Or maybe he had died already. Gerry rolled over onto her hands and knees and scrambled over to him and with some relief heard his gentle snoring over the sound of the sea washing around the raft and the breeze rustling through the canopy. She crawled wearily back to her place and lay on her back staring up at the stars and wondering how he could possibly rest so easily.
She remembered her feelings of bitter anger at the world in general after she had heard of Philip’s death and her sense of isolation. She had been completely unprepared for becoming a mother and the prospect scared her. She had few friends with whom to discuss the life-changing step into parenthood. Following her recruitment into the service she had allowed herself to drift apart from her university friends who had begun to settle and start families. The demands of her secret life had dragged her away from social events and the need to avoid discussion of her profession had rendered her reticent and reserved in company. Now her friendships were only with people who shared her work. She had experienced three serious relationships since she had joined the service, and these had all been with colleagues. One of them had left the service when he married, the second was now based permanently in the USA having wed an American woman, and the third had been Philip with whom she had been closely involved for three years until his death.
Gerry looked out at the clearing sky. She folded part of the canopy back so that she could gaze up at the stars. To the north she could see Ursa Major, one of the few constellations she could easily recognise, and to the south she thought she could identify Scorpio. She looked up overhead where her eye was caught by the flashing lights of an airliner flying towards Europe, its strobe lights winking in the night sky. ‘Hello, here I am,’ she muttered quietly and gave a sad little wave. She watched the airliner slip past the backdrop of stars until it was out of sight.
She huddled down in the bottom of the raft and thought about her convalescence and return to London. Until Cornwall had given her the news of Phil’s death she had enjoyed a brief period contentment in which she had come to terms with the shock of being pregnant. She was looking forward to the challenges of family life with Philip despite the abrupt change in her career. But did she really love him? Although they had been together for three years there had still been some lack of commitment. Despite sharing his house, she had never sold her own flat and she had often retreated there when the demands of their lives conflicted or tension had arisen between them. Her pregnancy had been the result of mutual declarations of love during a winter holiday in Barbados followed by enthusiastic sex which had included a contraceptive failure.
She thought back to the day all those years ago when they had first met. The end of the year was approaching and she had been facing the prospect of another Christmas and New Year alone when Richard Cornwall had summoned her with instructions to go on her annual liaison meeting at GCHQ in Cheltenham. ‘‘Do I really have to go?’ she had protested. ‘I’m due to go to Amman in three days and I’ve lots of stuff to research.’
‘But I heard you in the canteen telling your friend Fiona Bennett that you were hoping to play golf tomorrow, and as I’m sure that golf isn’t part of your mission you can damn well spend tomorrow in Cheltenham. Your train leaves Paddington at 7:25am and gets in at 10:00am. You’ll have to get up early but then it’ll help you get on to Amman local time, so that’s ok. Alternatively Brian Lincoln, Robert McAllister and Malcolm Cooper are taking the train this evening and staying the night. You could go with them if you like, it’s up to you.’
‘Oh not Brian Lincoln! I think I’ll take the train tomorrow.’
‘I remember that when you were accepted into exec ops it was emphasised that you were expected to maintain good relations with everyone on the team, including Lincoln,’ said Cornwall. ‘I don’t know why I put up with you.’
‘You put up with me because I’m the best Arabic speaker you’ve got and because I’m better looking than all of the blokes.’
‘Some of our chaps are very good looking Gerry, even though… oh I give up. Have a lovely day in Cheltenham.’
‘Yeah thanks… sir.’
Outside GCHQ building Gerry snagged her tights on the edge of the seat as she climbed out of the taxi and let go a stream of Arabic invective. A young man about five feet nine inches tall, slightly overweight with unruly brown hair was approaching the entrance and he turned around when he heard her. He peered at her through his spectacles and then down at her legs. ‘Oh that’s quite some pair, er… some tear you’ve got in those legs, I mean tights.’
Gerry finished her inspection of the damage and straightened up to her full height of six feet in her high heels and stared down at him. She was about to issue a withering reply but then he asked her forgiveness in Arabic and she noticed his engaging grin and the fact that he was blushing.
‘No problem,’ she replied in the same language and preceded him through security. In reception she was gazing at the display screen that showed visitors where their attendance was required when she was aware of him standing near.
‘Are you here for the seminar on the Middle East?’ he enquired. She gazed round at him and he quickly added, ‘because I’m Philip Barrett and I’m hosting it. You must be Geraldine Tate.’
‘Gerry,’ she said holding out her hand.
‘Er, I’m Phil,’ he said. ‘Look, without wanting to go into any boring explanations of how I know, there’s this vending machine that sells tights and other stuff in the ladies loo over there. If you want to get some more, that is.’
‘I can wait for you here…’ he saw Gerry’s raised eyebrows ‘or… or maybe I should go on up. It’s room two nineteen, second floor.’ He pointed vaguely towards the lifts and then hastened off, pushing his spectacles into place.
‘Hey Phil,’ she called after him.
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Ok ladies and gentlemen, that concludes our day then I think,’ said Phil Barrett six hours later. ‘Unless anyone wants to bring up any last minute thoughts?’
‘Well Rob and Colin and I have a train to catch, so I think we’d best be going,’ Brian Lincoln announced. ‘How about you Gerry? Are you heading back to the smoke with us?’
She had endured quite enough of Lincoln’s company for one day. ‘No I’m going to get a coffee and then I’m going to visit a friend. I’ll see you next time.’ She watched the three of them gather their things and prepare to leave and then realised that Phil and his GCHQ colleagues were looking slightly miffed.
‘Before you rush off I’d like to thank Philip for organising our day. It’s been really interesting and I’m pleased to have met you all. Once a year isn’t really often enough for our visits here, wouldn’t you agree Brian?’
‘Oh absolutely right,’ he said taking the implied rebuke comfortably in his stride. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’
In the canteen she took her cappuccino to a corner table and pulled out her laptop and while it was starting up she heard some muttered conversation and saw the five people from GCHQ who had been at the seminar gazing over at her and one of the men gave Philip Barrett a small shove. He walked over to her table.
‘Hi, can I join you? I wanted to thank you for the commendation at the end and wondered what you really thought of the day.’
Gerry smiled. ‘It was good; really.’ She closed the lid of her computer. ‘Perhaps you should get yourself a coffee, if you are joining me,’ she suggested.
‘So you’re going to visit a friend,’ he said when he had sat down opposite her with his drink. ‘That’s lucky being able to get in a social call in the same day. Does she… or he live nearby? But unlucky for me because otherwise I would have asked you out for dinner myself,’ he added with a rush.