Faithless (32 page)

"Wordsworth," he said.

"Yes. I love poetry. Duncan doesn't. He's a total philistine." She smiled. "I'm glad you knew the poem."

"Was it a test?" he asked.  She looked at him but was inscrutable behi
nd her sunglasses. He couldn't tell if she was searching for something in his face or looking past him towards the city behind. Finally she said, "So we get another night away together."

             
He nodded, unsure what to say. Unsure what he wanted except he wanted to be with her for longer.

             
"I promise I won't drink too much," she said.

They checked out a buttercup yellow Vauxhall Cavalier from the MI5 garages and drove up the A1. After they had been going around 200 miles Ailsa said she was hungry.

             
"Want to stop at a Happy Eater?" John asked.

             
She wrinkled her face in disgust.

             
"I was joking," he said.

             
"Oh you're a very funny man. We're near Yorkshire now aren't we?"

             
He nodded.

             
"I've been for a couple of weekends at a friend's place up here. We ate at a restaurant in Harrogate. Wasn't too bad."

             
"Not just black pudding and whippet burgers then?"

             
"No. French as I recall. Could we take a look?"

             
He shrugged. "We're running early so I don't see why not."

They ate at an expensive French restaurant in Harrogate.  He agreed with Ailsa that it wasn't too bad. She insisted on wine at lunch. John didn't have any because he was driving. They got to Durham just after four o'clock. The weather was fine. John had arranged for Ailsa to be booked into the County where Vinogradov was staying but got himself a room at a cheaper place in town. He dropped her off and went and left his baggage at his hotel. It was Friday. The Miner's Gala was the next day.  He walked back to The County and met Ailsa at the door.

             
"It's not too bad at all really," she said.

             
"Lots about the North is better than you imagined then. Good. I'm glad you like it."

             
"Why do you care what I think?"

             
"I have a proprietorial feeling towards Durham because I lived here. I want you to like it. Let's go for a walk."

             
"We do lots of walking you and I. When we should be spying."

             
"Sometimes you can combine them both."

             
"I know Johnnie. I'm an old hand."

             
He led her into the town from the County Hotel over Elvet Bridge and then left up the narrow North Bailey with its high Georgian houses on either side, some with coats of arms and plaster fanwork above the doors. The Cathedral lay off on a road up and to the right, just below University College, a place he had once called a home of sorts. He led her round the winding outer street that marked the medieval boundary wall of the city.

             
"It's very pretty John. And quiet too. It's like something out of Trollope. Or Jude the Obscure."

             
They walked along past a small church to their right and then past a walled garden. A gardener stood taking a rest and drinking water from a plastic bottle. A greenhouse stood behind him full of tomato plants, lush and green and heavy with red fruit. It was hot.

             
"That must be a nice job," said John.

             
"A bit boring," said Ailsa. "You can do it when you retire."

             
"You'll let me?"

             
"Probably won't be anything to do with me."

They walked down through the large wooden gate in the high stone wall that led out of the South Bailey down through trees towards the river and Prebends Bridge. The sun was cutting through the trees. On the river below swans sailed majestically. A blonde woman jogged past carrying a shopping bag. They turned up and walked along the path just below the Cathedral walls and eventually back into the Bailey through Windy Gap.

             
"It really is a lovely place," said Ailsa, stopping to smell a yellow rose that grew  on a trellis against the medieval wall.

             
"Do you want to go into the Cathedral? We can go and see Bede's tomb. And St Cuthbert's relics."

             
She shook her head. "Can we go and get a drink?"

             
"Ok. Vinogradov's not due till later according to the info I got from A2A."

             
They walked back through the city centre to the Swan and Three Cygnets. They got their drinks. He had a pint of bitter and Ailsa had her normal gin and tonic then he led her to sit outside on the benches overlooking the river. The same benches he sat on with Karen and Frankton almost exactly thirteen years previously.

             
"It's a beautiful evening," she said. "I still need my sunglasses."

             
They sat in silence watching the river. He felt strangely comfortable in her company.

             
"So the plan then," he said.

             
"You always need to have a plan. Plans restrict creativity," she said.

             
"Creativity then. What are you going to create?"

             
She made a tutting noise. "I'm going to go back to the hotel and hang around in the bar with a view of the main desk. I am going to read Jilly Cooper's
Riders
and wait for him."

             
"You're really reading that?"

             
"Yes, I brought it on purpose so I could learn how you see me. I quite like it so far. There are some sexy parts."

             
He snorted.

             
"You're such an intellectual snob. I'm just a snob. You're worse. Someone can change their social status but they can't change their intellect."

