You have been to Russia? Riedle asked. Kell could feel him lifting from the bottom of the river, circling upwards through the dark waters, rising slowly to the bait.
Many times, he replied. The caviar is not as good as it once was and its certainly more expensive nowadays but I still go there for business.
You were a diplomat there?
No. Briefly in Armenia in the mid-nineties when I filled in for somebody on sick leave, but never Moscow. Kell had to be careful not to push too hard. Minasian was an Armenian surname. Though it was almost certainly the case that Dmitri had presented himself to Riedle as a Russian citizen, he might occasionally have spoken nostalgically of his forebears in the Caucasus. The best cover is the simplest cover, one which draws on truthful elements in the spys background. Have you been yourself? he asked, sipping his Chablis without an apparent care in the world. Moscow? St Petersburg?
I do not trust Russians, Riedle replied, with an almost petulant finality. I have personal reasons. I despise their politics, their leadership.
Its certainly a worry
I sometimes think that the Russian character is the end of kindness, you know? The end of everything that is nice and good in this world.
Kell was not a fisherman, but knew the anglers rapturous delight in feeling that first bite on the lure. The sudden tug, the ripple on the surface of the water, the line running out as the fish ran free.
Im not sure I understand you, he said, though he understood all too well.
As I say, personal reasons. Riedle finished his soup and set the spoon down gently. I have to be careful what I say. I dont want to come across as racist or as a bigot
You are among friends, Bernie. You can say what you like. Im not here to judge you.
That was all it took. Riedle pulled the sleeve of his jacket, squeezed a ruby cufflink and was away.
When I think of the Russian temperament, I think of sin, he said, looking at Kell as though he was both morally ashamed and politically disappointed by what he was about to say. I think of money and the greed for riches. A state apparatus that robs its own people, politicians filling their pockets at the expense of the men and women they are elected to represent. I think of violence. Journalists silenced, opposition politicians murdered for the exercise of free speech. Corruption and death always going hand in hand. He took a sip of water, like a pianist composing himself before embarking on the final movement of a concerto. When I think of Russia I think of deceit. Husbands deceiving wives. Young women seducing older men because they crave nothing but money and status. Deceit in business, of course. Do you follow me? The Slavic temperament is human nature at its most base. There is no kindness in Russia. Everything is so raw and brutal. They are like animals.
It was an astonishing diatribe, and one to which Kell responded with the obvious question.
You said you had personal reasons for feeling this way?
A waiter had inched along the balcony and begun to clear away their plates of food. Kell hoped that the interruption would not cause Riedle to soften his prejudice or, worse, change the subject.
I dont wish to bore you with those, he said, ordering a bottle of Chianti. I cant only talk about myself this evening, Peter.
No. Do. Kell sensed that talking about himself was exactly what Bernard Riedle wanted to do. Id be interested to hear your reasons. I sometimes find myself thinking the same way about Russia, particularly when it comes to murdered dissidents.
Riedle took his eyes away from Kell and past him towards the large street window. He appeared to be lost in thought. It was like watching a man in a dealership trying to decide whether or not to buy an expensive car.
I had a relationship with a Russian, he said finally, the bustle and noise of the restaurant rendering his voice almost inaudible. A man, he added. Riedle examined Kells reaction with sudden intensity. Does this make you uncomfortable?
Kell wondered if there had been something in his facial response to indicate disapproval, because he knew that Riedle was searching for any evidence of homophobia.
Not at all, he replied. Does the man live in Hamburg?
Riedle shook his head.
You were together a long time?
Three years.
When did you break up?
Riedle swallowed a long, glass-emptying mouthful of Chablis.
Last month, he replied, and looked over the railing that ran along the length of the walkway, down towards the entrance of the restaurant. Kell could see a chef standing over a bed of crushed ice, shucking oysters. I was in Egypt, he said, again bringing his eyes back to the table. A holiday. Things had not been good for a long time. He decided finally to end things.
Im very sorry to hear that. Kell had a memory of Claire blithely informing him that she was in a new relationship, less than a month after their separation. Nothing worse than a break-up, he said. How are you coping?
