Stella Rimington - Breaking Cover

‘You’d be surprised.’ He fiddled with a chunk of dry baguette. ‘Not that I can blame them.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘In this day and age the Metaphysical Poets seem pretty irrelevant to most people. That’s supposing they’ve heard of them in the first place.’

‘I don’t know about that—’

‘Of course you do. I’m starting to realise how inconsequential it all is.’

‘What is?’

‘I teach people about poems they would never read by choice, written by people they’ve never heard of. That’s what’s inconsequential.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ She’d never heard him be quite so dismissive about his own line of work before. ‘Of course they’ve heard of them and they’re reading them by choice, or they wouldn’t be in your class to begin with.’

‘They just want a degree – a piece of paper that will get them a job.’

‘I can’t believe none of your students is interested. You’ve just had a bad day. And you’ve got your own work to be getting on with.’ She had put her spoon down now.

He shook his head, making it clear she didn’t understand. ‘I could write the world’s greatest monograph on John Donne and it wouldn’t change one thing anywhere. Not one thing.’

‘Why does it have to change anything? Why can’t you be satisfied with writing something new and original that people will enjoy, and maybe learn from?’

He looked at her scornfully then turned back to his stew. Gloom descended on the table. Then she remembered her visitor.

‘I’ve got someone coming over.’

‘What, now?’ he asked, looking alarmed.

‘In a little while. Don’t worry – you haven’t got to entertain them. You can stay in your study.’

‘Who is it?’ he asked accusingly.

She didn’t look at him. ‘Jasminder Kapoor. The woman who gave the lecture I went to a few weeks ago.’

‘What, here? You must be joking. She’s coming to socialise with us?’

‘It isn’t socialising. She wants some help from me. She’s decided to apply for a job with the Civil Service – they approached her, believe it or not – and she’s finding the forms a bit of a nightmare. I offered to help her fill them in.’

‘Why on earth did you do that?’

‘Because she asked me if I would. How could I say no? Besides, she’s very nice, Tim. You’d like her if you gave her half a chance. She’s not what you think.’

Ignoring this, he asked, ‘Does she know who you work for?’

‘No – I just said I was a civil servant at the MOD. But I think she may have guessed. No flies on her.’

‘And that doesn’t bother her?’ he demanded.

‘It doesn’t seem to,’ said Peggy, trying to stay calm. She didn’t like rows, especially with Tim. They never used to have them. She’d always thought he was proud of what she did for a living. He knew she couldn’t talk about the details of it, but previously he’d seemed entirely supportive. She couldn’t help asking, ‘Does it bother you ?’ She found her voice wobbling slightly.

He didn’t answer, but only shook his head wearily. Then he said, ‘If Kapoor’s applying for a Government job she’s an even greater phony than I thought. Some radical,’ he added sarcastically. He gave Peggy an angry look. ‘Don’t expect me to play host to her.’

‘I don’t,’ Peggy protested. ‘I told you – you can stay in your study. You don’t even have to say hello.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ He seemed unaccountably furious. ‘In fact, you can have the place to yourselves.’

He stood up suddenly and left the room. Peggy sat at the table, stunned, wondering what she had done to trigger this reaction. Was it really so awful to be helping Jasminder? Turning, she saw through the open door that Tim had his coat on. Without saying goodbye, he left the flat.

Peggy sighed, and looked at her watch. Jasminder would be here any minute. She’d better make coffee. As she stood up to clear the table, she realised her hands were shaking. And she noticed that Tim hadn’t finished his stew.

Since the mugging Jasminder had felt uneasy walking by herself in the evenings. It was still only early spring and by the time she emerged from Bounds Green tube station it was dark. As she started to walk to the address Peggy had given her, she felt the by-now familiar tingling sensation in her spine. Outside the station the streets were well lit, with plenty of cars and vans passing in the road. A few people had got off the train with her and, as usual since the mugging, she was alert for anyone following her. She had already looked up the route to Peggy’s flat before she left the charity offices in Camden Town; she didn’t want to be seen consulting her phone – it invited approaches from strangers. She hadn’t always been this nervous. Before the assault she used to travel around by herself anywhere and at any time with never a second thought. It angered her to think that those men had changed her – made her frightened.

As far as she could remember she had never been to Muswell Hill, though it wasn’t that far from where she lived. It had the reputation of being respectably middle-class with streets of large Edwardian villas that no one but well-off professionals could afford to buy nowadays. But Peggy seemed to live on the very edges of it, where it merged into an area of small shops and run-down houses. As she walked Jasminder mused that this must be one of the districts estate agents described as ‘ripe for gentrification’. The rain had stopped now and the sky was clear, though as usual the yellow halogen haze of London meant the stars were only just discernible.

She was relieved when at last she saw the name of Peggy’s street and turned along it. It was very quiet, with no one else in sight. Then ahead of her she heard a door bang and someone came out of one of the gardens. Her stomach contracted with momentary fear, but as the person passed through the arc of a street lamp she relaxed. It was a young man, thin and gangly, with curly red hair, wearing a student’s duffel coat and trainers. He looked vaguely familiar, and not remotely threatening – geeky but nice. As he neared her on the pavement she smiled politely at him, but to her astonishment he glared back at her as he passed.

She found Peggy’s house; it was the same one as the young man had just emerged from. Pushing the buzzer for the top flat, Jasminder wondered who he could have been. From Peggy’s fulsome description at lunch, her boyfriend Tim was a gentle soul, the kind of academic so absorbed in his researches that he usually didn’t know what day of the week it was. Not the kind of man who stared at strangers with hostility.

Peggy buzzed her in and Jasminder walked two flights up a narrow staircase to the top floor. The flat turned out to be roomy and comfortable, with a large sitting room, and a kitchen off to one side.

‘What a nice flat,’ said Jasminder as Peggy put mugs on a tray.

‘Tim found it,’ she said. ‘We’ve been here about a year. It’s a good neighbourhood and very quiet – at least it is down this street, away from the main road.’

‘Is Tim here?’

‘You’ve just missed him actually. He’s had to go out.’

So the sourpuss she’d passed had been Tim. How strange. Maybe he was annoyed to have a visitor on a weeknight. Jasminder said, ‘I hope I’m not disrupting your evening.’

‘Not at all,’ said Peggy. ‘Let’s have some coffee – or would you rather have a glass of wine, or some herb tea? We always have a huge assortment of weird teas. Tim doesn’t approve of caffeine in any form. Thinks it destroys the brain cells.’

‘He may be right, but I can’t do without it – so coffee for me, please,’ said Jasminder. ‘Though when you’ve seen this form, you may think we also need some alcoholic support.’