‘Ibrahim, I have a question,’ says Samantha. ‘The man who brought the heroin to the shop? You wouldn’t happen to know who that was?’
‘We do,’ says Ibrahim. ‘In fact, we’ve met him. He seemed agreeable enough, if prone to mood swings. Though I suppose that’s the nature of the business, isn’t it? Selling drugs is not like selling shoes, is it? Or selling antiques. It must attract a certain sort of –’
Garth holds up a hand to stop Ibrahim. ‘I need you to talk less. I have a low boredom threshold. I was born with it, the doctors can’t do nothing.’
‘Understood,’ says Ibrahim. ‘A low boredom threshold can often mean –’
Garth holds up his hand again. Ibrahim, with some difficulty, restrains himself. Annoying, because he had an interesting point to make. So often people will cut him off when he is merely in the foothills of an observation. It is very frustrating. What a lot the world misses out on by not giving Ibrahim enough time to really get into high gear. There is certainly an attention deficit in today’s society. The overwhelming stimuli of the modern world have all but destroyed … Ibrahim realizes that someone has just asked a question.
‘I’m sorry?’ he says.
‘I was asking, what is the gentleman’s name?’ Samantha is cutting another slice of Garth’s Battenberg.
‘Mr Dominic Holt,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Of Liverpool.’
‘Have you heard of him, perhaps?’ asks Joyce.
‘Dominic Holt?’ Samantha looks to Garth. Garth shakes his head.
‘We haven’t,’ says Samantha. ‘Sorry.’
But Ibrahim, gladly accepting a second slice of Battenberg, would bet his Petworth parking space that they are both lying.
‘Elizabeth has asked me to speak with you, Stephen,’ says Viktor. ‘Whisky?’
‘I shouldn’t, I’m driving, and you know how they are these days,’ says Stephen.
Stephen and Viktor sit on a wide, white semi-circular sofa in Viktor’s huge penthouse apartment. London is laid out before them through the panoramic windows. Elizabeth and Bogdan have moved outside, and are sitting on Viktor’s terrace, wrapped up against the cold.
‘Stephen, you have dementia,’ says Viktor. ‘I think you know?’
‘I, uh, there’s been talk of that, hasn’t there? I’m not completely out of it. Still got some juice in the battery.’
‘Elizabeth gives you this letter each morning?’ Viktor holds Stephen’s letter out to him. Stephen takes it, casts his eye over it.
‘Yes, I know this letter.’
‘You believe it?’
‘I think, yes, I think that’s my only option.’
‘It is a very brave letter,’ says Viktor. ‘Very wise. Very sad. Elizabeth says you are not sure what to do, the two of you?’
‘Remind me who you are again?’
‘Viktor.’
‘Yes, I know you are Viktor, it was “Viktor this” and “Viktor that” on the way up here. Who
‘I was a high-ranking KGB official,’ says Viktor. ‘Now I am, I suppose, a kind of referee for international criminals. I solve disputes.’
‘And you know my wife how?’
‘I met Elizabeth when she was in MI6, Stephen.’
Stephen looks out onto the balcony. Looks at his wife. ‘Dark horse, that one.’
Viktor nods. ‘Very dark.’
‘Do you know, when I was a boy,’ says Stephen, ‘there was a bus, a trolley-bus. You know trolley-buses?’
‘Is it like a bus?’
‘Like a bus, certainly. Not quite a bus but like a bus. Overhead lines. They went all over Birmingham, that’s where I was from. Wouldn’t know I was from Birmingham, would you?’
‘No,’ says Viktor. ‘I wouldn’t know that.’
‘No, they beat it out of me at school. There was a trolley-bus from town that went past the end of our road – we lived off a steep hill, saved you walking. You could take it right from the centre of town. We wouldn’t get the trolley-bus on the way into town, because, you know …’
‘Downhill,’ says Viktor.
‘Downhill,’ confirms Stephen. ‘But here’s the thing, chief, here’s the thing. Do you know the number of that bus?’
‘No,’ says Viktor. ‘But you do.’
‘The 42,’ says Stephen. ‘And on Saturdays it was the 42a, and on Sundays it didn’t run.’
Viktor nods again.
‘And I can remember that, as clear as day. It sparkles in my mind. But I didn’t know my wife had worked for MI6. I’m guessing she told me?’
‘She did,’ says Viktor.
‘How is it,’ says Stephen, ‘for Elizabeth? Living with me?’
‘It is very difficult,’ says Viktor.
‘She didn’t sign up for it, eh?’ says Stephen.
‘No, but she signed up for love,’ says Viktor. ‘And she loves you very much. You are lucky there.’
‘Lucky, is it? You got a little thing for her yourself?’
‘Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Not really, chief,’ says Stephen. ‘Just you and me, as far as I’m aware.’
The two men both smile.
‘She trusts you,’ says Stephen.
‘She does,’ says Viktor. ‘So tell me a little about how you feel.’
Stephen breathes deeply.
