Slough House полностью

‘I’ll make a note, Oliver. Have someone look into it.’

He said, ‘And this was costing enough that you can make substantial savings by closing it down?’

‘We’re a bureaucracy. Everything we do costs money, because it all has to be discussed by committee, every member of which is claiming expenses. So do we really need to debate first principles, or can I rely on your support when it comes to the next Limitations meeting? Redirecting funds, that’s all. With the committee’s approval it can be done in house, and the next you’ll hear about it, it’ll be in place. No fuss, no fireworks.’

‘I’ll give it some thought. But in principle, I see no objection.’

‘I’m grateful. Now, I’ve a call to make. Was there any other business?’

‘There was something.’ Nash checked his phone, which was where he kept his notes. ‘Ah yes. The minister’s been getting calls. An American, resident here, claiming that his partner, in the life partner sense I think, that his partner was murdered in Moscow. On Putin’s orders.’

‘And was he one of ours?’

‘A Brit, you mean? No, I gather he was a Russian citizen.’

‘So even if he was murdered, it wouldn’t be our business. Why are you bringing it to me?’

‘The minister had no particular instructions,’ Nash said. ‘He just wants to stop receiving these phone calls.’

‘That’s a police matter. Really, you can’t keep urging me to keep costs down on the one hand, and—’

‘Mea culpa.’

‘—offering my services to any of your Westminster cronies who have a passing problem.’

‘I’m sorry, Diana, you’re right. As always. Thanks for your time.’ He rose to go, putting his phone away, and said, ‘I saw something rather extraordinary on the way in.’

A wondrous mechanical elephant, she thought. A parade of fibreglass cows.

‘Please tell.’

‘There was a tour arriving as I came through the lobby,’ he said. ‘One of those Civil Service groups?’

These were regular outings: covens of civil servants given whistlestop tours round Regent’s Park, or at least, round those non-classified areas that were close enough to thrill by association. This is where Bond hangs his raincoat. Some floors below us lies the hub.

‘It’s not that extraordinary. They’ve been a feature for years.’

‘Ah, yes, no, I meant who was in the group. Damien Cantor? The boss of Channel Go, you know who I mean? Richest man in the country under thirty-five, I’m led to believe.’

Diana discovered something on her desk that required attention, and it was a moment before she replied. ‘And he was being shown around the building?’

‘Maybe he plans to make an offer for it,’ said Nash. ‘Diana? That was a joke.’

‘Good meeting, Oliver. Thank you.’

There was something forlorn about a house stripped of its furniture, or there was if you were its departing spirit. A stranger might find potential in this wide hallway, but for River – reaching it via the kitchen; he’d used the back door again, as had been his childhood habit – it was like entering a ransacked priory: the wooden chest which had sat under that row of coat hooks was gone, as was the engraving, a Howard Phipps, which had hung on the opposite wall. But these were secondary emotions: he was here for Sid, who was in the study, and to all appearances had not moved since the early hours. Sid was bright, Sid was sharp. Sid now seemed mostly weary, and greeted him the way a long-term patient might a regular visitor, reaching a hand out but remaining seated, her legs tucked under her. The white stripe in her hair looked an affectation: she was a punkish waif in a modernised Dickens.

‘Thank you for coming.’

He wasn’t sure how the alternative would have worked. He could have gone home, he supposed, and spent the evening thinking how strange it was, that Sid was in his grandfather’s study in Kent.

They ate in picnic fashion: provisions he’d bought on the way.

‘You weren’t followed, were you?’

River shook his head. He’d looped a roundabout twice, and doubled back on himself a couple of miles to make sure.

‘Tell me again,’ he said. ‘About the people who came looking.’

‘You’re wondering if my story’s going to change.’

‘I’m wondering what we can do to find them.’

‘I don’t want to find them,’ she said. ‘I want them not to find me.’

‘I’ll keep you safe. Describe them.’

‘They were a couple. A man and a woman. Dressed like missionaries.’

Black-suited, River learned. White-shirted. The man was dark, clean-shaven; the woman blonde, had her hair tied back, and wore round, plastic-framed spectacles. They’d been going door-to-door round the estate where Sid had been housed.

‘And you’re sure they weren’t … well. Missionaries?’

She gave him a look he remembered well: this was Sid, he’d once shared an office with.

When they’d reached her door, she had watched from a bedroom window. They had hung on the doorstep longer than natural, and she’d had to step back sharply when the woman looked up.

‘What time of day?’

‘Morning.’

‘Where did they go once they’d left?’

‘Next door.’