The Avenue of the Dead (2 page)

‘I won't see him,' she told her father. Captain Graham had learned certain lessons in respect of his elder daughter. He applied one of them then.

‘You can't run away, my dear. It's purely social; we've invited him to lunch. Avoid him by all means if you can't face it, but I think you should.'

‘All right,' Davina said. ‘I'll be here. But I hope he doesn't mention Ivan. Otherwise you'll all wish I'd stayed upstairs.'

She watched James White through lunch. They were marvellous, she thought bitterly, exchanging small talk with that earnestness so peculiar to the English, as if the weather or the traffic encountered out of London really mattered. Manners glossed lightly over the ugly things like violent death and an empty life; they veiled the wounds no one wanted to admit existed, because then there would be reproaches, explanations.

James White didn't alter; his hair was no greyer, there were no fresh lines on the face; it looked as pink-skinned and healthy as it was when he said goodbye to her and Sasanov when they left for Perth in Western Australia. ‘Good luck to both of you. Enjoy your new life. And don't worry. We'll be looking after you.'

Davina picked at her food, refused wine, and only answered if she was spoken to directly. She noted at the end that there were little lines of strain around her mother's mouth, and felt sorry for her.

Her father was over-reacting to her frigid silence by talking louder and faster than usual. She saw the brigadier glance at her from time to time, the blue eyes always benign and slightly quizzical, like a fond uncle examining a difficult child. She met that glance once with a look of such contempt that he turned away. Her mother got up and said, ‘Davina and I will have coffee on the terrace; James, you and Fergus come and join us when you're ready.'

It was warm outside. The terrace faced west and the afternoon sun was beating down on the mellow red brick; forests of daffodils and narcissi nodded their white and gold heads to the tune of a gentle breeze.

‘Davina, darling,' Mrs Graham said. ‘Try not to be so angry – James was terribly upset too, you know.'

Davina didn't look up. ‘Like hell he was,' she said. ‘You sit down, mother. I'll bring the coffee out.'

Her mother was not on the terrace when she came back with the tray. The brigadier got up from the garden chair. ‘Let me take that, Davina. Please sit down. I've asked your parents to leave us alone for a few minutes.'

She stood without moving. ‘I've got nothing to say to you. I've been reasonably polite to you for their sakes. But I'm not going to talk to you alone. Unless you want me to tell you what I think of you.'

‘If it will make you feel any better,' he said calmly. He sat down and poured out two cups of coffee.

He saw the anger in her face, and the sudden flush of colour. It made her look younger, less drawn.

‘All right,' she said. ‘Perhaps it'll make
you
feel better to be told what a swine you are. A liar and a cheat, who took everything from Ivan and then just dumped him when you'd got all you could out of him. What was it you promised when we flew to Australia? Don't worry, we'll be looking after you –'

She was beginning to shake as the words came rushing out. ‘You bloody well looked after him all right, didn't you? They put a bomb in the car and blew his legs off.'

‘Davina.' He got up and she felt his hand on her shoulder; she pulled away from him. ‘I don't want your Judas touch.' She almost spat the words at him and then she started to cry. She covered her face with her hands. She hadn't cried like that for a long time.

She heard the brigadier's voice. ‘We looked after him as well as he would let us,' he said. ‘For three years. We kept them off for three years. But we couldn't protect him properly. You knew that, and so did he. He wouldn't live the kind of life that would have guaranteed his safety.' She raised her head and wiped away the blinding tears.

‘You didn't try,' she said. ‘You knew he wouldn't stay shut up in some bloody compound with guards round the place – you knew he needed his freedom. You just didn't give a damn whether they caught up with him or not!'

‘That isn't true,' he said quietly. ‘I liked and respected Ivan Sasanov; more than anyone who came over to us before or since. And whether you believe it or not, I wanted you both to be happy. But I knew that if he insisted on living on the outside, sooner or later someone would pick up the scent and the KGB would come after him. You were lucky, Davina, that you were able to have three years together. And lucky not to have been in the car with him. I don't suppose you'll agree with me, but it's true.'

