Doctor Gavrilov (38 page)

As he expected, Rowley had put him under pressure to name his sources. For a moment he'd been tempted to confide in Rowley everything he knew, but he was afraid of the repercussions. He knew he'd have to come clean with Katie first, even though he feared her reaction. She was waiting for him when he got to the bistro; she jumped to her feet when he arrived and he could see she was pleased to see him. He was also glad to see that she had made an effort to look good. She was wearing a dark silk dress and wore her hair up in an elegant chignon; she'd put on a little eye-shadow and lipstick, just enough to emphasise her pale skin and full mouth.

They ordered and he chatted about work, and Katie told him about her continuing difficulties with her parents. Tim said he'd like to meet them but she said she couldn't do that, yet, they wouldn't understand. Then he gave her the earrings. She opened the box and gave a little exclamation of pleasure, and put them on straight away. The earrings danced as she talked and sparkled in the candlelight on the table. They were very pretty; he couldn't have made a better choice.

‘They suit you.'

‘Oh, Tim, they're lovely.' She leaned over the table and kissed him on the mouth.

Over coffee, Tim thought that it was now or never. He drew a deep breath. ‘Katie, this report I'm putting together. This time I am going to have to give his name. Otherwise the whole story is watered down, it won't mean anything. I don't think it matters, now, not after this; you can see what it means, can't you? The people who really want to know already know.'

Katie's face went hard. ‘Anna doesn't know. My family don't know, friends, mothers at school… if it's on television, in the papers…'

‘Yes, Katie, I know it's hard, but those aren't important reasons. People have a right to know the truth, especially about something like this.'

Katie came straight back at him, her voice high-pitched, angry. ‘No, you're not interested in the truth, Tim. Do you think you really know the whole truth in any case? What you're interested in is your reputation, in getting a good story.'

‘Katie, that isn't fair.'

‘You can't do it. You can't do this to us. It might kill him.' Katie was getting agitated; people were turning round and staring at them. ‘I can't believe you're asking this. Tim, you realise, that if you release his name it's all over between us, don't you?'

Tim shook his head. ‘Katie, we've just been over all this, that it's my job, that I have a moral duty…'

She jumped up from the table, grabbing her bag as if she was going to leave. ‘But we're not talking about some abstract moral issue, are we? We're talking about destroying my husband. If you do this thing, Tim, I swear to you, it will be the end of us. It will be worse than that. In fact, if you give his name…' her voice died away, as if she didn't dare to say what she might do to him.

‘For God's sake, sit down, keep your voice down, please, don't make a scene.' He thought she was going to walk out, but then she sat down again; he saw that she was crying. Tim didn't put out his hand, didn't try to touch her. He said, ‘I don't understand you. Why can't you be angry with him, hate him for what he's done?'

‘I do hate what he's done, Tim. That doesn't mean I hate him.'

‘You are so bloody understanding.'

‘No, it's you who don't understand. It couldn't happen to you, could it? You live in nice, safe England. You know nothing that could be a danger to yourself. You won't get hurt, whatever you do to others.'

Tim thought, as she said this, that it was not quite true. He had known, himself, the last few days, what it felt to have a secret that endangered him, a secret that even now he needed to pass on. But he saw that it was no use arguing with her. He had to decide; he supposed he had no choice. He realised that he couldn't give her up, not now. In any case, it would be too cruel. He said, ‘All right, I understand, if you feel like that I'll keep his name out of it, I promise. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. Now I've ruined the evening.'

‘No, Tim, you haven't ruined it. I'm sorry too.' Katie seemed to make a great effort to control herself. She wiped her eyes, smiled her beautiful smile, and stretched her hand out to him across the table.

‘I'm sure you know who to tell.'

Tim sat in front of the editing screen, paused the tape; he couldn't get Gavrilov's voice out of his mind. It seemed to mock him, reproach him for his delay. An idea had suddenly come to him; on impulse he picked up the phone and rang Ingrid. She answered her telephone immediately, was startled when she realised who it was.

‘Tim, how are you?'

‘I'm fine. Ingrid… I hope you don't mind. Your boyfriend, in the Foreign Office. Do you still see him?'

Ingrid's voice was cautious, puzzled, ‘Yes. Why?'

‘I need to ask someone… you said he was quite senior. What is he?'

‘He's a desk officer, for Saudi.'

‘Would he talk to me?'

Ingrid sighed. ‘I should have known you had some reason for your call… Tim, you don't change. No, I don't think it's a good idea.'

Tim put on his warmest, his most charming voice. ‘It's very important, Ingrid. If it wasn't I wouldn't ask you.'

Ingrid didn't reply for a few moments, as if she was weighing it up, trying to make up her mind. ‘All right, I don't suppose it can do any harm, I'll give you his office number, and you can ring. Here it is… Just say you're a friend of mine, he doesn't know about you… his name is James Markham.'

