The Tamarind Seed (13 page)

He pressed his buzzer. Anna Skriabine appeared in the doorway.

‘Bring some tea for the General,' he said. ‘And get the Scotch whisky and a glass out of that cupboard over there.'

Golitsyn watched in silence while his tea was brought, teaming in a glass with a silver holder. He sipped it, while the girl poured out a measure of whisky for Sverdlov. He reached up and took the bottle from her. He poured on until the neat alcohol was within two inches of the top. He swallowed some as if it was water. The girl went out, she moved with grace and without making noise. Sverdlov thought it was more like a glide, as if she operated on ball bearings. After three days he was beginning to hate her.

‘I wonder who recruited “Blue”,' he said suddenly.

‘I've heard it said that it was you, Comrade Sverdlov,' Golitsyn answered. He had always believed this. It was also believed among Sverdlov's subordinates that his extraordinary promotion was due to his acquisition of a brilliant Western traitor.

‘I don't even know “Blue's” identity, Sverdlov said. ‘Nobody knows that, except Panyushkin. That's the measure of his importance. Nobody else who worked for us has been so well protected.'

‘It's a wise precaution,' Golitsyn said. He was watching the whisky level fall in Sverdlov's glass. That was another degenerate sign; he wouldn't have criticised him for drinking vodka. ‘It makes certain that nobody on our side can betray him. We had defectors who knew about Fuchs and Nunn May; that was a terrible mistake.'

‘“Blue” is our best source of information on so many subjects,' Sverdlov said. ‘And everything he passes on is of the highest priority. He knows what is important. I've seen a dozen of these “Blue” files in six months, and all have been extremely well compiled. Not an unnecessary word and the quality of his opinions is so high.'

‘And the nationality?' Golitsyn probed. He would have liked to know whether Sverdlov was telling the truth; whether he in fact did not know who the mysterious ‘Blue' really was.

‘I don't know. Nobody knows. Now, to change the subject but not the object, I have had some good luck on my trip to Barbados. I have made a useful contact.'

Golitsyn waited. He had an instinct of imminent disappointment.

‘I met a woman on the island,' Sverdlov said. ‘She has a very confidential job, and several contacts with the British Embassy in Washington. We became friends.' He smiled his crooked smile, and finished the whisky.

‘I shall resume the friendship here, I believe I will be able to recruit her.'

‘That will be very useful,' Golitsyn said glumly. Mrs. Farrow would have to be expunged from his report on Sverdlov. She would be a credit, instead of a minus. At the end of an hour Sverdlov dismissed him. He put a call through to Judith's office in the UNO building. He could sense that Anna Skrialbine was listening in the outer room. He caught the four o'clock plane to New York.

When Judith came out it was six-thirty-five; she turned left and walked the half block down to the corner where Sverdlov had said he would wait. There was a dark green Mercedes parked at the sidewalk. As she came near the window slid down and he put his head out.

‘Hello,' he said. The door opened and she got inside. He held out his hand and she gave hers to be shaken. He held it, and then kissed it, palm upwards, smiling triumphantly at her afterwards.

She ignored him, and drew her hand away. The game was beginning between them as if there had not been more than an hour's interruption.

‘Have you been waiting long?'

‘Twenty minutes. I enjoyed myself showing my Soviet passport to the traffic policemen. They wanted to arrest me for parking so badly, and they couldn't. You look very pretty this evening. Would you like a drink?'

‘Yes, I would,' Judith said. ‘I've been working very hard all day. Take your arm away, Mr. Sverdlov, necking on the public streets isn't allowed.'

‘Anything is allowed in this degenerate country.' He started the car and the Mercedes dipped into the traffic stream.

‘You are not trying to tell me that when they permit copulation on the stage, they object to an honest Soviet citizen kissing a pretty girl in a car?'

‘No,' Judith said. ‘But it stopped you trying, didn't it?'

‘I will remember that,' Sverdlov promised. ‘I will pay you back.'