‘No,' she said, ‘I don't agree with you. I lost the baby, I lost Ivan. I've got nothing in the world to live for now.'

‘You could have,' he remarked. ‘Here, use my handkerchief and drink that coffee. Listen to me for a few minutes. It won't cost you anything and it might help you. How would you like to come back to work for the Office?'

He was unprepared for her laughter. She stared at him, holding the crumpled handkerchief in one hand and laughed out loud.

‘Work for you? So that's why you're here! You've got some dirty job in mind and you think you'll come down here and soft-soap me into doing it! Well, I'll tell you, Brigadier, I'll see you and your Office in hell first!' She dropped the handkerchief on the table in front of him.

‘I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey,' she said. ‘I'll go and call my mother and father. They can finish entertaining you.'

James White didn't move. He said quietly, ‘We got the man who killed Sasanov.'

She froze, half out of her chair. ‘You've caught him?'

‘About three months ago. He was a Centre-trained professional and normally they're hard cases. They don't break easily. But this chap decided to save his skin. The Australians were going to charge him with murder; he thought it better to co-operate with us and come to England. He gave us his controller in Sydney and from him the trail led back to Moscow. Right back to the man who directed the search for Sasanov and organized his assassination. A man of great patience and determination. Would you like to know who he is?'

There was not a sound around them; the breeze had dropped and the ranks of flowers were still as guardsmen. ‘Who?'

‘Igor Tatischev,' the brigadier said. ‘Now renamed Borisov. The new Director of State Security and head of the KGB. He was concerned with your arrest in Russia; I'm sure you remember the name.'

‘I remember,' she said.

‘The old Director Kaledin promoted him after that. He was in line for the top job when Kaledin retired. The assassination of your husband was his chosen target. The damage Sasanov had done to Soviet plans rankled bitterly with the Politburo. They wanted him punished, and Borisov gave them his head – metaphorically speaking.' He ignored the blazing look she gave him. He went on in the same casual tone.

‘His reward was Kaledin's job and a seat on the Politburo. I put it to you, Davina, if you work for me, you are working against him. Whatever you feel about my responsibility for what happened, and it's not quite fair – the man sitting in the KGB director's chair is the man who killed Sasanov as surely as if he'd set the bomb himself – I thought you might like to revenge your husband's death. And the loss of your child. Think it over. I'll go and find your parents, I want a chat with Fergus before I go.'

‘Wait a minute.' Davina stood up. ‘I'll call them for you.' She paused, one hand on the back of the garden chair, her face as white as the white narcissi which were her mother's pride in the garden.

‘There aren't any holds barred with you, are there? You'd say or do anything to get your way. My husband and my child. You don't see how I could refuse, do you?'

‘Oh, no doubt you can. Perhaps you will. Perhaps your spleen against me is greater than your other feelings. I don't mind that, but I do believe that Tatischev is going to prove a very dangerous opponent. I think there's a real chance that he's set up a key man in America as part of a Soviet operation. It so happens that you're in a unique position to find out, and stop him. As I said, my dear, think it over. If I don't hear from you by tomorrow I'll know you've decided to sit here and feel sorry for yourself. Ah – there's your father! Fergus, come and have a chat for a minute. I've got to go back to London soon. The traffic gets impossible after four o'clock.'

Captain Graham walked to the car with his old friend James White. It had taken him a long time to forgive White for involving Davina in the dangerous enterprise in Russia four years ago.

He had never understood her love for the Russian defector. He hadn't understood how she could go into Russia and risk her life on the man's behalf. When they left England to live in Australia he had sincerely wished them happiness, but he still hadn't understood his daughter and he never would.

He was grateful to James White for trying to help her return to normal. ‘It's good of you,' he said. ‘Betty and I really appreciate what you're trying to do for Davy. She needs to pull herself together, but one can't say that, of course. She's very difficult to talk to, even now. I just hope she takes this job.'

