The Tamarind Seed (30 page)

It was the worst journey she had ever experienced, even by comparison with the short trip in a police car to the mortuary to identify her husband's shattered body after the motor accident. Every face was suspect; Judith looked at the business men, who were few and scattered among the obvious groups taking a holiday, wondering which of them were travelling on behalf of the K.G.B. She had leaned close to Sverdlov, whispering.

‘Don't worry,' he said. ‘If there is someone on the plane, they won't do anything. Be calm; read
Look
magazine and hold hands with me.' He had been in his usual ironic mood when they met; he teased her during the journey to Kennedy International in the car. It was the first time he had used an Embassy car with a driver. In the plane his attitude changed. They settled into their seats, and for a moment he laid his hand on her arm. There was no mockery, no sly advance because he knew she couldn't rebuff him. He was gentle, with the look in his pale eyes which Judith dreaded more than the mischievous sensuality which had pursued and bedevilled her during that first trip to Barbados.

Now, standing together in the arrivals hall, passing through the Customs, giving their passports to the policeman in his white tropicals, Judith felt a sense of finality, as if the island itself were the end of the journey for them both. It was surely impossible to feel as if she had come home, to a place she had visited for two weeks, nearly as many months ago. But the soft air, the elusive tropical smell, the insistent night breeze—the broad regional accent originating in the West Country and adopted by the slave ancestors of the Barbadians as they learned English—it was all familiar. Also quite illogical; she had despised anything pertaining to nerves, and after three years in the States, the term neurotic was a description applied so indiscriminately that it had ceased to mean anything. Now her own reactions were neurotic; there was no reason in them; emotion had taken control, substituting for common sense. They were in transit, at least Sverdlov was; for a night and a day at the most. Far from having reached a safe haven, they were only on the first stage of the journey. They drove to the hotel in silence. He had leaned his head back and his eyes were shut. She thought suddenly how tired he looked; the strain of the past two weeks had aged him. Naturally lean and wiry, he was now too thin. On an impulse Judith wriggled her hand through his arm; immediately he opened his eyes and smiled at her.

‘Don't worry,' he repeated. ‘Now we are here, I feel everything will be all right.'

I don't. She almost spoke the thought out loud. I may be strung up, and indulging in a lot of neurotic fears, but I can't help it; I don't think everything is going to be all right and I can't explain why.…

They registered at the reception desk; it looked different in the electric light; even in the few weeks since they had last been there, the decorations seemed faded, the manager looked older than she remembered; the poster advertising a cruise aboard the replica of the pirate ship
Jolly Roger
still hung on the notice board, secured by only three drawing pins.

While Sverdlov signed, she turned away to look at it. Packed lunches, rum punches in the cocktail bar—the authentic atmosphere of a Caribbean privateer. Judith read it with a sense of horror. It conjured up a mental picture of hearty business men, their stomachs suspended above their hideous Bermuda shorts, getting drunk amid the foney canon balls and the mass produced pirate cutlasses in the ‘authentic' bar. There would be screaming, ill-disciplined children and bored wives. Sverdlov was beside her.

‘Don't tell me you want to take a trip?'

‘No thanks.' She turned to the desk, shook hands with the manager and signed the register. ‘No thanks, I don't think that's my idea of fun.'

She felt the man's eyes looking at her, making his own assessment of what she and her Russian friend considered amusing. Christ, Judith said inside, if only you knew what we had come for, you nasty-minded, leering …

The bungalow was identical to the one she had stayed in before. The same large open plan living room with a dining table and chairs, a kitchenette leading off, a narrow passage to the entrance door, the suspension staircase leading to the bedroom and bathroom on a floor above. The glass sliding doors were closed; they could hear the sea rushing up the sandy beach, and the muted chorus of the cicadas in the trees. Sverdlov tipped the man who had brought their luggage, and then came up to Judith.

‘Would you like to swim? It would be good for us both.'

‘No,' Judith said quickly. ‘No. Loder said you weren't to leave the bungalow! You've got to stay inside.'

