A Divided Spy. Чарльз Камминг

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      ‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘Does the man live in Hamburg?’

      Riedle shook his head.

      ‘You were together a long time?’

      ‘Three years.’

      ‘When did you break up?’

      Riedle swallowed a long, glass-emptying mouthful of Chablis.

      ‘Last month,’ he replied, and looked over the railing that ran along the length of the walkway, down towards the entrance of the restaurant. Kell could see a chef standing over a bed of crushed ice, shucking oysters. ‘I was in Egypt,’ he said, again bringing his eyes back to the table. ‘A holiday. Things had not been good for a long time. He decided finally to end things.’

      ‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’ Kell had a memory of Claire blithely informing him that she was in a new relationship, less than a month after their separation. ‘Nothing worse than a break-up,’ he said. ‘How are you coping?’

      Riedle seemed both surprised and comforted by the question. ‘Not well,’ he said. ‘To be honest, Peter, I am suffering.’

      Kell leaned towards him, doing his job. ‘I’ve been there,’ he said. ‘You don’t sleep. You can’t eat. You’re angry, you feel lost. It doesn’t get any easier with age. If anything, these things become worse.’

      ‘Yes,’ Riedle replied. ‘You felt this with your wife when your marriage ended?’

      Kell hesitated for a moment, because he hated drawing Claire into operational conversation. It was tawdry and disloyal to use her for the purposes of deception; there had to be something in his life that remained sacred. Everything else, for years and years, had been infected by spying.

      ‘My marriage was different,’ he said. ‘My wife and I met when we were very young. We grew apart. We became different people as the years went by.’ Kell might have added that there had been times when he had blamed Claire for the entire squeezed and cut-down shape of his life; that he had been liberated by their separation. Or he might have said that there were still moments, when they met for lunch or saw one another at a social occasion, when he felt an almost gravitational pull towards her, a longing to be reintegrated into their former life. Instead, he said something comparatively bland, but undeniably true: ‘I think she found the demands of my job very difficult. There was also an added, very painful complication in that we were never able to have children.’

      The waiter brought their main courses and the bottle of Chianti. It was then that Riedle mentioned Minasian for the first time.

      ‘I’m embarrassed to admit that Dmitri – my lover, my boyfriend – was married.’

      Kell allowed himself to process the revelation, seemingly for the first time, before responding.

      ‘These things happen,’ he said. ‘Adultery is commonplace. Men find themselves conflicted. Particularly in Russia, I imagine, where the attitude to a person’s sexuality is so toxic. Embarrassment is pointless, Bernie. Shame is what we feel when we are worried about what other people are thinking about us.’

      ‘This is a very liberal view.’ Riedle smiled with avuncular disapproval, touching one of the polka dots on his expensive cream tie. The light caught in his designer spectacles and flashed off a lens. ‘Dmitri was tormented by his deceit. Or, at least, he pretended to be.’

      It was a first meaningful glimpse into the Minasian personality. Kell said: ‘What do you mean, “pretended”?’ as he scribbled notes in his mind.

      Riedle lifted his knife and fork and carved into the fatty edge of a lamb cutlet. ‘Perhaps I am being unfair,’ he said. ‘His wife has been ill for many years. Some kind of muscular difficulty which leaves her in great pain.’

      Kell suspected that this was a lie. There was nothing in the files about Svetlana Minasian suffering from a debilitating illness, muscular or otherwise.

      ‘That’s awful,’ Kell said, a judgment that caused Riedle to wince. He wanted no expressions of sympathy for the woman; she had simply been an obstacle blocking his access to Dmitri.

      ‘It is and it is not,’ he replied. ‘She prevents him from living the life he wants to live. From being the man he wants to be. She is also highly critical of him, closed off in her thinking. Spoiled and judgmental.’

      Kell wondered how much of this was true. He suspected that Minasian had constructed flaws in Svetlana’s character that would both console Riedle and justify his emotional distance from the marriage.

      ‘And children? Do they have any?’

      Riedle shook his head. ‘No.’ There was a strange kind of satisfaction in his reply; it suggested the complete absence of a sexual relationship between Minasian and his wife. ‘I think Dmitri was very sophisticated, very clever when it came to presenting himself to me in a certain way,’ Riedle said, with a perceptiveness that took Kell by surprise. ‘He knew what I wanted and he knew how to give it. He also knew how to take it away.’

      ‘Take what away? You mean his love for you?’

      Like a breeze coming through an open window, Kell remembered the enveloping intimacy he had known with Rachel, the deepest and most fulfilling love he had ever felt for a woman; a love ripped away in a few short days by the realization that she had been lying to him. He thought of Amelia’s cunning and of his own role in deceiving Riedle. Minasian was the common denominator. ‘Dmitri’ controlled them all.

      ‘I mean that there is something sadistic about him. Something deeply manipulative and cruel. That is the conclusion I have come to, not just because of the way he has disregarded me since our relationship ended, but also because I can now look back on his behaviour when we were together in a different way.’

      ‘In what way?’

      ‘He was often selfish and bullying. He knew that I was not as strong as he was. He knew that I was profoundly in love with him. But rather than take responsibility for this, to be careful with my feelings, he used it as a tool, a weapon against me.’ For some time, Riedle chewed his food, saying nothing. Kell also remained silent, waiting. ‘A person should have a duty of care for someone they profess to love, no?’ Riedle’s expression suggested that his question could brook no argument. ‘I think Dmitri was obsessed by ideas of power. This is the only way I can understand things, looking back. Have you read Nineteen Eighty-Four?’

      ‘Not for a long time.’

      ‘It is one of Dmitri’s favourite novels.’ Kell silently absorbed the irony of this revelation, but said nothing. ‘There is an exchange, towards the end of the book, when Winston Smith is being tortured. A discussion about power. Winston is asked how a man exerts power over another man. Do you remember his answer?’

      ‘By making him suffer?’ Kell suggested.

      ‘Precisely!’

      Riedle beamed at Kell with astonished admiration, as if he had at last met a person who could not only understand his plight, but explain Dmitri’s behaviour into the bargain. Kell smiled. He was trying to link together what Riedle was saying. Much of it was startling, yet a jilted lover, an angry and heartbroken boyfriend, will think and say anything that might make sense of tangled emotions. Kell needed to be able to separate Riedle’s СКАЧАТЬ