He handed her the fresh glass. ‘You actually telling me it’s easy?’
‘I’m not telling you anything,’ Julia said, pointedly. ‘You forgotten what I told you the first day? I don’t – ever – talk about the job.’
Keep it light, determined Charlie, quickly. ‘Or get too familiar with the staff.’
‘That, too. That most of all.’
‘I wasn’t asking you to do either.’
‘You were coming close.’
‘I’m not going to try to persuade you to sleep with me,’ said Charlie.
‘Good. I won’t.’
‘Or talk about the job.’
‘Good. I won’t do that, either.’
Don’t you believe it, thought Charlie, seeing the evening as a challenge. ‘The system might have worked at counter-intelligence. Often things don’t transfer so well.’
‘I try not to make too many mistakes,’ she snapped.
Charlie realized he had hurt her pride and couldn’t quite understand why. He wondered how much further he could lead her on. ‘I’m glad they were happy with what I’ve done. It was a pretty odd experience. You know how I felt, all the time?’ Come on, my darling, Charlie thought: come on!
‘How?’ she asked, precisely on cue.
‘Jealous,’ said Charlie, briefly honest. ‘I kept thinking he was going to go out and do things that they don’t believe I’m any longer capable of doing…’ Julia moved to speak, but Charlie hurried on: ‘All that’s not more self-pity. That’s being objective, confronting the reality of being taken off the active operational roster.’
Julia hesitated. ‘You’re still at Westminster Bridge Road, aren’t you?’
‘That’s a consolation, I suppose,’ Charlie agreed, not wanting her to know he’d understood the significance of her remark, which he had, angry it hadn’t occurred to him before, which it should have done. How the hell could he lecture young entrants like John Gower about the importance of recognizing everything when he’d overlooked a fact as obvious as the one she’d just pointed out to him?
‘So you’re not going to like it?’
Charlie shrugged, seeking another avenue: chauvinism, he decided. Julia just might be the type to rise to what could seem to her a sexist remark. ‘It’s a case of having to like it, isn’t it? But it’s not just getting used to a new role: always in the past I’ve had a different relationship with those on the ninth floor.’
Julia stood looking at him quizzically, head slightly to one side. ‘Ha, hah!’
He thought she’d got it. Hopefully he said:’Ha, hah what?’
‘Do I infer that Mr Muffin doesn’t like the person to whom he’s responsible being a member of the female sex?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Charlie, trying not to overstress the phoney outrage of the denial.
‘You are!’ she insisted, pleased with her imagined insight.
‘I’m not,’ he denied again. It was important to keep the momentum going. ‘It’s just unusual for me, that’s all.’ He allowed another grin, thinking he’d spent practically the entire evening with his mouth stretched apart, like a fool. ‘Maybe I should invite her out, even though she’s the boss.’
‘Forget it,’ advised Julia, with curt but amused finality.
‘Why not?’ demanded Charlie, able to make the outrage open mockery this time. ‘She’s not married. There’s no ring.’ It wasn’t always an indicator, but Julia would have to respond one way or the other.
‘She doesn’t have to be.’
‘I don’t understand what you’ve just said,’ protested Charlie, who believed he did. Bingo! he thought.
‘I haven’t said anything.’
Careful, Charlie warned himself: very, very careful. ‘So she’s out of bounds?’
‘This conversation is.’
The moment for retreat, judged Charlie: the moment to scuttle away with the prize, like a dog with a juicy bone to be buried. ‘On my way here, coming up the hill, I saw what looked like a few good restaurants.’
‘I thought it was only supposed to be a drink?’
‘What’s wrong with dinner, as well?’
‘I imposed two rules,’ reminded the woman. ‘You tried to break one.’
‘Not intentionally,’ evaded Charlie. ‘I promise no hands on knees under the table.’
They ate at an American-style bar-restaurant called Kenny’s. Having achieved all he wanted, Charlie fully relaxed, genuinely enjoying the quickness with which Julia came back at him, telling invented anecdotes against himself and making her laugh a lot.
‘I’ve had a good time,’ she said. She’d refused his offer to escort her home: her taxi was waiting outside.
‘We could do it again sometime, if you’d like.’
Once again there was a moment of indecision. ‘I don’t know. I might. Same rules?’
‘Guaranteed.’
‘There’s a reason.’
‘There’s always a reason.’
‘This is special.’ She was very serious.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’ She positively ended the conversation by walking away towards the waiting taxi.
Charlie stood politely, watching her leave. In no hurry himself, he ordered another cognac, wanting to evaluate the evening. Extremely productive, he decided: more so than he might have expected. A most important discovery – which he shouldn’t have needed her to point out to him – was that he had not been taken off active operational duties, like all the other instructors and stiff-backed men on duty at safe houses.
If he had been reduced in status, he would have been assigned to some building or place other than Westminster Bridge Road, every occupant of which was only ever on active duty. There was, of course, a counter-balance to that reassurance: that it was about to happen but delayed by departmental bureaucracy. Which in turn could be argued against, in his favour. Julia Robb wouldn’t have made the point if the transfer instruction had been issued but still blocked on its way through the pipeline, because she would have known about it. Charlie, always the optimist until the first falling slate warned him that the roof was caving in, decided it was in his favour. He hadn’t yet been officially dumped, so there was still a chance of his being restored to his old function. Maybe.
What else?
The hint about Patricia Elder was the most fascinating: and not just about the deputy Director-General, if he was reading the runes correctly. They work incredibly closely all the time, Julia had said. And then – despite the verbal gymnastics – had made it crystal clear that the lady was very much out of bounds. Which she would have been anyway to someone as lowly as him, but he didn’t think that had been the point of Julia’s remark. Still just a hint, Charlie cautioned himself again. But he did not think he was stretching it too far to wonder if Peter Miller, the very proper and upright Director-General, wasn’t unfastening those pin-striped trousers to throw a leg over the very proper but perhaps not always upright deputy Director-General.
It was very definitely a possibility to be looked at extremely closely: always a useful thing, to know as much as you could about potential enemies. Not that he regarded either of them as enemies, not yet.
He didn’t consider them friends, either. So it was well worth a little further enquiry.
Behind the locked doors of his Yasenevo office, further protected by the bright red ‘no entry’ light, Colonel Fyodor Tudin spread out for convenience the bulky file that he knew Natalia had already studied on the intriguing Englishman.
As Natalia Fedova’s immediate deputy, Tudin was aware of most ongoing operations, and there had been no indication, in any discussion or internal memorandum, of any official activity involving someone called Charles Edward Muffin: no indication of anything ongoing concerning England at all. Which left the possible conjecture that the woman was interested in someone with whom she had once been connected. And retained an interest.
Only a conjecture, Tudin warned himself. But wasn’t conjecture one of the central threads of basic intelligence? Unquestionably. It was definitely worth pursuing. But how? He couldn’t initiate any enquiry to London. It would be traceable, to him by name. And officially Western targets weren’t his responsibility anyway, so he had no explainable reason. The only obviously safe way would be to continue discreetly monitoring everything the bitch did. And be ready to move when she made a mistake.