‘Thanks, Ingrid, I'll see you sometime, yes?'

‘Is that really all you called for?'

‘I'm in a hurry now, I'll call you another day…' But Ingrid had already hung up.

Tim dialled the number she'd given him straight away. A voice, smooth, well-modulated, said, ‘Markham.'

Tim said, ‘Ingrid gave me your number. I'm a friend, a journalist, from Channel 4 News. Ingrid thought you might be able to help me…'

‘You should ring the Press Office.'

‘No, this is something else. I need to talk to someone. It's a rather delicate matter, but I have some information which I feel should be passed on to someone who would know what to do with it. I thought you might know who I could talk to.'

There was a long pause, a very long pause. Markham said, ‘I see.' Then he asked, ‘Ingrid suggested that you ask me?' There was a slight emphasis on ‘Ingrid.'

‘Yes.'

‘You'd better give me some details.'

‘I've just come back from Libya. I have some very sensitive information… I'm afraid I don't really want to say any more on the phone.'

‘Yes, yes, I see, of course not, I understand. I'll have a word with someone… you will probably get a call in the next day or two. I don't think there will be any need to talk to me again.'

At ten that night, when Tim was sitting on the sofa, his arm round Katie, watching the news headlines, the phone rang. Katie picked it up. Tim could hear Ingrid's voice from where he sat; she sounded angry and upset, hysterical, almost.

Katie handed him the receiver with an odd look.

Ingrid said, ‘Tim, I was an idiot, to give you James' number. I didn't know what he did, but he assumes that I did and now he's had to report that there's been a leak, his cover's blown… Now it's all come out, about his affair with me… anyway, he's broken off with me.'

Tim couldn't follow all this, not at first. He edged away from Katie on the sofa, turned his back to her, said to Ingrid coldly, ‘I'm sorry, I don't understand.'

‘Don't you? Can't you see what I'm saying? Obviously, James is an intelligence officer. I had no idea, you of course had no idea, but he thought you did and now you've blown it. You have completely screwed things up for me, do you understand? Just because you had to know something for some stupid story… You don't care who you fuck up as long as you get what you want, do you? Well, I hope one day you suffer… I hope you really suffer, you stupid bastard.'

She hung up. Tim looked at the phone, startled, put it down. Why had she turned on him like this? He couldn't understand why she had felt the need to talk to him like that. Katie was looking at him, puzzled, nervous. ‘What was that?'

‘Ingrid.'

‘Yes, I know, I heard… I thought you never spoke to her.'

‘I don't.'

‘Then what was it about? She sounded pretty angry. Anyway, how did she know you were on this number?'

Tim started. He said, ‘I really don't know. I called her from the office. Maybe they gave it to her.' He knew he hadn't given the number to her, or to Markham either. Tim walked across the room, agitated. He said, ‘Katie, it's just some stupid thing she thinks I've done, some misunderstanding… It doesn't matter. Anyway, it's nothing… don't look at me like that. You know it was all over months and months ago, you know that… she means nothing to me.'

Katie's voice was shaking with anger. ‘I don't like to hear you say that, Tim. It frightens me. You lived with her for two years, didn't you? You used to be crazy about her, you told me. If you can get over her so quickly, what's to stop you turning round one day and saying the same thing of me?'

The call Tim was expecting came in the morning, in the office, at about eleven. It was a woman, young, well-spoken. She said, ‘Your friend James said you have some information which might be of interest. Do you think it would be an idea to get together and have a chat about it?'

She suggested they meet for tea at the Savoy. When Tim came in she was already there; she lifted her hand and gave a little wave as he approached. She introduced herself as Susie. She was slightly plump, with mousy hair, cut straight, and subdued office clothes; she was the kind of girl Tim imagined would have been a school prefect or even head girl; organised, competent, slightly bossy.

After they had ordered, made small talk, and the waiter had come with the tea, she said, ‘Well, perhaps you'd better tell me what it is you've got.'

She watched him, and listened. There was a kind of attentiveness about her, a shrewdness in her glance, which he had missed at first. She nodded her head, made polite noises, asked him one or two questions, to clarify or explain.

It did not take long. At the end she said, ‘You've thought about this a great deal, obviously. There isn't anything else at all, that you've left out?'

‘No… I don't think so.'

She asked for the bill and paid it. She smiled, stood up, slipped her bag over her shoulder. She said, ‘Well, it was very nice to meet you, Tim. It's been very useful to talk to you, I think you decided to do exactly the right thing. Of course we have all this area pretty well covered, but it's always nice to have confirmation… We've got your number if there's anything else we need.' And that was it.

Tim walked to the bus-stop. It was raining and he didn't have his coat. He felt let down; that this was all it came to, after all his stress, anxiety, excitement, soul-searching. He supposed she was exactly the kind of person they would employ; anonymous, ordinary, instantly forgettable. She would have had the right values too; loyalty to the school, loyalty to one's country. It made you a bit sick.