Ashes

I’ll just get right out and say it, Nicholas thought. Once he arrives, I’ll pour the tea, we’ll get the pleasantries out of the way and then I’ll get right out and say it to him. Where is he though? Lunn made the telephone call over an hour ago. How long does it take to cross Beirut on a Saturday afternoon?

The secretary walked to the front door. A slim, blonde girl with mountains of curly hair, her face covered in freckles. Not made for the heat. Very young. Pretty. Easy to see why Lunn had hired her. She looked back at Nicholas.

“I’ll make myself scarce then, sir?”

“Yes that’s right Miss ah…”

“…Miss Skipp, sir. Thank you, sir.”

She left, closing the door so softly behind her that it didn’t make a sound. Nicholas looked around at the apartment. Brown wallpaper, peeling in places. An unframed print of…a Caravaggio perhaps? All darkness, blood and pale, shocked faces. A faint musty, damp smell. The dark stain on the yellowed ceiling evidence of a flood from the apartment above. Funny to think someone lived like this, in these few small rooms.

Nicholas rose from the battered brown leather armchair and opened the door to the next room. The same brown wallpaper had been pasted in here too. A single bed. A little dressing table covered with a bulky machine, its wheels and tapes whirling away. Cables snaked away from it, up into the corners of the room. Sat before the machine was Lunn, with headphones over thin hair the colour of wet sand. Lunn looked up from the equipment and pulled the headphones away from his ears.

“What is it, Nicholas?”

“When you telephoned him, I trust you did emphasise the urgency of the matter —”

“— of course I did. As you asked.”

“And you gave no indication to him that I am here?”

“Nicholas. I did exactly as we discussed. He thinks that the old firm has a little urgent business for him. He has no idea you’re here. As far as he knows you’re in London.”

“And you’re sure he’ll come?”

Lunn spoke slowly. “He’s drinking more than ever. He started a fight on New Year’s Eve and got thrown down some stairs. He’s lost too many friends. The work is drying up. He needs the money. He’ll be here.”

Nicholas blew out a long, declining sigh. “You’re right, I’m sure. And the equipment? The microphones and so on?” He waved vaguely at the recording device on the table.

Lunn nodded briskly. “I know my business Nicholas. We’ll record every word. Just remember not to —”

“ — not to speak over him. I know.”

Lunn looked back down at the machine. “As I said. Everything is ready. I know my business.”

“You’re right of course. Forgive me Peter. Today is just so…important.”

Lunn smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Of course it is. You’ve known him a long while.”

Nicholas ran one hand along his jawline. “Yes. It must be twenty five years.”

Lunn’s head rose and his steady gaze met Nicholas’s. “It’s good that it’s you. You’ll do it right.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

Nicholas returned to the armchair, sipped his tea, and looked across the dark wood coffee table at a scuffed, faded leather sofa. Dreadful furniture. Funny to think of that secretary, Miss Slipp, was it? She lived here. In these small, poor rooms, far from home and every day she made her way to the Embassy to hoard secrets and lies for England.

Outside, the street bustled. Hooves clattered. Angry horns beeped. Perhaps he could hear distant waves? No, that’s impossible. Even here, on Rue de Phenice, the sea-sound must be drowned out by all the other noise. A discordant sound. The slapping sound of wings on water. A swan landing on the Thames at sunset. How could that be, here? No, not a swan. A two stroke engine puttering away. Strange how similar they sound. Man’s work; always a cheap imitation of God’s.

Will I hear him arrive? Not until he’s climbing the stairs to this little apartment. Nothing to do but wait then.

I’ll get right out and say it, Nicholas thought again. He should hear it from me. And I deserve to be the one to tell him. I need to know how long. And what, where and when. I need to know why. He has to tell me. And then we…I will decide how much to tell the Cousins. Can’t allow too much scandal.