James White nodded. He placed his hand on the captain's shoulder for a moment. ‘I hope so too,' he said. ‘Washington's a very social place. She'd meet a lot of new people, and the job is – well, it's just keeping an eye on the domestic situation. This chap's wife has been ill and can't cope with all the entertaining. It would be just what Davina needs to put all this behind her. And Washington is full of attractive men. Don't let her feel she's being pushed. But encourage her, if she talks to you about it.'

‘Oh, we will, we certainly will. By the way, did we tell you we're going to be grandparents any minute? Charlie's baby is just about due.' Fergus laughed and his face lit up as he spoke of his second daughter. ‘It'll be late, of course; Charlie's never been on time in her life. She's very happy, I must say. John seems to be absolutely the right person for her.'

‘Yes.' The brigadier smiled. ‘It's a good marriage from all I hear. I never thought she'd take a middle-aged bachelor like Kidson. Such a beautiful girl – all the more power to him to have got her!'

‘And held on to her,' the captain said. ‘She settled down with him like a lamb. I can't wait to see the baby. Goodbye James, mustn't keep you any more. Lovely to see you. And thanks again for thinking of Davy.'

‘Not at all.' The brigadier climbed into his car. ‘We always look after our own.' He waved, wound up the window and set off down the drive.

Davina woke while it was still dark. She had slept badly, waking with a pounding heart and the cold sweat of anxiety. She got up, pulled back the curtains and saw the faint rim of crimson on the horizon that presaged the dawn. She dressed and went downstairs, taking care to be quiet. Her mother was a light sleeper, and that evening she had looked tense and tired. Nothing was said about James White's visit. They watched television, had dinner and her father settled down to read while Betty Graham worked on her embroidery. Davina had gone upstairs early, and the house was in darkness by eleven o'clock.

She drank a cup of coffee in the kitchen, and then pulled on an anorak against the morning chill. She knew where she was going, and didn't question the impulse; she had learned enough about herself in the last five years to let instinct have its way at times. Ivan had taught her that; she was always remembering things he had said. Odd remarks would float back to her, and sometimes they made her smile. ‘Stop rationalizing everything. Use your intuition – it's not to be despised.' And intuition sent her out that morning in the predawn darkness, into her car and off on the deserted road to Stonehenge.

The vast plain was empty. When she began to walk towards the circle of great stones the wind tore at her in gusts. The sky was like an artist's palette, rioting with colour. Davina watched as the sun rose in triumph, the rays breaking over the horizon and bathing the stones in golden light.

They had come here together, a couple of the tourists shuffling round the barrier of ropes; they were not lovers then, but soon to be, though neither of them knew it.

She felt as close to him at that moment as if he were still alive and would suddenly put his arm around her. The wind dropped and the sky was washed clear of strident reds and mauves and glowed serenely blue in the new morning. And there Davina asked the question of herself. Should she go back and accept the brigadier's challenge? Would Ivan want to be revenged?

She knew the answer as clearly as if he were beside her and had spoken. Revenge was sterile. The brigadier had made a mistake when he suggested that as a motive. But Ivan had given his life to frustrate the evil which was destroying human dignity and freedom. It had not been a vain sacrifice. He had done the Russians and their system incalculable damage. If she went back to work, it must be with the same objective. To frustrate and defeat the system which had claimed so many lives, besides Sasanov's. To battle with his enemies, for his sake.

She turned away from the ring of stones. He had bought a postcard of them from the little gift shop. That postcard went all the way to Russia to his wife. She had died peacefully in a Moscow clinic, and then Davina and he had married in Australia. They wanted children. In the aftermath of shock and grief she had miscarried. The loss was only a part of that other, greater loss. There was no point in thinking about it.

She drove back to find the household awake, her mother in the kitchen making breakfast, her father running the bath upstairs. Like all old houses Marchwood had vociferous plumbing.

‘Darling,' Betty Graham said, ‘where on earth have you been? Out at this hour!'