Little Grey Mice (21 page)

‘How could I have done?' demanded Elke.
‘Why
should I have done?'

‘What else is there to tell me?'

‘Nothing,' said Elke. Certainly not how she'd ended the evening, after the man had gone. And this time without Chopin's ‘Chanson de l'Adieu' to encourage the fantasy.

The bulging and grossly overweight Nikolai Turev liked luxury and privilege and indulged himself whenever the opportunity presented itself, which was why he chose Vienna for his meeting with Jutta, even before the coincidence of the anonymous West German document being received at the Soviet embassy there. There was no intention of his going anywhere near the Russian legation. He stayed at the Sacher and ate wild boar at the Drei Hussars. His mornings and afternoons were divided between taking chocolate Sachertorte and coffee at the Sacher or chocolate Demeltorte and coffee at Demel's. It was at Demel's, in the old part of the city, that he met Jutta, to learn of Reimann's second, friendship-making encounter with Elke Meyer.

He nodded through the mist of tobacco smoke when the woman finished, accepting from her the insurance company notes to ensure there would be no mistake in what Australia had to do. ‘So it seems to have gone exactly to plan?' he said. It had been a wise edict, to cut Jutta out of the inquiries into the anonymous letter: there was little that she could have practically done, and it might easily have created tension between her and Reimann.

‘It would seem so,' Jutta agreed.

‘You haven't told me how Otto feels about her.' The KGB Technical Division had succeeded in getting a full transcript of the couple's conversation after Reimann's visit to Kaufmannstrasse, despite the loud music. Turev was intrigued at whatever account Jutta might give.

‘He said she was dried up: not attractive at all,' said Jutta, honestly.

Turev thought the disinterest was forced. He considered a second Demeltorte. They were delicious and he wanted one, but he was reluctant to ruin his appetite for dinner. ‘Do you think Otto has settled in and adjusted now?'

‘It seems so. He hasn't spoken much about the journalistic cover.'

‘Then ask him! It's important that it remains absolute: that there's no professional curiosity or doubt from other reporters or commentators.' This reminded Turev, and he handed the woman the latest story outline and instructions for Reimann's next dispatch. The package was larger than at any previous meeting because it contained one of the Australian magazines with the first article purportedly written by Reimann.

‘Not too much progress so far,' said Jutta. She was attempting modesty, but to Turev it implied criticism of her husband.

‘But it's
started
well.' Setting the test for the woman, Turev said: ‘Be sure to tell Otto how pleased we are.' He
would
have another Demeltorte: dinner was hours away yet.

On the day Turev returned to Moscow, the second anonymous package of what appeared to be West German government communications arrived at the Soviet embassy in Vienna. Again the front and rear sheets were missing. The papers appeared to be a discussion document on Warsaw Pact troop strengths and commitment, after so much Soviet military withdrawal from the now independent satellite nations.

‘Germany always thinks militarily!' insisted Cherny. ‘They don't know any other way! This is proof, if ever we needed it. Which we don't. Isn't this the very question we're being asked to resolve?'

‘We daren't put it forward for Presidential Council consideration until we have positive verification,' said Sorokin. ‘And at this stage, not even then. Everything we're getting is incomplete. And I don't mean the missing pages. These are meaningless, without our knowing the context in which they're being created and discussed.'

Chapter Fifteen

Reimann had, in fact, adjusted very comfortably into the journalistic role of a Bonn-based political commentator on European affairs. At least once a day he diligently visited the press building, amused at the irony of its closeness to the Chancellery that was his intended target. He made a point of attending the most important of the announced press conferences and particularly the off-the-record government briefings. He was affable towards the other correspondents to the extent of drinking with them in their chosen bar in Joachimstrasse, even enjoying the political arguments and discussions, but careful not to allow anything like friendship to build with any of them. He found the Moscow-inspired articles comparatively easy to create, provided as he was with such a comprehensive framework to operate from, quickly noting that the detailed guidance always cleverly gave his supposed pieces a right-wing bias, sometimes quite critical of the Soviet Union. He always drafted the articles in note form at the Rochusplatz apartment but wrote them from these notes at his designated desk at the press centre, where he could openly be seen at work. He also used the centre's communication facilities to file to Australia: the completeness of his cover came with the acknowledgements – and sometimes apparent instructions of what they wanted written in future – coming back to him from Australia through the centre.

