Brian Freemantle - The Blind Run

A further class came and went, at the spy school, and Charlie knew he couldn’t delay much longer. His confusion and distraction increasingly came between the two of them, like a barrier, marring the earlier tranquility and there were arguments – not serious rows but quarrels of irritability just the same – and it put Charlie under fresh pressure because he didn’t want her to misunderstand and imagine the reverse of his feelings and that he was tired of the relationship.

He tried to plan the occasion. He took her to the Rossiya, where they had had their first meal and from which, on the subsequent occasion, they’d left to go back to her apartment and make love. Everything about Natalia had affected Charlie but a tangible part of their being together had been the reduction in the extent of Charlie’s drinking. That night, however, he drank more than usual with her, needing the support but stayed far short of getting drunk. Completely confident with Russian now, Charlie ordered for them and it was a good choice and seeking omens he decided it was a good augury for later.

She was conscious of his effort and Natalia tried, too, so that the tenseness that had developed between them in the recent days and weeks eased away. Charlie was relieved that Natalia was relaxed again and relieved too that after all the unconcluded agonising the moment had come to be open with her.

‘I’ve something to tell you,’ he said, when the meal was over and they had started their coffee.

‘What?’

‘I love you.’

Natalia winced, which wasn’t the response Charlie expected.

‘I said I love you,’ he repeated.

‘Yes.’

‘Is that all, just yes?’

Natalia looked away, refusing his look. Surely he hadn’t got it wrong! Not this. He was convinced how she felt. The silence lasted for a long time and eventually Charlie said, ‘I see.’

‘No,’ she blurted, hurriedly now. ‘No, you mustn’t misunderstand.’

‘You haven’t said or done anything that allows me to understand or misunderstand,’ said Charlie.

‘I love you,’ said Natalia, looking fully at him at last. ‘I love you completely: more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. I thought I loved my first husband but now I realise it was nothing like love…’

The relief came back to Charlie, so strong that he was glad they were sitting because it was an impression of physical weakness. ‘Then

…’ he started but she shook her head, refusing him the interruption.

‘I didn’t, at first,’ she said. ‘I thought you were cocky and conceited…’ She hesitated, seeking the word. ‘Awful,’ she said at last, inadequately. ‘But not for very long. You made me laugh, although you didn’t know it. I always intended to go out with you that night, when you first asked me. I just didn’t want you to know how much I wanted to say yes. And I always knew that eventually we’d become lovers. I wanted that, too, but I equally didn’t want you to think it was casual. Something that didn’t matter. Because it mattered very much to me…’ There was another pause. ‘You matter very much to me.’

‘Everything is going to be all right,’ promised Charlie. ‘It’s going to be wonderful. I know it is.’ He reached across for her hand and although she let him take it there was no answering pressure. He frowned down at her lifeless hand and said, ‘What is it?’

‘I’m Russian, Charlie,’ she said. ‘Do you know what that means?’

‘Of course you’re Russian,’ said Charlie, laughing uncertainly.

‘What it means,’ she insisted. ‘The actual feeling it engenders, in its people.’

‘Maybe not,’ conceded Charlie.

‘It’s stronger, than in any other nationality. The loyalty: that’s what I’m talking about.’

‘I see,’ said Charlie, who thought he did but didn’t want to.

‘I’d never betray that loyalty,’ said Natalia. ‘Not even for anyone I loved to the exclusion of everything else. Not even for Eduard – whom I love differently but just as much – could I make that choice.’

Charlie sat gazing down into his emptying wine glass. Appearing aware of it, he poured more from the bottle, not knowing what to say.

‘You lost the bet, Charlie,’ said Natalia, quietly.

He frowned up. ‘What bet?’

‘The second pursuit,’ said the woman. ‘You did lose me, once. But I picked you up again, quite by chance, at the Marksa metro. You didn’t seem to be making many checks, by then…’

Because by then I’d lost everyone, thought Charlie. And was actually going towards the store. He felt a numbness of uncertainty.

‘I didn’t try to follow you, in case you spotted me,’ continued Natalia. ‘I took a chance on GUM. Saw you waiting there, in the same place as you waited before. It wasn’t right, according to any tradecraft principles, for you to return to the same place as before. That’s why I didn’t challenge you. And then we went out and I enjoyed you, although I didn’t realise then just what that enjoyment was going to develop into. I was in the GUM store again, Charlie: saw you, when you visited the next time and then I recognised there was a pattern so I followed it, too. And you conformed, every time. Every third Thursday of every month, between eleven and noon. Always with a copy of Pravda and a guidebook. Always in your left hand.’

‘What are you going to do?’ said Charlie, dry-voiced.

‘If I were going to do something, don’t you imagine I would have done it, by now?’ said Natalia. ‘I made the decision a long time ago. I decided to clutch on to what I had – what we had – for as long as I possibly could. Knowing that it couldn’t last forever but not wanting it to stop. Just have every day and every night and try not to think of the one that followed, in case it didn’t follow…’ She stopped momentarily and then said, ‘I’ve dreaded this moment, Charlie. I’ve dreaded all the indications of a special occasion: the time when it would be obvious that you’d made a particular effort. And most of all I’ve dreaded you saying something like “I’ve got something to tell you.” I’ve longed to hear you say you love me but I’ve always known there would be something else and I don’t want to know what that something else could be.’

‘It could be all right,’ repeated Charlie, in hollow desperation. ‘Everything could be all right. I promise.’

Natalia shook her head, quite positively. ‘It wouldn’t, Charlie. For all the reasons I’ve tried to explain and all the reasons you know. We had it – we have it – but we can’t keep it.’ She was crying now, unashamedly, without any sound but with the tears pathing down her face.

‘I love you!’ insisted Charlie.

‘I love you, too,’ said Natalia. ‘But that isn’t enough.’

Britain made the maximum capital out of the spy expulsion. The Prime Minister personally named forty in the House of Commons and when Moscow made the necessary protestations the Foreign Office the following day itemised another thirty who would be expelled as well. The Soviet ambassador was summoned to the Foreign Office and warned personally by the British Foreign Secretary that if Russia attempted the predictable response – mass expulsion of Britons from the Soviet capital – then there were twenty-five further Soviet spies who could be declared persona non grata and that if that occurred, London would declare unacceptable fifty replacements, diminishing the stature of the embassy.

In Moscow Berenkov conducted the meeting with Edwin Sampson with the impression of Kalenin standing at his shoulder, guessing that the KGB chairman would be watching the television monitored meeting live from the control room at the end of the corridor, behind the security guarded doors.