been decided that the best approach is to tell him the appropriate amount of truth, when he asks. This will allow him to feel both valued and trusted, feelings which should be reciprocated given his relative isolation in both London and Moscow.
CHAPTER 29
I met Christopher in the restaurant. He was early. No surprise there. He looked pleased to see me. That was a surprise. That made me nervous.
He shook my hand and waited for me to sit before he did. Then he waited for me to order breakfast. He had coffee. He leaned towards me.
‘Mr Walker, we have some very good news about Alan.’
‘He’s all right?’
‘He is, yes. The doctors in Britain have managed to diagnose him successfully and he should respond very well to treatment.’
‘Treatment for what?’
‘It seems that Alan has been suffering from stomach ulcers for some time. Probably all that rich eating and drinking that goes with your business.’ He smiled. I didn’t. ‘And, um, it turned into peritonitis while he was here. He had been ignoring the symptoms.’
‘Huh,’ I said, ‘so I didn’t poison him?’
‘Ted—’
‘Really? You’re not even going to apologise?’
‘I—’
‘Have you even told Ursula?’
‘I wanted to talk to you first. Of course, I am distraught that I gave anyone the impression that you were under any kind of suspicion. However, I don’t believe that I precisely suggested you were involved.’
He didn’t look distraught, but he was using the gentle tone he’d previously only used with Ursula.
‘I would like to offer my full and unreserved apology for any upset I caused, especially between you and Mrs Koskinen.’
I’d have preferred him to say ‘I’m sorry’, rather than that insincere legal phrase.
‘I know you had been very close.’
There was something in his eyes then which angered me again.
‘And are you going to apologise for having me followed?’
He frowned. ‘Hold on. We haven’t.’
‘Oh, don’t give me that. All those men in grey jackets, wherever I go?’
‘Ted, I can only apologise for things I am responsible for. I, and the embassy more widely, are not responsible for anything like that.’
My coffee and bread arrived. I didn’t touch them.
Christopher looked over my shoulder. ‘Excuse me one moment, I’m just going to have a word with Ursula. I’ll be back shortly.’
I didn’t watch him. I just looked at the steam twisting from my coffee. I had clearly lost my mind, seeing all those men following me when they weren’t. Why had I said that to Christopher, made that stupid accusation, right after he’d been convinced that I was innocent? I could hear his voice, slow and pleasant, as he talked to Ursula. My eyes felt heavy and I closed them. It was ruined, and it couldn’t get better, but it was nice to be in the clear.
I heard someone walk to my side, and I opened my eyes. Ursula opened her arms. I stood up and let her apologise soundlessly, her palms flat on my shoulder blades. She said sorry, although it was never her fault. Christopher had done this. Posh, arrogant, ‘oh, do forgive me’ Christopher. I gave her a little pat on the back. She let go and I left the hotel.
I walked for a long time. It took me a while to work out what I was escaping – pity. Ursula had looked at me with pity. The interest and vague amusement had gone and any time we had left together was spoiled. I was alternately furious and miserable.
I found myself in a park, bought an ice cream and watched old men play dominoes at tables under the trees. I would have thought they’d play chess here. The Russians liked chess, didn’t they? I finished the ice cream, stretched back on a bench and watched the few high clouds scoot across the sky. What now? I felt as if I had given up, but I wasn’t sure what I’d given up on. I was bunking off, alone, and everything was possible if only I had more coins in my pocket.
Probably I should have gone to the festival. Probably I should have eaten more than ice cream. Probably I should have been thinking about the future and bonding with colleagues and making international connections to take back to Mr Benstrup.
I bought another ice cream, and walked along the river trying not to stare at the sunbathers.
I hadn’t spoken to anyone by the time I returned to the hotel in the early evening. My glum floor attendant handed me a letter with the embassy mark on it as I collected my key. I ran a bath and sat in it until it got cold, and then I dressed. I remembered the letter and opened it.
Christopher was worried. He left his number at the top of the letter. He had arranged for Ursula to attend the English-speaking river cruise, so we could spend some time together before leaving Moscow. He hoped, he believed, he thought—.
I put the letter in the bin, picked up Smith’s Moscow and went downstairs to the café. I ordered soup and blinis and a bottle of red with my voucher, and sat in the corner. My aim was to look unapproachable as I didn’t trust myself to say anything at all. I held Smith to my face and flicked through the pages I hadn’t read. Theatre, ballet, comedy and variety, concerts, cinema, television, dancing, sports – none of it interested me. Then, right at the back, I saw the section on how to get home. I could get a refund if I left early. All I had to do was give Inturist two days’ notice that I was leaving. Maybe they could get me on an earlier plane and I could go on Saturday, rather than waiting until Wednesday.
The Inturist office closed at ten o’clock. I had plenty of time. I settled down to eat. The soup was especially tasty, and I felt as if I was finally getting the full experience with wine — taste, smell, appearance. I even swirled it in the glass. I expect Christopher did that with every bottle. I expect Christopher had someone else to do that for him. Smug idiot. No wonder his wife had left Moscow, and him.
An American couple joined my table and I pretended I couldn’t speak English, French or German. They gave up trying languages, and I listened in to their conversation. Carrie and Mike were annoying the woman in ways she couldn’t stop discussing. The man was more conciliatory. Maybe he fancied Carrie. Maybe Mike was his brother. Being multilingual must have some interesting perks, but I found it difficult not to look at the people I was listening to and they soon left to get to the Bolshoi on time. I decided that I should learn another language. It was the easiest way to spy on people.
As it was late, I didn’t have to wait at the Inturist counter. I explained when I wanted to leave, and how (thanks to Smith) I would like the refund as a credit memo, and not roubles, to exchange in London. If I’d been given roubles I couldn’t take them out of the country and Mr B
enstrup would have had something to say about that.
The woman smiled and said the paperwork would be ready in the morning, with confirmation of my new flight details. I felt relieved. This was a strange place, or the British had made it one for me, and ten days here was plenty. I ordered my breakfast, looked out of the window at the red stars and shadows, and closed the curtains on all of it.
I thought about Mr Benstrup as I brushed my teeth. I hadn’t exactly decided what I was going to say to him about this. I could say that I, too, had fallen ill. Not with peritonitis, but food poisoning could work. Or I could not tell him anything, go back to Harwich and come clean to my mother about how I had failed to keep my promise. I might get sacked and then have to go back anyway and live with that failure on a daily basis. I looked at the scar on my hand, and sighed. I was not a good fit with the world of fishing, but how many times could someone run away? I had run once, from Harwich to London. Did I get a second chance at this? I knew I should stay, but I just couldn’t be around Ursula and know that it was different and it didn’t have to be.
I was running back home. To which home, I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter.
Even though everything was up in the air, and I had no idea what would come next, I felt quite calm. Somehow I knew it wasn’t up to me any more.
CHAPTER 30
After breakfast I went down to the Inturist desk. It was a different woman who asked me to sit down. She introduced herself as Sasha.
‘You want to leave early?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘Is there a problem with the hotel?’
‘No, the hotel is lovely. I need to get home to see my parents.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s a personal issue.’
She nodded, and slid a piece of paper towards me. ‘This is your bill.’
The Starlings of Bucharest Page 18