Riedle seemed both surprised and comforted by the question. Not well, he said. To be honest, Peter, I am suffering.
Kell leaned towards him, doing his job. Ive been there, he said. You dont sleep. You cant eat. Youre angry, you feel lost. It doesnt get any easier with age. If anything, these things become worse.
Yes, Riedle replied. You felt this with your wife when your marriage ended?
Kell hesitated for a moment, because he hated drawing Claire into operational conversation. It was tawdry and disloyal to use her for the purposes of deception; there had to be something in his life that remained sacred. Everything else, for years and years, had been infected by spying.
My marriage was different, he said. My wife and I met when we were very young. We grew apart. We became different people as the years went by. Kell might have added that there had been times when he had blamed Claire for the entire squeezed and cut-down shape of his life; that he had been liberated by their separation. Or he might have said that there were still moments, when they met for lunch or saw one another at a social occasion, when he felt an almost gravitational pull towards her, a longing to be reintegrated into their former life. Instead, he said something comparatively bland, but undeniably true: I think she found the demands of my job very difficult. There was also an added, very painful complication in that we were never able to have children.
The waiter brought their main courses and the bottle of Chianti. It was then that Riedle mentioned Minasian for the first time.
Im embarrassed to admit that Dmitri my lover, my boyfriend was married.
Kell allowed himself to process the revelation, seemingly for the first time, before responding.
These things happen, he said. Adultery is commonplace. Men find themselves conflicted. Particularly in Russia, I imagine, where the attitude to a persons sexuality is so toxic. Embarrassment is pointless, Bernie. Shame is what we feel when we are worried about what other people are thinking about us.
This is a very liberal view. Riedle smiled with avuncular disapproval, touching one of the polka dots on his expensive cream tie. The light caught in his designer spectacles and flashed off a lens. Dmitri was tormented by his deceit. Or, at least, he pretended to be.
It was a first meaningful glimpse into the Minasian personality. Kell said: What do you mean, pretended? as he scribbled notes in his mind.
Riedle lifted his knife and fork and carved into the fatty edge of a lamb cutlet. Perhaps I am being unfair, he said. His wife has been ill for many years. Some kind of muscular difficulty which leaves her in great pain.
Kell suspected that this was a lie. There was nothing in the files about Svetlana Minasian suffering from a debilitating illness, muscular or otherwise.
Thats awful, Kell said, a judgment that caused Riedle to wince. He wanted no expressions of sympathy for the woman; she had simply been an obstacle blocking his access to Dmitri.
It is and it is not, he replied. She prevents him from living the life he wants to live. From being the man he wants to be. She is also highly critical of him, closed off in her thinking. Spoiled and judgmental.
Kell wondered how much of this was true. He suspected that Minasian had constructed flaws in Svetlanas character that would both console Riedle and justify his emotional distance from the marriage.
And children? Do they have any?
Riedle shook his head. No. There was a strange kind of satisfaction in his reply; it suggested the complete absence of a sexual relationship between Minasian and his wife. I think Dmitri was very sophisticated, very clever when it came to presenting himself to me in a certain way, Riedle said, with a perceptiveness that took Kell by surprise. He knew what I wanted and he knew how to give it. He also knew how to take it away.
Take what away? You mean his love for you?
Like a breeze coming through an open window, Kell remembered the enveloping intimacy he had known with Rachel, the deepest and most fulfilling love he had ever felt for a woman; a love ripped away in a few short days by the realization that she had been lying to him. He thought of Amelias cunning and of his own role in deceiving Riedle. Minasian was the common denominator. Dmitri controlled them all.
I mean that there is something sadistic about him. Something deeply manipulative and cruel. That is the conclusion I have come to, not just because of the way he has disregarded me since our relationship ended, but also because I can now look back on his behaviour when we were together in a different way.
In what way?
He was often selfish and bullying. He knew that I was not as strong as he was. He knew that I was profoundly in love with him. But rather than take responsibility for this, to be careful with my feelings, he used it as a tool, a weapon against me. For some time, Riedle chewed his food, saying nothing. Kell also remained silent, waiting. A person should have a duty of care for someone they profess to love, no? Riedles expression suggested that his question could brook no argument. I think Dmitri was obsessed by ideas of power. This is the only way I can understand things, looking back. Have you read Nineteen Eighty-Four?