It was from Australia, although to Rochusplatz, that the letter came, in stiffly phrased legal terms, accepting all liability and responsibility for the repairs to the Volkswagen. He telephoned Elke at once.

‘I can't believe it!' said Elke. ‘Just like that!'

‘I'm glad it's worked out,' said Reimann. She was obviously excited, which was good, because she wouldn't be thinking clearly. And grateful to him, which it was right that she should be. And important that she should be, too.

‘What do I have to do?' asked the reliant Elke. Wonderful: it was absolutely wonderful! She'd known he was a nice man, from the very first.

Reimann smiled at the obvious, professional answers that came to mind. ‘You'll need the formal letter …' He hesitated, momentarily unsure how to continue. Dominate from the beginning, he decided. ‘I'll bring it around tonight.' He was sure she would not refuse, but against her doing so he added: ‘It'll enable you to contact your insurance company first thing tomorrow: probably order the repairs to be started, too.'

Elke did not respond immediately. He appeared to be inviting himself, but why shouldn't she agree? It
would
enable her to get things moving: there'd been too much delay. She looked around the immaculate apartment that needed no tidying and said: ‘An hour?'

‘I'll be there in an hour,' Reimann accepted.

Elke felt lifted, delighted. Five minutes ago all the problems with the car had seemed tangled and confusing. And now they weren't. Now it was all over. Solved. An hour, Elke warned herself. She set out the glasses in the kitchen and considered taking the ice from the freezer compartment in readiness but didn't, not wanting it to melt before his arrival. In her bedroom Elke stood undecided before her wardrobe for several minutes, finally selecting a blue linen dress. She took it out and brushed it but did not put it on, to avoid it creasing. She took off the suit she had been wearing, leaning close to the mirror to examine her make-up. Her eyes were fine. Just lipstick then. And her hair. Elke combed it, studied the result and combed it again, wanting it to be right. She put on more lipstick, blotting it with tissue. Perfume would be too strong: toilet water would be sufficient. She sprayed that lightly. Elke turned back to the dress but did not move at once towards it. Instead, from where she stood, she examined herself in just bra and pants in the full-length wardrobe mirror. Instinctively she pulled in her stomach, just slightly, but just as quickly decided she didn't need to: she'd lost that weight and hadn't put it back. Her legs were firm, not bumped with cellulite anywhere. The bra helped, of course, but there was very little sag: better than Ida, she guessed, thinking back to the constant comparison when they'd been younger. She turned slightly sideways, actually feeling her buttocks. No sag there, either. And her face … Why? The demand burst into Elke's mind and she saw her reflection wince. Why was she posing like this, parading herself? For whom? Or for what? In her embarrassment she crossed her arms, covering her already covered pubes, hiding herself from herself. Thank God no one had seen her: would ever know what she was doing.

She hurried into the dress, not examining herself at all when it was on, and went back into the kitchen. She broke the ice out into a dish, refilled the tray to make more, and put the prepared cubes into the refrigerator. Poppi, seemingly aware of the preparations, stirred and came curiously out of his basket. Elke smiled down and said: ‘Someone's coming. A man who's helped me. Isn't that nice, Poppi?'

Reimann timed his arrival to be late again, not bothering this time to watch from the street for an anxious curtain flicker. When Elke admitted him the smoothness in the skirt of the linen dress showed that she had changed for his coming, as she had before: her cologne – he wasn't sure if it was actually perfume – was obvious. Good, he thought: very good.

‘It's considerate of you to come like this,' said Elke. Some people were inherently bad time-keepers: it wasn't important.

‘I want to get everything sorted out,' said Reimann. ‘I feel responsible.' From the kitchen came the sound of the dog, yapping: thank Christ the door was firmly shut.