They went to a downtown bar on 67th Street; it was a dim, intimate place with tiny tables and phoney Hawaiian decor, full of plastic palms and piped hula music. He insisted on ordering an alcoholic atrocity in a coconut shell for her, and laughing unkindly at her attempts to get through the fruit and foliage to drink it. She looked very pretty, very elegant. It was a different person to the casual, bare-legged girl in Barbados. She was chic and uncluttered by jewellery or the status symbol fur coat. She looked a little older; he didn't mind that at all.

‘What are you looking at?' Judith asked him. He too was different; the same thoughts were passing through her mind. She had never seen him in a suit before. It was dark, and his shirt was plain white with an unpatterned tie. In spite of his intimacy he seemed somehow on edge.

‘At you,' he said. ‘You look different to when we were on the island. Very competent, very efficient. Have another coconut.'

‘No thanks, one was enough. I take it you are making a criticism, is that it?'

‘No, no! If I said I prefer you in a bikini, is that criticism? You look very pretty. I told you that in the car. Don't you like me in my working suit?'

‘I'm not sure,' Judith said. ‘Give me a little time to get used to it. I'm surprised by one thing. You're not wearing a red tie.'

He laughed. ‘I'm in disguise. I'm a Russian spy, didn't you realise that?'

‘Well, if I don't by now, I never will,' she said. ‘You were quite right about my visitors. I was met at the airport—would you believe that?'

‘I'm sorry.' Sverdlov reached over and held her hand. She didn't try to move away. ‘Tell me what happened. But first, another drink. Whisky for me, and the same for you. No more coconuts. I only did it to tease you,'

‘I know.' Judith looked at him. ‘That's why I was determined to drink it!'

‘At the airport,' Sverdlov murmured, almost to himself. ‘That was very quick of them. What happened?'

‘I had an interview; there were two men, they drove me back to my flat and came in with me. I was furious.' The memory of Loder made her angry again. He went on holding her hand, watching her and saying nothing. ‘They told me we'd been seen together. Why do you smile, Feodor? It wasn't funny, I can tell you!'

‘I'm sure,' he said quietly. ‘I didn't mean to smile. I'm sure we were “seen” together by half a dozen British and American observers. Please, go on.'

‘The man who did the interviewing—it was more like interrogating—he said that you would get in touch with me again and I was to let him know immediately you did.'

‘I see,' he said. ‘And have you done that? Have you let him know we are together?'

‘No.' Judith opened her bag, searching for a cigarette; it gave her an excuse to get away from him, and to look down, avoiding the light eyes with their peculiar, penetrating glance. ‘No, I didn't do anything.'

‘Did he say anything else,' Sverdlov asked. He saw her hesitate.

‘Not really; just the usual about not mixing with Russians, my job being confidential, you can imagine the sort of thing.'

‘Only too well.' He sounded relaxed, almost amused.

‘And now I will fill in all that you have decided not to tell me,' he went on. ‘He said I was a dangerous Soviet agent, and that I was only interested in you because I hoped to recruit you as a spy. You know it's charming to see a woman blush like that. Never try and lie to me.' He shook his head. ‘I can see straight through you. Like glass. Is that what you think? Do you believe him?'

‘I wouldn't be here if I did,' Judith defended herself. Then she faced him, suddenly she wanted to be reassured, to have something more than her own instinct to rebut Loder and what he had insinuated.

‘It isn't true, is it?'

‘No!' Sverdlov met her look. ‘Ah, what a bad interrogator you would be—you stare into my face to see if I am lying. People can lie with their eyes. But I am telling you the truth. I'm not going to seduce you and then persuade you, or blackmail you into telling me what Mr. Nielson says to U Thant, even though I have told my own people that I am going to do this.'

She turned to him in horror. ‘You told your own people …'

‘Yes. I said I hoped to recruit you to work for us. That way I can meet you whenever I want, without suspicion.'

‘I don't know what to do,' she said. The whole thing is getting completely out of proportion.'

‘The first thing you must do,' he said, ‘is to inform your Intelligence man that we have been together. Otherwise, you could be in great trouble. I am serious. Give me your hand to hold. Let me teach you the first lesson in these little games. Always tell the truth as long as possible. Then when the times change and you have to lie, there's a chance you will be believed.'

‘You said yourself I'm a bad liar,' she reminded him.

