‘What does Norman Craig want you to do about it, anyway?’
‘To find out what sort of mental state Philip was in when he left home. To make sure he’s safe.’
‘And a bit of marriage guidance, too?’
‘Maybe. Might make a career of it when I leave the service,’ he joked as he set off.
It was fifteen minutes’ drive to where the Hitchens had their home, close by the river Yealm. The old, grey, limestone parsonage was a far larger house than they needed, but Sara had been determined they should buy it. With its large open fireplaces and an apple orchard, it was the English country home she’d never had as a child — the one she’d longed for as she accompanied her diplomat father from one strange place to another.
The village was pretty, with a river frontage and boats lying in the mud at low tide. The house was on the outskirts, and a little isolated. The Hitchens had few friends in the village; Sara was not good at the small talk of neighbourliness.
As he turned into her drive Andrew felt nervous, unsure how she would react to his visit. It was two years before that they’d had the briefest of affairs.
Philip had been at sea, and he at home on leave, just like now. Sara had rung him up one day when Patsy was at school and begged him to meet her, at a remote spot on the moors where they wouldn’t be seen.
He was flattered and intrigued. Sara spelt danger, and it had excited him. Under normal circumstances, commonsense would have prevailed and he’d have said ‘no’, but her call had coincided with a blip in his own relationship with Patsy, a silly argument over money. She’d been furious with him because he’d bought a new car, instead of re-equipping their tatty kitchen. She’d hardly spoken to him for days.
Andrew had kept that rendezvous with Sara on the moors. Two days later they met again, on a warm afternoon in an Indian summer, and made love in the heather.
Sara was watching from a window as his car entered the drive.
‘Andrew!’ she greeted, as she opened the door. ‘Surprise, surprise!’
Her pale lips smiled but her eyes were tense and suspicious.
‘I was just passing…’
‘No, you weren’t! You end up in the river if you “just pass”,’ she retorted.
Suddenly she embraced him, and buried her face in his shoulder.
‘I’m awfully glad you came,’ she whispered. Her breath smelled of wine.
Then, just as suddenly, she broke away again and led him to the living room, where a south-facing French window looked across the orchard to the river.
‘Why are you here? Is it official, this call? You know what’s happened?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. It sounds a mess. Craig told me.’
‘And he sent you?’ She raised one eyebrow cynically. ‘How thoughtful of him.’
‘He knows I’m a friend. Of both of you,’ Andrew hedged. ‘He thought I might help. He’s very concerned.’
She studied him for a moment and her waif-like face softened. Her thin mouth twisted mischievously.
‘It’s all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t taken fright and we’d stayed lovers, I wouldn’t have bothered with other men!’
‘I’m not sure how to take that!’
‘As a compliment, you oaf! Or a joke. I have to joke about it now and then. Otherwise, I just cry.’
Her face crumpled and she turned away.
She ran her fingers through her straight, chestnut hair.
‘What’re they saying about me?’ she asked, turning to face him. ‘Be honest!’
‘I don’t know who you mean by “they”,’ Andrew hedged again.
‘Them. The Navy.’
‘Well, if a sailor’s wife runs around with other men while her old man’s at sea — it’s, er… it’s frowned upon.’
She laughed at his restraint.
‘And when one of the woman’s lovers turns out to be a Russian spy,’ she said, her voice rising in hysteria, ‘then I guess the Navy shits itself!’
‘You can say that again!’
‘But… I didn’t know he was a spy!’
She dropped onto a sofa and clamped her arms round her stomach as if it hurt her. She shook her head, her hazel eyes widening with disbelief.
‘I can’t believe all this.’
She reached for a packet of cigarettes.
‘Inside, I don’t feel I’ve done anything wrong. I can’t accept that it’s all my fault.’
She drew at the smoke as if it was oxygen, and coughed.
‘Look, there’s a bottle over there. Pour a glass and fill mine, would you?’
He handed her the drink and sank into a chair opposite.
‘Why did Craig send you?’
‘To try to find out exactly what’s happened, I suppose.’
‘Why it’s happened. That’s the question. Isn’t anyone asking that? Some dreadful man from London — MIS or something — came here reeking of cheap aftershave and B.O. Never even wondered how people get into this sort of mess. Don’t any of you realize what it’s like to have to share a husband with the fucking Navy?’
‘Come on, Sara!’ Andrew snapped. ‘You knew what Philip did for a living when you married him.’
‘I was only nineteen, Andrew! I’d only left school the year before!’
They both looked down at their drinks. Sara shivered.
‘Sorry, there’s no fire… It’s chilly enough for one. We were hoping to put in central heating next year. But it’s so expensive…’
‘Don’t worry. I’m not cold.’
There was an awkward pause. Andrew eased forward to the edge of the chair. There was one question he wanted answered above all others.
‘Does Philip know? That you and I…’
Her eyes softened. She was remembering, as he was, the warm wind that had rustled the bracken around them as they’d lain on the moors that afternoon two years ago.
‘No. He doesn’t know,’ she answered eventually.
She looked down at her hands. Was she lying? Andrew couldn’t tell.
‘How much do you know?’ she asked suddenly. ‘They told you about Gunnar, obviously?’
‘Craig didn’t say a name. Just that the man claimed to be Swedish.’
‘That was feeble. I knew from the start he wasn’t.’
‘You knew? How?’
‘I spent three years in Stockholm as a child, remember? I told you — I must’ve done. I told you everything,’ she grimaced. ‘No wonder you went off me so fast!’
Andrew laughed, but only for a moment. Sara pulled a crumpled handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. Her voice had sounded bitter.
‘Gunnar said he came from Stockholm. But he only knew the tourist places. He stopped talking about it once I said I’d actually lived there.’
‘So, where did you think he was from?’
‘I don’t know. It didn’t really matter at the time. We all pretend things. I told him I was divorced.’
‘But didn’t it occur to you that his interest in you might not be entirely romantic? A man with a false identity, you with a husband in the Navy?’
‘Not at first, no. It did later…’
‘Oh? Why was that?’
‘Well, as we got to know each other, we kind of peeled away the layers of deception. It was a game, really. I told him I knew he wasn’t what he said he was, and he told me he knew I had a husband in the Navy.’
‘Did you ask him how he knew?’
‘Just said he could tell. Knew the type. I’m not unique, you know,’ she rounded on him. ‘Navy towns are full of unhappy wives.’
‘And what did you tell him?’ Andrew prodded. ‘Did you say, for example, that Philip drove a nuclear submarine?’