‘I don't think you are. Not very much, anyway.' Concentrating upon the man, after Ida's chatter of questions, Elke thought how firm-bodied he seemed, like someone who took physical exercise.

‘You're lucky my publishers think I am,' grinned Reimann.

She hadn't noticed, either, the slightly protruding eye-tooth: it wasn't ugly. She said: ‘It's whisky, isn't it?'

‘Please,' accepted Reimann. The grin became a smile of amusement Elke was never to know, at her obvious effort at sophistication.

Predictably Poppi scurried around her leg-blocking attempt to keep him in the kitchen and came up, tongue-lolling, against Reimann's leg. It
was
like a rat, he thought: a long-haired rat with stunted legs. He wondered how far across the room it would travel if he kicked it, stetched up on its hind legs as it was: probably to the far wall. When Elke called out for the dog to come back to her in the kitchen Reimann said: ‘Let him stay: it's good to see him again.' It smelled, a damp-earth dog smell, when he picked it up. He remained standing with it in his arms, determined on this occasion not to sit with it on his lap to prolong the time he had to hold it.

In the kitchen Elke made the whisky exactly as she had before: she was much quicker, with the ice ready. The white wine, corked from the previous visit, was sharp when she tried an experimental taste. It would have to do.

With the dog under one arm, Reimann appeared to reach for the letter inside his jacket when she returned, stopping when she offered the drink. ‘I think we'd better put him back in the kitchen,' he said. He didn't hand the animal to her but carried it himself to the door, which hid the action of his skidding it across the floor towards its basket. He did take the letter out as he went back to her, with a hand free now to receive his drink. ‘The admission of liability that will settle everything,' he announced.

‘I'll never know how to thank you.'

No, mused Reimann: you won't. He said: ‘It should all be straightforward now. And again, I'm sorry.' Come on! he thought: ask the question I want.

Elke had not encountered anyone who looked so directly at her as he did. She said: ‘What do I do now?'

Exactly on cue, Reimann decided, satisfied. ‘Give that to your insurance company. Withdraw any claim against them. Tell the garage to go ahead with the repairs and send the bill to me …' He let the sentence hang.

‘What?' queried Elke.

Reimann wondered if it would be as easy to train the bloody dog. He said: ‘Something that just occurred to me, as I was talking … whether the garage will accept instructions from you to bill someone else for the work. It might sound odd.'

‘It might, mightn't it?' Her concern began to rise.

‘No problem!' said Reimann, forcefully. ‘I'll do it. I have to authorize the repairs to the Mercedes. I'll simply tell them to fix both and let me have the bill. Simple.'

‘You always seem to make it so,' said Elke. The response had been automatic and she wished she'd thought it out before speaking; it had sounded like obvious flattery.

‘Anyway,' said Reimann, guessing her regret from her colouring and talking over it as if he hadn't thought the sentence strange. ‘It'll save you the hassle of dealing or arguing with garages, won't it?'

‘Will there be arguments?' asked Elke, at once.

‘There will be, if the work isn't done properly,' said Reimann. Playing his personal anticipatory game, he thought: look Elke, my glass is empty.

‘You're extremely kind. I'll never know …' She stopped, then finished: ‘I've already said that, haven't I?'

Glass, Elke; look at my glass! He said: ‘I'm sure I've more spare time than you: I literally decide my own hours.'

‘Would you like more whisky?'

‘Thank you,' said Reimann. Fractionally slow, stupid woman, he thought. He'd train her, quickly enough.

Elke was more adept at the door, managing to prevent the dog getting past her into the living-room. Alone, Reimann gazed back towards the hallway and the adjoining doors he had isolated as he'd entered. He would have to explore, minimally: edge slightly further into her life. He smiled his thanks when Elke returned with the drink and said: ‘You are allowed to receive telephone calls at work, aren't you? There might be something we have to talk about, during the day.'

‘I try to avoid them,' said Elke, cautiously. ‘But if it's urgent …'

‘I won't call unless it's absolutely necessary,' promised Reimann, easily. It would provide another encroaching opportunity.