‘Never mind, I will teach you. I am an expert!'

‘You say the most extraordinary things about yourself. Why should I believe a word you say, after you've admitted—no, sorry,
boasted,
that you can lie like a trooper?'

‘Like a what—what does that mean? Trooper?'

‘It's just an expression, it doesn't mean anything really. Besides, I'm not going to lie to anyone. If I see you, that's my business. I'm not doing anything disloyal and I never would. All right, I'll say we've met, and that I was right and they were wrong.'

‘They won't believe you,' Sverdlov said. ‘You'll be followed, watched. Do as I tell you. Play their game for them and we can have our evenings together. Maybe a weekend?' The eyes glanced sideways at her, slyly.

‘No weekends,' Judith said.

He pulled a face. ‘Another whisky for me, and one for you. Then we will go to a nice dark place for some dinner. You like to dance with me?'

‘No dancing,' Judith said. She leaned back in her seat and smiled at him; she felt relaxed and warm. ‘You behave too badly; it's not safe.'

‘I don't behave badly,' he protested. ‘You won't let me! You look happier now.'

‘I need food,' she said. ‘What was in that filthy coconut thing? It's gone to my head.' He put his head back and laughed out loud. A couple sitting near turned round to stare at them. It suddenly occurred to Judith that very few people found life amusing enough to laugh like that in a public place.

‘What's the matter—what's so funny?'

‘Vodka.' He banged his knee in delight. ‘It was vodka! Russia's secret weapon!'

When they left the bar it was dark and a cold wind blew. He put his arm round her in the car. ‘I am glad to see you.' She couldn't see his face, but she sensed a change of mood. He was no longer joking.

‘I'm glad to see you too,' she said. To her surprise he didn't try to kiss or hug her, making fun of her resistance. He started the engine and drove uptown towards 57th.

The restaurant was a smart, dimly lit sequel to the bar; Sverdlov had a table booked at the back of the room. There was a blaring discotheque which made conversation impossible except where they were sitting. Judith brushed her hair in the powder room, and examined her lipstick. When she came back he took her arm and they went to their table. He was a very proprietary man; he was always establishing physical contact as if it gave him some kind of ownership. Judith had noticed it before. It seemed natural to him. It was his way; if she tried to disengage and be independent he would have made her feel ridiculous. Richard Paterson had never taken her arm in a restaurant, or run her across a windy street, hugging her round the shoulders. He had never liked intimacy outside of sex. They had never met in a place like 21, or La Popotte, where Sverdlov had chosen, because Richard was afraid they would be seen. Mostly they hid out in chichi little restaurants downtown, or risked a nightclub on a Monday night, always a dead day in the social calendar. If she looked back on the six months she had lived with him, she had spent most of their time together in her flat, letting him make love to her. She lit a cigarette and watched the dancers; Sverdlov was looking at the wine list.

If it had been Richard and not him beside her, she wouldn't have been sitting so, relaxed and able to leave the silence. He had always demanded full attention, subtly suggesting that it would never do if he were allowed to get bored.

She would have been watching him, going over the wine list, anxious and subservient, because she was only his mistress and probably more in love with him than he with her. There was no danger of that situation with the Russian. He had no hold over her, because she had been wise enough to see the risk involved.

She would never give way to him, and begin the inevitable downward swing in their relationship. She had no idea, at that moment, where the relationship would lead, or how it could be defined. It was more than friendship. He wasn't a man with whom a woman could be friends.

‘Stop thinking about that dull Englishman.'

She glanced up at him. He was watching her, unsmiling.

‘How did you know?'

‘When I first saw you,' Sverdlov said, ‘you had a look on your face. It was very unhappy. You have the same look now. That's how I know. Come and dance with me.'

He was not a good dancer; he rejected the selfish concept of modern exhibitionism; he neither gyrated, nor bucked in imitation of the sex act. He caught hold of Judith, squeezed her tight against him, and hardly moved at all.

At one moment, after they had been on the tiny floor for about ten minutes, she heard him speak to someone. A couple were just behind them. She couldn't understand what Svefdlov said; it was a murmur, and not in English.