Not for a long time.
It is one of Dmitris favourite novels. Kell silently absorbed the irony of this revelation, but said nothing. There is an exchange, towards the end of the book, when Winston Smith is being tortured. A discussion about power. Winston is asked how a man exerts power over another man. Do you remember his answer?
By making him suffer? Kell suggested.
Precisely!
Riedle beamed at Kell with astonished admiration, as if he had at last met a person who could not only understand his plight, but explain Dmitris behaviour into the bargain. Kell smiled. He was trying to link together what Riedle was saying. Much of it was startling, yet a jilted lover, an angry and heartbroken boyfriend, will think and say anything that might make sense of tangled emotions. Kell needed to be able to separate Riedles prejudices from the hard, observable facts about Minasians behaviour. Kell reminded himself that he had only two objectives: to build a detailed psychological profile of Minasian, and to use Riedle to lure him out of the shadows. Everything else was tangential.
It sounds to me as though its a good thing that youre no longer with this man. If what youre saying is true, he didnt make you very happy. It sounds like a form of torture.
It is true. Believe me. But isnt it also the case that the things in life which give us the most pleasure also cause us the most pain?
Ill drink to that.
Kell lifted his glass but had misjudged the moment. Riedle was uncomfortable and quickly returned to his recollections.
Dmitri was everything to me. I thought of us as a perfect match, despite the gap in age between us.
How old was he? Kell asked.
Thirty-four when we met. He is almost thirty-eight now. I have just become fifty-nine. Riedle appeared briefly to slip into a private memory. Kell knew that Minasian had lied to Riedle about his age; according to his file at SIS, he was almost forty-one. We laughed together, Riedle said. I could tell him everything and he could solve my problems. He was capable of immense kindness, of great insights. We shared a love of the same literature, the same interests. The truth is that he fascinated me in every element of his personality.
But he knew this and he took advantage of it.
Yes! Riedles response was quick, almost convulsive. Kell noticed the table behind him coming to a sudden halt in conversation. Yes, he took advantage of that. Riedle cut off another chunk of lamb. He spoke as he chewed. It was the first time the Germans impeccable table manners had faltered. What is most painful is the loss of this side of his personality. The side that could make me happy. It is not easy at my age to meet a man, particularly one who possessed this ability to bring such contentment to me. Kell thought of Rachel, her ghost eavesdropping on their conversation, and concluded not for the first time that human beings were fools to expect other people to shore them up. He was about to repeat his earlier assertion that Riedle was well shot of the relationship when something happened that stripped him of his composure. Looking down towards the entrance, he saw a beautiful woman in her early twenties walking into the restaurant in the company of a man who was at least twice her age. The man was wearing a black suit and his hair was slicked back with gel. A large birthmark was visible to the left of his nose.
It was Rafal Suda.
Kell fixed his eyes back on Riedle and smiled a crocodile smile. If the German looked down, he would see Suda. It was that simple. The man who had mugged him only two nights earlier was standing less than eight feet away, making audible small talk with the maître d. If Riedle recognized him, there would be a confrontation. There would be police involvement and Kell would be obliged to act as a witness. The operation would be over before it had begun. Any hope of locating Minasian by using Riedle as a lure would evaporate.
In an effort to keep the conversation flowing, Kell repeated his assertion that Riedle was lucky to be free of Dmitri, a man who had exerted such a baleful influence over his private life. He spoke for as long as it took for Suda and his date to be led towards the interior of the restaurant. When they were beyond Riedles line of sight, Kell encouraged the German to respond. As he listened to his reply, Kell could see Suda, out of the corner of his eye, being led to the first table on the parallel balcony. He was no further away than the length of a London bus. It was a slice of wretched luck. Forgeron had seating for up to a hundred customers in the main section towards the back of the restaurant, but Suda had been seated in one of the few places from which he could still be seen by Riedle.