the United Kingdom will one day resume her place in the European family and for this reason is unwilling to engage in spying activities against a friendly nation. We thank you for your offer, Mr Shannon, but regret that on those grounds it is unacceptable.’
‘And that’s what you said to him.’
‘That is what I was instructed to say to him, so it is what I said to him.’
‘In German?’
‘Actually in English. His German is not as good as he would wish it to be.’
Which was why Valentina spoke English and not German to him, I reflect, thus incidentally solving a problem that had been niggling at me all night.
‘Did you ask him about his motives?’ I enquire.
‘Of course I asked him. He quoted Goethe’s Faust at me. In the beginning was the deed. I asked him whether he had accomplices, he quoted Rilke at me: Ich bin der Eine.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘That he is the one. Maybe the lonely one. Or the only one. Maybe both. Ask Rilke. I looked up the quote and couldn’t find it.’
‘Was that at your first meeting or your second?’
‘At our second meeting he was angry with me. We don’t weep in our profession, but I was tempted. Will you arrest him?’
A Bryn aphorism comes swimming back at me:
‘As we say in the business, he’s too good to arrest.’
Her gaze returns to the parched hillside.
‘Thank you for coming to our rescue, Nat,’ she says at last, as if waking to my presence. ‘I regret that we cannot return the favour. I think you should go home to Prue now.’
19
God alone knows what kind of response I was expecting from Ed as he ambled into the dressing room for our fifteenth badminton session at the Athleticus, but surely not the cheery grin and ‘Hi, Nat, good weekend, then?’ that I received. Traitors who have hours ago crossed their personal Rubicon and know there’s no way back do not in my experience radiate sweet contentment. The exultation that comes from believing you are the centre of the universe is more often followed by a plunge into feelings of fear, self-recrimination and profoundest solitude: for who in the world can you trust from now on except the enemy?
And even Ed might have woken by now to the realization that the perfectionist Anette was not necessarily the most reliable of all-weather friends, even if her admiration for Jericho was unbounded. Has he woken to anything else about her, such as the occasional insecurity of her German–English pronunciation as it slid involuntarily into Georgian-flavoured Russian and hastily returned? Her exaggerated German manner, a little too stereotyped, too yesterday? Watching him scramble out of his day clothes I look in vain for any indication that could belie my first impression: no darkening of the features when he thinks I’m not looking, no uncertainty in his gestures, none in his voice.
‘My weekend was fine, thank you,’ I tell him. ‘Yours too?’
‘Great, Nat, yeah, really great,’ he assures me.
And since from day one he has never to my knowledge feigned his emotions in the least degree, I can only assume that the initial euphoria of his treachery has yet to wear off and – given he believes he is furthering the greater cause of Britain in Europe rather than betraying it – that he is every bit as pleased with himself as he appears to be.
We progress to court one, Ed stalking ahead, swinging his racquet and chortling to himself. We toss a shuttle for serve. It points to Ed’s side of the net. Perhaps one day my Maker will explain to me how it came about that, ever since that black Monday evening when Ed launched himself on his unbroken run of victories, he has won the toss every bloody time.
But I refuse to be daunted. I may not be in the best shape. By force majeure, I have been missing my morning runs and my workouts in the gym. But today, for reasons too complex to separate, I have taken it upon myself to beat him if it kills me.
We reach two games all. Ed is showing every sign of entering one of his twilight phases when for a couple of rallies winning won’t matter to him. If I can keep him fed with high lobs to the back line he’ll begin smashing erratically. I feed him a high lob. But instead of smashing it into the net as I have every right to anticipate, he tosses his racquet in the air, catches