Alec Milius Spy Series Books 1 and 2: A Spy By Nature, The Spanish Game. Charles Cumming

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      TWELVE

      My Fellow Americans

      This is when I see her for the first time, standing just a few yards away through a narrow break in the crowd. A sudden glimpse of the future.

      She is wearing a backless cotton dress. For now, all that is visible is the delicate heave of her pale shoulder blades and the faultless valley of skin that lies between them. It is not yet possible to see her face. Her husband, twenty years older, is standing opposite her, bored as a museum guard. His back is stooped and his thick greying hair has been blown about by the wind that is whipping around the garden. You can tell right away that he is an American. It’s in the confident breadth of his face, the particular blue of his shirt. He seems somehow larger than the people around him.

      There is an older man standing with them, thinned out by age, his cheeks like little sacks. This is Doug Bishop, former CEO of Andromeda, moved upstairs in 1994 but with one hand still on the tiller. The fourth member of the group is a monstrous suburban matron wearing pearls and Laura Ashley, her hair piled up in a beehive like an astronaut’s wife. The pitch and yaw of her voice whinnies across the garden. These words are actually coming out of her mouth:

      ‘And this is why I told my friend Lauren that feng shui is an absolute scandal. And Douglas agrees with me. Don’t you, Doug?’

      ‘Yes, dear,’ says Bishop, in a voice of great fatigue.

      ‘And yet not only ordinary members of the public but actual corporations are prepared to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to these Oriental tricksters just so’s they can rearrange the alignment of their plant pots.’

      Listening to this, Katharine takes a sip of her drink and smiles weakly. Then she turns and her face is more clearly visible. Male heads in the immediate vicinity spring to catch a glimpse of her, alert as dogs.

      ‘When were you thinking of writing the piece?’ Cohen is asking Peppiatt. ‘In the near future or is this an ongoing project?’

      ‘The latter, most definitely,’ Peppiatt replies, accepting a champagne refill from a passing waiter. ‘I want to talk to the tobacco industry, to car manufacturers, to all of these huge corporations who are making big moves into Central Asia.’

      The Hobbit comes up behind me.

      ‘Can I have a word, Alec?’

      I nod at the others and say, ‘Excuse me a moment. Back in a second.’

      ‘Sure,’ says Cohen.

      When both of us are a few paces away, moving towards a corner of the garden, the Hobbit turns and says, ‘That’s them. That’s Katharine and Fortner.’

      ‘I know,’ I tell him, smiling, and he grins sheepishly, realizing that he has stated the obvious. He wouldn’t have wanted to let on how nervous he is.

      ‘We should do it now,’ he says. ‘While Bishop is with them. I know him and I can introduce you.’

      ‘Good. Yes.’ I feel a slight lift in my stomach. ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’

      ‘Yeah,’ the Hobbit says wearily. ‘The whole fucking office fancies her.’

      And in that instant, Katharine seems to sense that we are talking about her. She turns her head and looks directly at me through the crowd, smiling in a single movement. It is as if the shape of her glance, the timing of it, has been minutely planned. My face freezes, and I cannot summon a smile. I merely stare back and then almost immediately look away. The Hobbit acts smartly, quick on his feet. He has smiled back at her, a colleague’s acknowledgment, using the eye contact to legitimize our approach.

      ‘Here we go,’ he says, moving towards СКАЧАТЬ