The door below slammed shut. Someone entering the building. Footsteps, uneven and halting on the stairs. They paused outside the apartment door. A moment of silence. Then a gentle knock. Nicholas stood, and ran his hands down over his jacket and brushed at an errant hair before calling out. “It’s open. Come in.”

The door opened and there he stood. A dark suit, once-white bandages round the crown of his head, a little unsteady on his feet, eyes a little yellow, but still unmistakeable. The new arrival spoke first.

“I rather thought it would be you.”

Nicholas stepped forward to shake the man’s hand while thinking fast how did he know it would be me? Is there another mole? Lunn? The secretary? Someone in London?

“What happened to your head, old man?” asked Nicholas.

“Oh it was a silly business on New Years Eve, bit of a scuffle, got pushed down a staircase if you can believe that.”

“My goodness. How dreadful. Are the doctors decent here?”

“Perfectly decent. Better than home, in some ways.”

“Oh?”

“Well, they’ve been doing it longer, haven’t they.”

“You’re healing well then?” asked Nicholas.

“Indeed. A little slower than in my youth. Age, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you sit? I’ll pour some tea.” said Nicholas

“That’s very kind.”

They sat. Nicholas back on the armchair, the other man on the scuffed leather sofa. Nicholas poured the tea for them both, added milk and a little sugar to his, and took a sip. The visitor’s hands shook a little as he doctored his tea with sugar and mint leaves.

Nicholas spoke. “Other than the head, how’s your health Kim?”

“Perfectly tolerable, thank you Nicholas. I had a spot of bronchitis and ‘flu before Christmas but I’m recovered now. How are your family?”

“They’re perfectly well thank you. Mark’s just started the new half at Eton.”

“Of course he has. Doing well?”

“He seems to be. How is Harry finding it?” asked Nicholas.

“Oh, he seems to be fine. He writes.”

“And Miranda? She’s at the Abbey isn’t she?”

“That’s right. Just started last term. I think the Chiltern air agrees with her.”

For a moment both men were silent. Outside the muezzin began, distant cries mingling in the cooling air. Nicholas took his pen from the pocket of his jacket and gently rolled it on the table. Kim shifted in his seat, inclined his head a little, and spoke.

“Have you been following the business in Sydney?”

Nicholas nodded. “Of course. I must say I’m not happy with the selection.”

Kim leaned forward a little. “Indeed, too much pace by half. Thank goodness for Titmus. He had a wonderful day today.”

Nicholas smiled. “Yes, ‘five for five in eight’ as Swanton put it. Glorious stuff.”

Kim grimaced. “It won’t be enough though.”

“Oh? Why do you think so?”

“Other than Carrington and Cowdrey none of our chaps have the faintest idea how to handle Simpson.” Kim mimed holding a bat. “Stands like he owns the crease and swats them away.”

“I fear you may be right. What would you have done?” said Nicholas.

Kim spoke faster. “If it were me, I’d have rested Trueman. We’re going to need him in Adelaide.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Rest Trueman? Just imagine the uproar.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be popular, but the right choices often aren’t.” Kim sipped at his tea.

Nicholas picked up his pen and gripped it tight in his left hand. “I suppose there’s some truth in that. But equally it may be foolish to conclude that unpopularity implies correctness.”

“I hope you don’t consider me foolish, Nicholas.”

“Oh goodness no, Kim. Never foolish.” Nicholas placed his pen back on the table.

Both men went quiet again. A gentle waft of cooling air swept into the apartment along with the tight, high voice of a mijwiz, played passably well.

Unfamiliar conditions out there of course.” said Nicholas.

“Yes, much harder, more bounce.” Kim said and sighed before continuing. “They’ve been out there for months though. Plenty of time to adapt.”

“I’ve often wondered how different it is down there.”

“You’ve never been posted outside of Europe, have you?”

“Well, Cairo, Istanbul…” Nicholas waved vaguely at the window “…Beirut.”

Kim shook his head. “All Europe really. Rome ruled here too.”

“Oh, of course, but it’s not quite the same is it? The food, the smells, the call to prayer.”