‘For two days? I'm not to go out for two days?…

‘Feodor, for God's sake don't argue. That's what he said. Keep indoors till someone comes to put you on the plane!'

Sverdlov started up the stairs, leading to the bedroom.

‘I am tired and I'm hot,' he said. ‘I am going to swim in the pool where I first saw you.' Judith ran after him.

‘Stop being such an obstinate fool! Why can't you do what Loder says?'

She heard him moving about in the room above, changing out of his clothes. She was shaking with fright. The bungalow was safe; Loder wouldn't have given the instruction without reason. Why couldn't Sverdlov be sensible and stay out of sight; why did he have to invite risk? She ran up the stairs after him. He met her at the top; he was in his swimming trunks with a towel round his shoulder.

‘If you're worried about me,' he said, ‘come too.'

By the time she got to the pool, he was already swimming, lazily moving through the water on his back. ‘It is very warm,' he called out. ‘You'll enjoy it.'

Judith gave him a look of fury and dived in.

He came up to her, and under the water he closed his arm round her body. They were near to the side; he held on to the rail with one hand, keeping them suspended.

‘I know what I am doing,' he said. ‘I am being watched by my own people for certain; someone has followed us here. My only hope of getting on to Mr. Loder's plane alive is to act naturally. To behave as if I am having a weekend with you. Stop trying to kick at me.'

‘I don't care what you say,' Judith Whispered; he was holding her against his naked chest, ‘Loder said you were to stay inside …'

Sverdlov suddenly let go of the pool's edge and they went under the water. He brought her up immediately, and gripping her body with both arms he kissed her.

‘I know better than Loder,' he said. ‘Much, much better. I've never been so close to you as this. Swim back and I'll tell you how I used to come down here and hide and watch you swimming all alone in the middle of the night …'

He insisted on having a drink before he would go back to the bungalow. There were two single beds in the room ond the floor above. His case was open on one of them. Sverdlov came up the stairs behind her, and at the bedroom door she turned. In the pool, he had locked his legs around her's, gripped her in both arms, and plunged her under the water. If he got through that door before she had time to recover, she hadn't a hope of getting him out again. ‘No,' she said. ‘Please, Feodor. I didn't come with you for this.'

She didn't shut the door on him; she waited for him to go of his own choice. For a moment they stood and looked at each other; they were both wet, the beads of water slowly running down his chest, gathering at his feet in a trickle; she felt cold, as if the bathing suit had been stripped off and she stood naked.

‘If I asked, would you really say no to me?'

‘Don't ask,' Judith pleaded. ‘Please don't ask. I'm cold and wet and I'm scared to death …'

He put his hand round the back of her neck; she remembered that he had done that before when they were on the island. His mouth was quite warm. The kiss was a communication; not now, because I am tender with you and I know how to wait. But the time will come; we both know that.

‘Go and have a hot shower,' Sverdlov said. ‘If it makes you happier, I will order some food sent up. We will stay inside tonight, as Mr. Loder said.'

Down by the bar two men sat drinking beer and smoking, apparently absorbed by the peace of the tropical night. They had moved into the hotel the previous day; they hadn't booked, they had just arrived and after a private interview with the manager, they were given the bungalow next to the one booked by Sverdlov. The manager hadn't even bothered to explain that it was already taken by a middle-aged Canadian couple who came to the hotel at the off season period every year and regarded that particular bungalow as their own. He just studied the credentials they showed him, put a brief call through to the Commissioner of Police at their suggestion, said yes, certainly, yes of course, any help they required, and then hung up. When Judith saw him staring at her and Sverdlov when they registered, she completely misinterpreted his look. He also engaged two extra staff, both Barbadians, who were assigned to clean the two bungalows and take this duty away from the maid. This caused much comment among the hotel waiters, because they were only half full and there wasn't enough work to justify a full complement. They were further surprised when one of the new recruits began weeding the flower beds outside the bungalows; all the gardeners on the island were women; by the end of the day the manager was reduced to giving the disposed maid, the head waiter and the garden girl, who suspected she was about to be sacked, an extra week's wages and the instruction to keep their mouths shut or lose their jobs. As he understood the arrangement was only for the weekend, the manager felt he could just rely on them to do as they were told. The night that Judith and Sverdlov arrived he lay in bed beside his mistress, who was sulky because he hadn't wanted to make love, and wondered secretly whether he might sell his story to one of the U.S. newspapers after it was all over. Whatever ‘it' was—he didn't know why two British security men were watching the Russian, or why he had a couple of Barbadian Special Branch men working under his windows on one pretext or another. Until the weekend was over and everything had gone through without trouble, he didn't want to know. He turned over to sleep.

