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“Your language never ceases to shock me, Benjamin. I suppose they don’t want unwarranted publicity or investigations of their pasts at this critical juncture any more than I do of mine—and that, I suspect, is the main reason for the rushed timing of the whole thing, although they will pass this haste off as a desire for simplicity.No fuss and bother.” Nikolas’s ability to mimic the accent of his blue-bloodied ex-wife always made Ben smile. “Imagine the spotlight which will now be focused upon them—Philipa particularly, as she has supplanted one far more popular and beautiful than she.”
“But if the press dig into her marriage, they won’t find Aleksey Primakov. You were just Nikolas something or other in some long-forgotten ministry.”
Nikolas coughed discretely whilst at the same time weighing up how much he could afford this conversation to be derailed, how much he needed and wanted Ben amenable and compliant later. As a hedge between truth and lies he offered, “Well, even beingSir Nikolasin the early days at the Department necessitated some decisions to be taken which I would not wish to be examined too closely. I think I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat?”
Nothing distracted Ben like pretending to need food. It seemed to be one of Ben’s main missions in life to get him to eat more. Ben predictably let the conversation drop as he rummaged in the cupboards.
Molly hopped in on one foot from the living room with her completed picture that needed to be admired. She climbed onto Nikolas’s lap, and he considered her efforts. He pointed out a few places where she’d gone over the lines and asked for explanations of such unacceptable lapses. She usually had good ones, and he pretended to believe her. Then he got her to rationalise her somewhat bizarre choices of colour, which she found more difficult to do, as these were totally personal and random selections, and in her eyes didn’t need any explanation at all. Fortunately, he and Molly always conducted these interrogations in Russian, so Ben was unaware of them. Nikolas knew Ben would merely exclaim in false joy over the picture, which he would barely look at, and then tell Molly how clever she was. Nikolas was a great believer in challenging people to improve through reflection, and this they could only do if he gave honest feedback. It had worked when he was torturing them, and it seemed to work equally well with Molly. Consequently, she placed greater weight on his opinions than she did on Ben’s, which was, of course, the main aim of the exercise. He praised her additions to the provided outlines—some slightly menacing rooks in the sky eyeing the vulnerable, unsuitably dressed girl, and a Great White shark in the pond just…waiting—and this satisfied her.
Ben returned to the table with some cheese for Nikolas and biscuits for him and Molly. “Hey, that’s really good, Mol-Mol. I like the seagulls. Are they going to catch and eat that fish for their supper?”
She studied him for a moment, her head tilted in concentration. “Yes.”
Nikolas chuckled quietly and offered her a chocolate digestive. She couldn’t lie quite as well as he could, but she had potential, and, clearly, they were united in their aim not to hurt Ben’s feelings.
* * *
Chapter 5
Fourteen Years Ago
Aleksey could hear a siren wailing somewhere across the river, a faint, high-pitched alarm, audible despite the window which separated him from the London sunshine. Someone being stabbed, perhaps. A fire possibly. He shouldn’t be able to hear sounds from the outside, and for the first time it occurred to him that his office didn’t have bulletproof glass. Typical. The British ran their intelligence services like they ran their gentlemen’s clubs: discreet, quiet, orderly, but seemingly utterly indifferent to the principle requirement of keeping those inside the old boys' club safe from those outside. He preferred the awareness of the danger from the proletariat and sense of menace that had come with his previous position. You knew where you were when you sat daily above the cells where those who had not understood the power dynamic at play suffered. It kept you on your toes knowing that a flight of stairs was the only thing between all the privilege of high office and the misery of those who had fallen. But the British had afternoon tea and biscuits brought around on a trolley.
He lifted his cup to his lips and sipped the now almost cold drink.
The river was so green from this angle. Translucent almost. Disarming.
So reserved. So understated. Just a pole. A wilting flag and…green—
“Nikita?”
Aleksey curled his lip slightly at the familiar voice and the familiarity of the greeting, but kept his back to the door, not giving or denying permission to enter his office. Power plays.
The Honourable came in anyway and joined him at the window. Standing side by side, their height difference must have struck the smaller man, for he turned and perched on the sill, facing Aleksey. “I want to see you tonight. It's been absolutely yonks. I...miss you.”
Aleksey kept his eyes on the river, wondering whether he was glad he’d been diverted from his thoughts of Sennybridge or not.
“Nicky, please, I—”
“Do not call me that. I abhor nicknames.” He turned and placed his cup and saucer on his desk. “I am busy. What do you want?” This was such a blatant fiction it was sure to rile an already tense situation. He’d made a bad error allowing any intimacy from this man, if cock sucking in a blandly luxurious hotel could be considered intimate, and was wondering what it would take to get out of the increasingly disagreeable mess.
Gussy stood and after glancing towards the still open door, strode across to shut it. He leant against it, considering Aleksey. “You said you were coming down to Barton Combe this weekend. I waited and waited like a complete ass.”
“I say a lot of things I do not mean. I have a tendency to lie.”
The Honourable pushed off the door and crossed to Aleksey’s desk, leaning on it, arms braced aggressively. “You can’t do this to me. You have to give me something, Nicky. We’ve been together for—”
“My English is not perfect. I apologise. But I understoodtogetherto meanin companionshiporclose association. You have clearly selected the wrong word.”
The younger man clenched his jaw. Then he swallowed deeply and the clench became a distinct wobble.
Aleksey sighed, but inwardly. He was bored of this now. Bored of this man child. He had better things to be doing. He had a green river to watch.
Gussy sank into one of the visitors' leather chairs across from Aleksey and put his head into his hands, scrubbing his face as if he’d splashed it with water. “You bugger. Look at me! You did this to me. You seduced me. Overwhelmed me. Iloveyou.”
Aleksey snorted. He couldn’t help it. He bit his lip, but, regardless, the small sound of derision had been heard, and Gussy was suddenly up close and personal. Aleksey slid his chair back a little. “You are being embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? Embarrassing? Because—what? Because I want you to act like a bloody human being? Because I want you to do something—anything—that isn’t this robotic nothingness inside a Whitehall suit? Well, all right. I don’t care, darling. I do love you, and I think we could have something marvellous together if you’d only let your guard down and admit—”
