So it was with the sense that she was covering territory she might have been expected to be familiar with that she said, “She’s not a big part of your life, then.”
“Not a big presence, anyway. My grandparents brought me up.”
“David Cartwright.”
“The one and only. Rose, my nan—she died a while ago.”
“And now you’re worried about him.”
“Yes,” River said. “I’m worried about him.”
“Getting forgetful?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Is that so bad? I mean, yeah, okay, it’s bad, but . . . How old is he, anyway?”
“Eighties,” River said, “Eighty . . . four? Yeah, four.”
Louisa said, “Not so very old. Not these days.”
“Kind of is, though,” River said.
She didn’t reply, because he was right. Eighty-four kind of was old.
Her glass was nearly empty, but because River was still working on his pint she didn’t make a move towards a fresh round. Besides, it wasn’t the moment to break off talking. River had the absorbed air of one getting something off his chest, but with a way to go before he’d mined down to the real stuff.
She said, “How forgetful are we talking? Days of the week or his own name?”
“Somewhere in between, I guess.”
“Is he on meds?”
“Statins. Nothing else I know of. And I would, because . . . ”
“Because you’ve been through his bathroom cabinet. Have you talked to him about it?”
He gave her a look.
“Okay, not easy. But is there anyone you can talk to? Neighbours, anyone?”
“His neighbours think he’s a retired civil servant.”
“Well, he sort of is.”
“But not the kind they think. And the last thing I want is to discover he’s been sharing his life’s story with the postman.”
“Is that likely?”
“I don’t know, Louisa. Every time I see him, a bit more of him has slipped away. It’s like the light gets dimmer. He’s always been the anchor in my life. Now, I sometimes catch a look in his eye like he doesn’t know where he is, and it frightens me. I don’t know what to do about it.”
She let her hand lie on his for a moment. He nodded at the contact, then broke it to pick up his beer glass, which he drained. Then he said, “Fancy another?”
“Yes. But it’s my round.”
At the bar, she briefly locked looks with a man down the far end. Six months ago, that would have been enough to trigger an evening’s descent into carnal oblivion; six months from now, who knew, it might be enough to kickstart conversation. For the moment, there were other priorities. She looked away, paid for her drinks, and carried them back to the table thinking about the O.B., a term she’d heard River use—Old Bastard: a term of affection in this case. There were all sorts of legends in the Service—she worked for one of them, for God’s sake—but David Cartwright’s was the kind that withstood scrutiny. Never actually First Desk, but the power behind several incumbents of that throne. Of all the secrets he’d been privy to, a good number could still be radioactive. If he began to leak, there’d be concerned faces at Regent’s Park and elsewhere.
Seated again, she said, “Would they—I mean, the Park. Do they get involved, situations like this?”
“No. I doubt it, anyway. Well, I wouldn’t have put much past Ingrid Tearney, and Diana Taverner probably has men killed just to keep in practice, but Tearney’s out the door, and from what I hear, Lady Di’s using both hands to keep a grip on her desk. She’s probably not authorising clandestine wet work on the old brigade, just to make sure they don’t talk out of turn.”
Louisa said, “Yeah, I wasn’t actually suggesting they’d have him murdered, though I can see you’ve put some thought into that. I was more wondering about a home or something. A home for distressed former spooks. Didn’t there used to be something like that?”
“Sorry. Must be getting paranoid.”
“Goes with the territory.”
He said, “There was a place, but it was closed down a few years ago. Austerity measure.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah. Anyway, it’s not a fate he’d take to lightly. You’d need a crash squad to prise him from his house if he thought you were trying that on.”
“So he’s aware of what’s happening?”
“No. I don’t know. I just meant generally . . . It’s not like he’s forgotten who he is. It’s more like he’s forgotten that that’s not who he is any more. Some days, I think he’s still fighting the Cold War.”
“A lot of old people live in the past.”
“But not many of them have his past to live in. He keeps a gun in the house, Louisa. He’s supposed to keep it in a gun safe—I mean, technically, he’s not supposed to have it at all, but given that he does, he’s supposed to keep it in a safe. But last week I found it on the kitchen table. He said something about keeping the stoats away.”
“Stoats?”
“What they used to call watchers. When you were under surveillance.” River paused to take a drink, then said, “God, I don’t know. After the last few days, the bomb at Westacres, maybe the fate of one old man isn’t something to get worked up about.”
“He’s your grandfather. Of course you’re upset.”
“Yeah.” He looked at his watch. “And I ought to make a move.”
“You’re going to see him now?”
“Yep. Thanks, Louisa. For, you know. Listening.”