By early morning, with the sun full up, and the seasonal rain clouds gathering black on the Western coast, a small yacht slipped round the promontory which sheltered the insland's most exclusive hotel and gave its sandy beach protection from the ocean swell. It proceeded under sail, although there was a small but powerful motor. The wind carried it at speed, cutting through the choppy blue water. It was about a quarter of a mile from the St. James hotel when the sails were slackened and hauled down and the yacht dropped anchor. Two men dived over the side, and began swimming, calling to each other and laughing. A third figure began to fish. From a position on the masthead, a fourth, stockily built, with greying close-cropped hair, studied the bungalows through a pair of field glasses. At half-hour intervals he changed places with the fisherman who took over his watch. The swimmers had come back aboard and were sunbathing on the deck.

To her surprise Judith had slept very deeply. At Sverdlov's insistence, she had gone upstairs to bed ahead of him, quite soon after they had eaten. He had ordered a bottle of whisky, which upset her, and suggested that she go ahead and get to sleep. There was no suggestion on either side that when he came upstairs he would disturb her. When she woke the bed was empty and had not been slept in. Panic overwhelmed her. She sprang up and ran to the stairs.

‘Feodor! Feodor?'

‘Good morning.' She was halfway down when she saw him. The couch in the living room had extended into a bed. She had forgotten it had a double function. Sverdlov had slept covered by his coat.

‘I thought you had gone out,' Judith said. She came down the stairs; the shock had given her a headache. Sverdlov got up and came towards her. At the same time she realised two things; her nightdress was flimsy, her breasts were clearly visible underneath it, and the whisky bottle by the telephone was three-quarters empty.

‘I am not drunk now,' Sverdlov said. ‘But go and put something on, so I can't see you like that.' She ran back upstairs; as she dressed she heard him moving round the kitchenette. When she came down again she was dressed in trousers and a shirt; he came out into the living room with a tray of coffee and a bowl of fruit.

‘You slept well,' he said. ‘I went up once and looked at you. You needed it; you were very tired.'

‘And you got drunk,' Judith said. ‘Why did you do it—what would have happened if anything went wrong and you were in a stupor?'

‘I never get in a stupor.' He drank coffee. His hair was on end and the shadows under his eyes were like pits.

‘It's very stuffy in here,' she said. ‘Let's open the sliding door and get some air.'

He came up behind her as she struggled with the catch. ‘You look very pretty asleep,' he said. ‘Kiss me good morning and don't be angry about the whisky. It kept me away from you.'

Aboard the little yacht, the grey-haired man was adjusting his binoculars; he twisted the knob quickly to bring the two figures by the glass doors into focus. The man's figure became clearer as he separated from the smaller one; behind the shield of glass it was impossible to see his face in detail. The watcher waited, very still. Then he sucked suddenly at his upper lip. The glass door was opening, slowly sliding back. He made a slight adjustment and for perhaps two seconds, the man in the lens became magnified and perfectly in focus. He lowered the glasses and spoke quietly to the others on the deck.

‘It's him. Second bungalow from the end.' The man who had been fishing laid aside his rod. He took the glasses and looked through them for a minute. ‘The doors are open,' he said. All four were in a group now, each stared through the glasses in turn. ‘Very careless,' the grey-haired man said. ‘Very, very careless. Launch the dinghy; we must hurry.'