Kim smiled. “They drink tea, drive motor cars, build modern cities.”

“Even so, there’s something so very…oriental about this part of the world. Persians, not Greeks.”

“At least they’re some kind of civilised here. Not like the Eye-ties, or…”

“…Americans?”

Kim grimaced at that. “Quite. Awful people really.”

Nicholas nodded. “I rather thought they might go over the line last year.”

“October?”

“Yes. It seemed rather hairy.”

“What would you do? If it was the big one, I mean.”

Nicholas nodded. “I’ve thought about it. I’d walk out into the street and wait for the flash. No point living on in the world after, or surviving only to die of radiation.”

“I’d want to survive. Where there’s life there’s hope.”

“Yes. I expect you would.”

Kim set his tea down. “But anyway, what other choice did the Americans have? Cuba’s their turf, and these revolutionaries won’t last.”

Nicholas paused before speaking. “You surprise me. I’ve not often thought you an Atlanticist.”

“I was, once.”

The mijwiz player held a long, whining note that went on and on.

When Nicholas spoke his voice was very mild and barely audible over the noise from the street. “Once?”

“Yes. In the war. They listened to us then.”

“They did, didn’t they? Seemed to realise we had wisdom and knowledge to share. Greece to their Rome.”

“But then, even by the time I was over there they were different. More arrogant. Thought they’d learned everything they needed to from us.”

“Of course since ’56 they don’t listen to us at all.”

Kim laughed a short barking laugh. “Rightly so. The last hurrah of Anglo-French imperialism. A deserved humiliation.”

“A popular opinion, in some quarters.”

“It’s what they say, here.”

Kim finished the last of his tea, placed the cup down on the table and leant back on the sofa. Nicholas rolled his pen between his palms and looked at Kim. The mijwiz had stopped playing. The sounds of wheels, hooves and feet continued.

At last Kim spoke. “Don’t tell me you flew all the way out here just to see me?”

“I’ll just get right out and say it. Sorry for getting right on with it. Kim, I’m afraid I don’t have time to postpone this conversation. We’ve known one another forever, you and I, so if you don’t mind I’ll get right to the point.” He paused. Kim said nothing and so Nicholas pushed onward. “Unfortunately it’s not very pleasant.” Nicholas paused again. “I’ve come here to tell you that your past has finally caught up with you.”

Nicholas had barely finished speaking when Kim replied. “Are you mad? Have you all gone mad, again? You’re going to start all that nonsense again, after all these years? No. This is a joke. A bad joke. I’m afraid you’ve lost your sense of humour Nicholas.”

“I…that is to say we haven’t lost anything. In fact we have been provided with additional information about you. It puts everything in a new light.”

“What information? What on Earth are you talking about?”

Nicholas stood, walked to the window and stared out at the street. The last merchants were packing up for the day. The street food hawkers were coming out. He sighed again, a deep, slow sigh.

“Listen Kim, you know very well that I’ve always been on your side. I was on your side from the very first moment suspicions were raised. I protected you. But there’s new information now. I have been shown it. And I’m afraid that now even I am convinced, absolutely convinced that you worked for the Soviets right up until ’49.”

“What absurd nonsense. You can’t really believe this. They’ve made you come here, but you know this is nonsense.”

Nicholas closed the shutters, flattening the sounds of Saturday evening Beirut. He turned to face Kim and spoke. “I’m afraid we have new information Kim. We are certain that you were working for the Soviets.”

“I can’t believe that you, of all people, want me to go through this again.”

“We’ve penetrated the KGB, Kim. We know exactly what you did.” Nicholas walked over and sat back down on the armchair. He poured more tea for them both. When both cups were full, Kim smiled his best, charming smile and spoke.

“You must see how stupid this all seems. Think about it. A man is suspected for the longest time of a terrible thing, a mortal sin really, because he chose the wrong friends at Cambridge. They investigate the man, interrogate him and every shred of evidence. They find nothing. They apologise, but the whiff of treachery ends his career with the firm. The man leaves his country, moves here, and tries to build himself a new life.”

