Again, that evening, he didn’t want to leave but couldn’t comfortably stay. He fetched from the boot some odds and ends he’d thought to pack – his kettle, a duvet, a towel – and asked how she was doing for clothes. It was like vaulting over several levels of relationship. When he left he was clutching the list she’d scribbled – underwear, a sweatshirt, shampoo – and trying to remember if her handwriting had been so disorganised when he’d first known her. Meanwhile Sid had bedded down in a nest of cushions, and that was how he thought of her all through the night: like someone who’d lost their way in a wood, and covered themselves with leaves, hoping this would keep them safe.
Before the light had left the day, Diana was occupying a bench with her back to the Globe, looking out on the Thames. The bench was an old favourite, smack in the middle of a twelve-yard stretch unmonitored by CCTV, and she’d recently had its USP refreshed, this being a foul splash of birdshit covering most of its length; a plastic transfer, but realistic enough to ensure no one ever sat here. It was also somewhere she would smoke, a habit she rarely indulged in with others present. It was hard to say which of the two, fag or faeces, passing tourists found more offensive.
Sometimes, at moments like this – feeling the day’s first charge of nicotine; watching the endless river heading home – she could allow her mind to empty, and simply feel alive. Today, though, that wasn’t going to happen. She’d been fizzing for hours.
‘Ah. A beautiful woman indulging in vice. Is there any more arousing sight?’
If Peter Judd appreciated the specifics of a clandestine meeting, he went out of his way to challenge them.
Diana peeled the transfer away, allowing him space to sit, and as he lowered his carefully tailored bulk onto the bench, he said, ‘A summons. An urgent summons, no less. Who’s been putting sand in your Vaseline, Diana?’
‘Why did Damien Cantor join a visitor group at the Park this morning?’
‘Flattering as it is to have you think I’m pulling strings all day, I’m usually as much in the dark as you.’
‘I’m not generally in the dark.’
‘No. I seem to recall you prefer it with the lights on. May I have one of those?’
She took packet and lighter from her bag and handed them to him. He shuddered at his first inhalation, a parody of pleasure. ‘Thank you. Look, Cantor’s an investor. He wants to kick the skirting boards, check for damp. And he probably thinks he was being subtle, or even funny, joining a tour group, but you can put that down to his age. And being mega-rich. The mega-rich always think they’re the dog’s bollocks.’
‘My understanding of dogs’ bollocks,’ said Diana, ‘is that you can lop them off and chuck them away, and the dog will still operate.’
She finished her cigarette and ground it underfoot. A nearby gull watched with hungry interest.
‘It’s a little soon,’ said Judd, ‘to contemplate altering the composition of, what shall we call it, our caucus? Besides which, as I think I mentioned, Cantor is a major contributor. Sidelining him now would be like dropping Beckham before the semi-final.’
‘I see you’re letting your sporting references lapse. Now you no longer depend on the goodwill of the electorate.’
‘Fuck the electorate.’
‘Cantor might be a big noise in his world, but this is mine,’ she said. ‘And his role in my world is to offer his backing and accept my gratitude, or remove himself entirely.’
‘I do love it when you draw lines,’ Judd said smoothly. ‘It brings out the feminist in me. I’ll have a word with our Damien, all right? And all shall be well, and all manner of thing and so on. Now. Crisis over, moving on. Your meeting with Nash went well, I trust?’
‘… Passably.’
‘Don’t tell me. You invented a project that’s no longer fit for purpose, and claimed you could make a saving by closing it down and redirecting the funds to your preferred use. And all you need the committee to do is rubber-stamp the process.’
‘It’s in hand.’
‘And you’re confident Nash won’t, ah, put two and two together?’
‘Two and two? He’d have trouble adding one and one.’
Which was unfair, and both knew it, but politics was the art of cutting absent parties down to size.
‘Excellent. I’m glad your qualms of yesterday have settled. This work we’re doing, this path we’re on – it’s of enormous benefit to the nation. I feel stirrings of heroism.’ He glanced at his crotch. ‘There is one other small thing. I’ve been talking with our, ah,
The river still flowed, the breeze still blew. The evening light was still leaking away from the sky.
She eased another cigarette from the packet. The lighter wouldn’t spark first time.
‘I probably didn’t hear you correctly. For a moment, I thought you were daring to dictate Service policy.’
‘Hardly policy. I don’t wish to engage in semantic quibbles, but we’re talking about one minor line of surveillance. Nothing more.’
