The House of Rumour A Novel - By Jake Arnott Page 0,82

been the biggest gamble in history. That great spin of the wheel that we call the Revolution.

Hasta la victoria, siempre (a Rebel Army slogan),

And affectionate regards,

Nemo

11

lust

He closes his eyes on a true darkness, submits his will to nothingness. The void. The empty, parallel world where he is zero. Everything descending into blackness: matter, energy, information.

Now.

He is on his knees, face at her feet in calm supplication. Nose up against toes that flex and creak in polished hide. He tries to kiss the glossy leather but she shifts her weight to stoop down over him. With gloved hands she loops the collar around his neck, buckles it, clips the dog leash on. She straightens up.

‘Hup!’ she commands with a swift tug of the lead.

His head jerks back. He feels a jolt of power run through him. That almost forgotten impulse of desire. Good Lord, he thinks with a wistful smile, there’s life in the old dog yet.

‘Open your eyes,’ she tells him.

He looks up. Booted and stockinged legs bestride his face. He sets his gaze on her pelvis thrusting forward, girdled in black lace. She grabs a meagre fistful of his wispy grey hair. Pins and needles tingle his scalp.

‘Naughty boy.’ She holds his head an inch or two from her crotch. ‘You want this, don’t you?’

‘Please,’ he whimpers.

‘But do you know what I’ve got for you there?’

He thinks for a moment. She glares down at his wrinkled, frowning face.

‘Whatever you care to give me, Mistress.’

‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘Good boy.’

Marius Trevelyan had first spotted her on his way to Curzon Street on the morning he was recalled by the Service. She was tip-toeing up Shepherd Market on high heels. A short black bob, a fur-trimmed jacket, buttocks twitching in a tight skirt with that absurd erotic waddle. It was just before 9 a.m. but she wasn’t on her way to work, he decided. Oh no, on her way back, more like. He picked up his stride and followed at a discreet distance. All his years in retirement hadn’t blunted his appetite to pursue and observe. He felt a twinge of lust and an odd sense of recognition. She had finished for the night. She was coming off the game.

Coming off the game. Just as he had so many times. Only to be pulled back by the Service to consult on some little project or other. They never quite let you go, just kept you dangling. Trevelyan noted the hint of a swagger in this tart’s gait. A little too much emphasis in the upper body, he thought. Yes, that was interesting. Maybe this one really was in the same trade as he was.

The Curzon Street offices were not as changed as he had feared. He had imagined banks of computers replacing the musty confusion of Archive and Registry, the gloom of partitioned offices torn down and replaced in a bright and unforgiving open-plan. But as he made his way along the corridor, it seemed still the same dank labyrinth he had known from his days at Information Research.

The director of his old department was a woman. That was the shock he could not quite adjust to. Oh, he knew he had to. After all, there had been eight years of a female prime minister. They were everywhere in power these days. He remembered this one from when she was an assistant desk officer fresh from the Colonial Service. She’d had long hair then, and a habit of wearing exotic Indian silks. Now she had a cropped fringe and a skirt suit with shoulder pads. He noted the flat shoes when she stood up to greet him. Sensible shoes, isn’t that what they called them? She had beady, intelligent eyes.

‘Thank you so much for coming in, Sir Marius,’ she said, shaking his hand.

‘Not much choice,’ he retorted a little too sharply, baring his teeth in a grin. ‘You know, one is never completely retired. Just in suspended animation.’

She offered him a drink. Not a real one of course. That was another thing of the past.

‘There’s not a problem with this recall, is there?’ she asked him.

‘No, no.’ He shrugged.

‘You’ll be reporting directly to me, but if there is any, well, difficulty, we now have a staff counsellor.’

‘A what?’

‘It’s a new post. An independent officer that any member of the Service can consult with, concerning any problem that they might not feel able to discuss with their line management.’

‘Good Lord.’

‘We set it up after that officer from Counter-Subversion went to the press about