Nicholas didn’t say anything, but rolled the pen back and forth on the table, looking steadily into Kim’s eyes. Kim continued.

“Ten years pass, some new chief comes in, gets taken with the old idea. The firm decides to send an old friend, a wise and decent man, to try to persuade an innocent man to confess that he’s a Russian spy, a traitor. That’s why you’re here isn’t it Nicholas?”

“Kim, you must understand, if you were in my place, if you knew what I knew —”

“— I certainly wouldn’t talk to you the way you’re talking to me.”

“How would you talk to me then?” asked Nicholas.

“Well, I’d offer you a proper drink, not this lousy tea.” Kim laughed at his own joke. Nicholas did not.

When Nicholas spoke his voice was slow and precise. “I would like to tell you what I think happened and what you were thinking.”

“My God you’re serious aren’t you.”

“I am.”

“I thought better of you than this, Nicholas.”

“I understand you Kim. I do.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. We’re cut from the same cloth. I’ve been in love with two women at the same time. I know how it tears a chap to pieces. That’s what it’s been like for you, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“With England and the Soviet Union. You loved both at the same time, served both at the same time.”

“And why would I have done such a thing?”

“During the war, and before, it was different wasn’t it?”

“Do tell me how, Nicholas.”

“None of us knew the truth of Stalin’s monstrous behaviour, and then we were allies, nations united fighting beside one another.” Kim watched him. “But then the truth of it came out didn’t it, and a man with your character and intellect made the right decision and broke with the Soviets in ’49. You’d helped them enough. Fourteen years have gone by. The world’s changed, your ideas and views have changed. Why you were just telling me that you thought the Americans had the right of it in Cuba. So now we need you to help us and I’m sure you will.” Nicholas kept his face very still.

“I keep thinking I’m talking to a friend, but you’re here to interrogate me.”

Nicholas snarled back. “A friend? You fooled me for decades. I looked up to you. I fought to keep you safe.”

“Nicholas, I —”

“The truth is you’re damn lucky it’s me here and not the Cousins. They wanted you for themselves, but I insisted that it be us. That’s why I came here. I wanted to give you a chance.”

“A chance?! You’re here accusing me of —"

“— and now I’ll drag the truth out of you. Life is full of choices Kim. You once had to choose between your people, your family and, and…Marxism. You chose to reject everything and everyone that you owed a debt to. My God I despise you now.”

Both men sat still, silent and staring at one another. Outside, the whine of a motorbike approached and then passed, fading into the tumult. Eventually, Nicholas spoke.

“We can work something out.”

“Go on.”

“No one wants a fuss Kim, and no one wants to see you ruined.”

“How very decent of you.”

“As I said, we don’t want you prosecuted, ruined and jailed. We want you to make things right. Give us everything and we’ll grant immunity, and you can carry on your life here in Beirut.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. Every Soviet contact. Every cypher. Everything you know about your handlers. Every secret you passed them. Every other mole you know of.”

“I see. And if I say ‘no’?”

“You will be shut out.”

“What does that mean? Speak plainly, man.”

Nicholas picked up the pen and started rolling it between his hands.

“Your passport will be revoked. Your residence permit will be revoked. Your pension will stop. No British newspaper will employ you. There will be no more invitations to embassy parties. You won’t be welcome at any reputable club. You won’t be able to work, or travel. Harry and Miranda —”

“—you threaten my children?”

“— will no longer be welcome at their schools. You will never be able to come home. You’ll die here, in a foreign land, an impoverished and forgotten Englishman.”

Kim stood up and strode to the door. Nicholas called after him.

“None of that has to happen! Cooperate with us!”

Kim said nothing and opened the door.

“You’ve got a day Kim. Be back here at 6pm tomorrow.”

No words came back, just uneven footsteps descending. The front door opened and then slammed closed. Kim disappeared into the sounds of the Beirut night.