             
"I'm not rising to the bait Ailsa." He watched her take a drink. She had finished the gin and tonic almost and took the ice cube into her mouth and crunched it while he watched. "That's what I'll do to you if you cross me," she said.

             
He laughed. "Looks scary. So you read Jilly Cooper then what?"

             
"He comes in and I rush over to him saying I'm Isobel Parker, writing for the Spectator. I ask him can he give me a minute to discuss international working class solidarity?
'That is why you're here Mr Vinogradov, isn't it?'
I shall say. He will notice my rather elegant couture, my finely chiselled cheekbones, my aquamarine eyes..."

             
"Your eyes are aquamarine," said John.

             
"I know. Don't interrupt. And he will want to stay a while in my company. He will not suspect that I am secretly a British Intelligence Officer and thus he will fall into my silken net."

             
"You think that will work?"

             
"Yes, I know it's bold. Brassy even, but I think I can pull it off. I'm getting another drink, do you want one?"

             
"Ok. I'll get it."

             
"I can go to the bar in a pub you know. Another bitter? You'll fart all night."

             
"Another bitter."

             
She came back with the two drinks. "What a delightful chap the barman is. I could barely understand him but he seemed very friendly."

             
John shook his head disapprovingly.

             
"Here's your drink," she said. Then she looked at him and said. "I'm not really a snob. I put it on because you like it."

             
"I don't like it."

             
"I mean it fits the stereotypes in your neat little world. I've sussed you out. Posh people equal monsters without exception; working class people equal heroes to a man. But you must know the world's not as simple as that Johnnie boy. Your quality doesn't depend on where you were born. It comes from how you treat others."

             
"Very wise Ailsa. What would you know really though?"

             
She dismissed him with a wave. "I don't want to fall out with you. I just wish you weren't so rigid in your thinking. It lets you down."

             
He was silent. She took a drink. Eventually she said, "And your plan is Richard McIntosh, map salesman? Up you run to him.
'Want a map of Siberia comrade?'
and he says,
'No thanks, I already have several.' 
Then your flush is busted. Your jib has jibed. You are out of the game Mr McIntosh."

             
They were both laughing. "I don't think that means what you think it means," he said.

             
"Which bit?"

             
"The jib jibing. I don't think your jib can jibe."

             
She prodded his arm with her forefinger. "Listen buster, who's the English graduate here?"

             
"Not you."

             
She appeared genuinely taken aback. "What do you mean? I read English."

             
"I thought you studied Latin at Oxford."

             
"I didn't say that. You presumed it."

             
"What?"

             
"You put two and two together and made five. You shouldn't presume about people. I bet you presume all sorts of things about me."

             
"So have I got you all wrong?"

             
She wrinkled her nose. "Probably not. I am really posh and my father really does own a distillery and I am really married to wanker Duncan."

             
"My God you're loco."

             
"But you like it."

             
He looked at her.  "I do."

             
She said, "Come on let's go back to the County for a drink."

             
"No, we can't be seen together."

             
"For many reasons," she said.

             
"So, being sensible, your hotel is just behind us. I'll see you tomorrow on this bridge here - the Elvet Bridge - at 11 am. It'll be starting to get busy by that time. Can you dress down a bit? You look like you've just stepped out of Harvey Nics."

             
"No I can't. I'm not a master of disguises. You may be but I will recognise you. You'll be the shabby man with a sheaf of maps under your arm."

             
He finished his pint and they got up and walked up the steps. "Ok then. Good luck. I'll see you tomorrow."

             
She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek. "See you tomorrow Johnnie boy. I'll miss you."

             
He watched her walk away. At the entrance to the County Hotel she turned round and gave him a big grin as if she were enormously happy. He watched her step into the hotel and he was happy too.

The next day was sunny as well. John stood on Elvet Bridge watching the University Rowing Team  pass by underneath. The streets were filling up with very different people to the usual groups of well to do students, though some of those had lingered too. John could hear North Eastern accents all around him as people did some shopping and ice cream eating in the run up to the gala procession. The city had a carnival atmosphere and the crowds grew on the Elvet Bridge. John checked his watch. It was 11:20. He kept looking in the direction of the County Hotel but he didn't see Ailsa until she emerged from the crowd with a huge smile and slightly out of breath. "Sorry, I'm late."

             
"Don't worry." He grinned back, feeling foolishly pleased to see her. "Anyway, how did it go last night?"

             
She pulled a face. "Didn't work. I went up to speak to him and he said he couldn't talk to me without the permission of the Embassy.  That's a stupid position for someone come up to a public event to represent the USSR."

             
"Maybe he saw through you."