Stella Rimington - Breaking Cover

After dinner they moved into the living room for coffee. It seemed natural to sit together on the sofa in front of the fire. He asked her about her lecture, which he had already said he was sorry to have missed, and she told him about the hostile response it had drawn from some of the King’s College audience. She said, ‘I’m getting used to being shouted down now – by both sides. People see things in such black-and-white terms. They either think the Government is intent on spying on every single thing we do – reading all our emails, monitoring our Facebook pages and every Twitter message – or else they think that no one should be allowed to wear a headscarf or a beard, that nothing is being done to protect us and we need vigilantes on every street corner.

‘I’m exaggerating, of course, but that’s how it sometimes seems. Most of those I meet come from the first camp and it is very difficult to persuade them that there is a sensible middle ground.’ She stopped and took a sip of her coffee, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Here she was, sitting next to a handsome man in a romantic situation, and she had to bang on about civil liberties. She said, with a weak smile, ‘Sorry about the monologue. I suppose the point I’m trying to make is that I’m not the firebrand people think I am.’

‘That’s okay. And I don’t think you should care too much about what people think. As long as you know what you are, that’s all that really matters. I’m an expert on misperceptions.’ He suddenly imitated with comic precision the voice of a dinner-party companion: ‘ Private banking sounds absolutely fascinating, Mr Hansen. ’

Jasminder laughed. For a moment, she wondered if she should tell Laurenz about the head-hunter’s recent approach. Rosamund Butler had originally asked her not to talk to anyone about it, but in their face-to-face she had said Jasminder could mention it to her parents or her partner if she wanted to. Since her father was dead, her mother was in India and she didn’t have a partner, she wondered if she was allowed a surrogate instead. But she told herself it couldn’t be Laurenz, since she hardly knew him…

He put his coffee cup down on the table and moved closer to her. ‘I hope you won’t mind, Jasminder,’ he said, as his arm slid along the back of the sofa behind her shoulders, ‘but I’ve been wanting to kiss you for the last two hours, so you’d better say no right now if you don’t want me to.’

In the morning, while Laurenz was out getting croissants from the bakery across the road and Jasminder was making coffee, she decided to tell him about the head-hunter’s approach. He’d said that he must be off straight after breakfast, which was in some ways a relief (she was thinking of work again) though part of her would have liked him to stay for a while. She felt an ease with him she had never experienced so early on with other boyfriends, yet he retained a slight air of detachment that made him, even in their new-found intimacy, a little mysterious. She sensed there was a lot to Laurenz that she would want to get to know.

So she told him about the strange phone call she’d had, and the subsequent meeting with Rosamund Butler. ‘She gave me all these forms to fill in if I decide to apply. I’m not sure what to do.’

‘Do you know which agency it is?’

‘No. There are only three of them to choose from, though: GCHQ, MI5 and MI6.’

‘Are you sure there are only three?’ he asked teasingly.

‘If there’s another one, it’s so secret they couldn’t be looking for a Communications Director.’

They both laughed. Laurenz put his knife down on his plate, and looked thoughtful. ‘You should be flattered, you know.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Whoever it is, they must think a lot of you to make an approach like that. After all, you haven’t exactly been a public supporter of the intelligence services.’

‘I know. My first reaction was that they must have confused me with someone else.’

‘I doubt it. I have to say, it makes me think a lot more of them to know they’re willing to consider you for this post.’

‘Yes, but should I seriously consider it? I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.’

‘Why not?’ He was eating again, his eyes focused on his plate.

‘Well, you know – if I stay true to my beliefs, it could be a disaster. If I don’t – well, I could become a laughing stock. People will say I’ve sold out, that I’ll be doing the work of the very devil I’m always complaining about.’

Laurenz looked up at her thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know, Jasminder. Life’s not that simple. Sometimes you have to compromise your principles a bit in order to achieve the goals you’re being principled about. Then again, sometimes you have to stand firm. I can’t advise you. I don’t know which way this would go. But in my opinion, it’s worth taking it further. After all, if they do offer you the job, you can always say no.’

By the time Peggy got home from work, she was starving. After tossing and turning the night before, she’d skipped breakfast in a rush. Then she’d had a quick lunch with her new friend Jasminder Kapoor, but it had only been a salad and a very small one at that, and because the conversation had been so interesting, Peggy had barely picked at it.

With food on her mind and thinking about what was in the fridge, she opened the door to the flat she shared with Tim in Muswell Hill. She found him in their little kitchen, already preparing supper. Her heart sank. Lately Tim had taken to cooking elaborate vegetarian meals, which were doubtless healthy but left Peggy yearning for the simple joys of a grilled pork chop or a nice bit of steak.

Tonight was no exception. As she lifted the lid of the casserole, her nose was assailed by the strong aroma of stewing cabbage; inspecting the dish, she could also see carrots, onions and a sludgy mass she guessed was aubergine.

‘Put the lid back,’ Tim said from the sink. ‘You’re letting all the steam escape.’

‘Smells delicious,’ she lied.

‘I found the recipe online,’ he said proudly, and Peggy thought, Of course you did.

While Tim finished preparing his vegetarian masterpiece, Peggy suddenly remembered she had a guest coming in an hour. To her surprise, Jasminder had rather shyly explained that she’d been approached about a Government post and had decided to apply, but had confessed bafflement about how to deal with the endless paperwork required in the application process. Peggy could well imagine the daunting pile of forms and explanatory leaflets, so she’d been happy to volunteer to help steer Jasminder through the process – inviting her to bring the forms to the flat this evening.

She couldn’t do much about the smell of cabbage but she could tidy up a bit so she scooted around the sitting room, stacking the magazines and plumping up the cushions on the sofa. She had just finished when Tim called her in to the kitchen for supper.

They sat at the small table where they ate all their meals. Peggy looked without enthusiasm at the vegetable stew in the soup bowl in front of her. There was half a baguette to go with it, though she knew it was the one she had bought two days ago and it should really be turned into breadcrumbs. She wanted to open a bottle of wine, but lately Tim had gone teetotal and it seemed a waste just for her.

‘So how was your day?’ she asked as they started to eat.

‘The usual,’ he said sourly. ‘I taught the Metaphysicals while the students all looked at their iPhones. I’d say it went right over their heads, since all their heads were down.’ He laughed hollowly.

Peggy tried to smile. ‘Some of them must be interested. I mean, they didn’t come to King’s just to text their mates.’