Part 8 (1/2)

'But I work work for them,' she retorts. 'I thought you'd have guessed by now!' Her sarcasm goes nowhere. for them,' she retorts. 'I thought you'd have guessed by now!' Her sarcasm goes nowhere.

'I just thought, maybe somebody in your Chambers has a line to them,' Perry says in a hangdog voice.

'Oh. And how would that be?' Gail snaps, feeling the heat rise to her face.

'Well' over-innocent shrug 'it just occurred to me that, with all the stuff going on about extraordinary rendition and torture public inquiries, lawsuits and all that the spies must be needing all the legal help they can get.'

It was too much. With a resounding 'f.u.c.k you, Perry', she ran down the path to the cabin, where she collapsed in tears.

And yes she was terribly sorry. And he was terribly sorry too. Mortified. They both were. It was all my fault. No, mine. Let's go home to England and get this whole b.l.o.o.d.y business over. Temporarily reunited, they grab for each other like drowning swimmers and make love with the same desperation.

She is back at the long window, scowling into the street. No b.l.o.o.d.y taxi. Not even the wrong one.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,' she says out loud, mimicking her father. And to herself or to the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds silently: What the h.e.l.l are you doing with him?

What the h.e.l.l do you want from him?

What's he saying no-but-yes to as you watch him perform his moral duck shuffle?

How would you feel if Dima had chosen me as his confessor instead of Perry? If instead of man-on-man, it had been man-on-woman?

How would Perry be feeling, sitting here like a b.l.o.o.d.y cast-off, waiting for me to come back with still more secrets that 'alas, alas, I can't possibly share with you, it's for your own good'?

'Is that you, Gail?'

Is it?

Someone has put the phone into her hand and told her to speak to him. But someone hasn't. She's alone. It's Perry in prime time, not flashback, and she's still standing, one hand for the window frame, staring into the street.

'Look. I'm sorry it's late and everything.'

Everything?

'Hector wants to talk to both of us tomorrow morning at nine.'

'Hector does?' does?'

'Yes.'

Stay rational. In a mad world, stick to what you know. 'I can't. I know it's Sunday, but I'm working. Samson v. Samson Samson v. Samson never sleeps.' never sleeps.'

'Then call Chambers and say you're sick. It matters, Gail. More than Samson v. Samson Samson v. Samson. Truly.'

'According to Hector?'

'According to both of us, actually.'

6.

'His name will be Hector, by the way,' said adept little Luke, glancing up from his copy of the buff folder.

'Is that a warning or a divine ordinance?' Perry asked from inside his spread hands, long after Luke had given up expecting a reply.

In the age since Gail's departure, Perry had not moved from the table, neither lifting his head nor stirring from his place beside her empty chair.

'Where's Yvonne?'

'Gone home,' said Luke, back in his folder.

'Sent or gone?'

No answer.

'Is Hector your supreme leader?'

'Let's say I'm B-list, he's A-list' pencilling a mark.

'So Hector's your boss?'

'Another way of putting it.'

And another way of not answering the question.

Actually, Perry had to concede, on all the evidence available so far, Luke was someone he could get along with. No high-flyer, maybe. B-list, just as he had said of himself. A bit plummy, perhaps, a bit public school, but a good man on a rope for all that.

'Has Hector been listening to us?'

'I expect so.'

'Watching us?'

'Sometimes it's better just to listen. Like a radio play.' And after a pause: 'Smas.h.i.+ng girl, your Gail. Been together long?'

'Five years.'

'Wow.'

'Why wow wow?'

'Well, I suppose I feel a bit Dima-like. Marry her quick.'

This was holy ground, and Perry considered telling him so, then forgave him.