Our Game

Her hands let go the fob-chain, joined, and prayed beneath her chin again. There was premonition in her stillness. On the other side of the room, Barney Waldon gazed into the middle air. Then I realized they had heard something that they were attuned to and I was not—some electronic beep or buzz or tinkle from another room—and it reminded me of Emma in the orchard, hearing Larry's car before I did, on the day he made his first appearance.

Without explanation, Marjorie Pew got up and stepped as commanded towards one of the inner doors. Like a ghost she passed through it, leaving it as securely closed as before.

"Barney, what the bloody hell's going on?" I whispered as soon as we were alone. We were both straining our ears, but the acoustics were immaculate, and I for one heard nothing.

”Lot of clever women in the shop these days, Tim," he replied still listening. I couldn't tell whether this was a boast or a lament. "Suits them, mind, the nit-picking. Right up their alley."

"But what does she want from me?" I pressed. "I mean, Christ, Barney, I'm in retirement. I'm a has-been. Why's she giving me the hairy eyeball?"

Marjorie Pew returned, sparing him a reply. Her face was stony and even paler than before. She sat down and put her fingertips together. I saw that they were trembling. You've been getting the slow handclap, I thought. Whoever's listening has told you to get hostile or get out. I felt a quickening of my pulses. I wished I could stand up and walk around. I've been too bloody glib, I thought, and now I'm going to pay for it.

FOUR

"TIM."

"Marjorie."

"Am I right in suggesting that Larry was at odds with us by the time he left?" A harder, clotted voice. A faster glance.

"He was always at odds with us, Marjorie."

"But by the end quite specifically, I gather."

"He thought we weren't worthy of the luck that history had dealt us."

"Luck how?"

"As the winners in the Cold War. He regretted the unreality of it all."

"Of what all?" Acidly.

"Of the Cold War. Of two discredited ideologies fighting for a peace neither wanted, with weapons that didn't work. That's another Larry quote."

"Did you agree with him?"

"To a point."

"Do you think he felt we owed him something? We the Office. Something he was entitled to help himself to, for example?"

"He wanted his life back. That was rather more than we could do for him."

"Do you think he felt the Russians owed him something?”

“Quite the reverse. He owed them. He does a pretty good line in guilt too."

She gave an impatient toss of her head, as if guilt were not her responsibility. "And you are saying that throughout the last four years of his operational life for us, Larry had no financial dealings with Konstantin Abramovich Checheyev? Or none that you reported?"

"I am saying that if he had them I wasn't aware of them and therefore I didn't report any."

"What about you?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you have any financial dealings with Checheyev you did not report?"

"No, Marjorie, I have not had any financial dealings with Checheyev or any other member of Russian intelligence past or present."

"Not with Volodya Zorin."

"Not with Zorin."

"And not with Pettifer either."

"Apart from keeping him out of bankruptcy, no.”

“But you do have private means, of course."

"I have been fortunate, Marjorie. My parents died when I was young, so I had money instead of love."

"Will you please give me some idea of your personal expenditure over the last twelve months?"

* * *

Did I say Merriman had joined us? Perhaps not, for I am not sure at what point he did so, though his entry must have followed quite soon upon Marjorie's return. He was a big man, a floater, very light on his feet, the way large men often are, and I suppose the door he came in by must have been ajar, left that way by Marjorie. Yet it puzzled me that I had not noticed this, for like many people in my trade, I have a thing about unclosed doors. I could only suppose that in the internal mayhem brought on by Marjorie Pew's assault, I had failed to observe the displacement of air and light as Merriman soundlessly lowered his ample rump onto the convenient arm of Bamey's sofa. I had turned in indignation to Barney, protesting the enormity of her question. Instead I found myself looking at Merriman. He was wearing a stiff white collar, a silver tie, and a red carnation. Merriman was always dressed for someone's wedding.

"Tim. How nice."

"Hullo, Jake. You're just in time. I'm being asked to say how much money I've spent this year."