The room was large enough not to appear crowded but there must have been fifty people present, not including those bearing trays. These were, as usual, far younger and more beautiful than the guests, and on this occasion too, since the guest list leaned heavily towards the arts, better dressed. Diana had a glass in her hand before she’d taken three steps.
“Thank you.”
“We’re very glad you could make it this evening, Ms. Taverner.” Not the server, but her welcoming functionary. “You have an admirer among us.”
“Oh really?”
“Indeed. One of our guest speakers is most eager to meet you.”
“How intriguing.”
This dance, she thought, was as formalised as anything Jane Austen might have imagined; the polite lies offered; the half-truths exchanged, hoping to pass unnoticed. The spook world was its own quadrille. In recognition of this the company had arranged itself in small groupings, each distinct from the other, as if there were circles painted on the floor. But then, this had become the norm at formal gatherings, before the drinks had taken hold; everyone conscious of the clouds others walked in; of the area round a warm, working body that’s full of sweat and spittle, and leaving traces in its wake. Diana remembered being told, when young, that the way to apply perfume was to spritz a dash into the air and walk through the mist. Not an image today’s advertisers would reach for, the lingering nature of airborne particles being a tough sell.
Already, her functionary was yielding her to an approaching male. “Enjoy your evening, Ms. Taverner.”
The newcomer was in late middle age; his head hair dark, his neatly crafted beard shot with silver. Five ten, she estimated. In good shape for his age and profession: like her, he spent his working days underground, surrounded by screens and well-trained staff; so like her, his apparent good health was testimony to early hours working out, or pounding round a park. His suit—new tie—bore no traces of recent international flight, and the smile with which he greeted her was in his eyes too, which had a greenish tinge. Diana had never met him in the flesh: MFD, as he was abbreviated on the hub. Moscow’s First Desk. Her opposite number. She was no mathematician, but found herself wondering: Would such a meeting produce a zero? And then dismissed the frivolity in much the way Vassily Rasnokov dismissed the functionary: both departed without a murmur.
“Diana Taverner. I saw your name on the guest list, and was disappointed to hear that you’d declined. But this afternoon I was told that you’d become available, and it gladdened my heart. It would have been a disappointment not to meet, after all this time.”
In the current manner, he clasped his hands and gave a little bow.
She said, “A previous engagement was cancelled. I was glad of it too. This is a rare opportunity.”
“Rare indeed. I don’t know about you, but there are people back home who will be furious we’re in the same room unaccompanied.”
“Same here.”
“And others who would want me to bring back your autograph.”
“I’m ahead of you there, Vassily. I have any number of people who can do me your autograph.”
He laughed, without overdoing it, and raised a hand for the nearest waitress. When she arrived, he took a glass of mineral water from her tray.
Diana went on: “This is a surprise, though. I didn’t see your name on the visitors’ list.”
He shrugged so hugely he might have been French. “I was a last-minute substitution. There was an illness, and a lecture had to be cancelled. Which would have been a shame, as the staff here were looking forward to it. It just so happened that the topic—”
“
“Yes. Happens to be an interest of mine. So I thought, well, why not come over to London and give the lecture myself? And enjoy your beautiful city in the autumn sunshine.”
“Which happened so swiftly that we have no documented entry for you.”
Rasnokov shook his head, sympathy in his eyes. “Ah, paperwork. How many things fall between the cracks? But let’s not look a gift horse in the teeth. It’s very satisfying to meet you face-to-face. For you, maybe not such the pleasure, eh?”
She gave this a moment’s thought. “Oh, I don’t know. The beard rather suits you.”
