The Buddha of Brewer Street (27 page)

With that she turned and was gone.

Goodfellowe had barely been able to sleep, troubled by vivid dreams of sitting in his own apartment and hearing cries of lust coming from behind the bedroom door. He didn’t have a bedroom door, of course, not in a studio apartment, but this was a dream and it appeared all too horrifyingly real. He had run to the door, determined to throw it open. He knew the man inside was Baader, there was no mistaking his cries of triumph. But who was the woman? It had to be Mickey, her cries of fulfilment growing deeper and more abandoned with every beat of Goodfellowe’s racing pulse, taunting him until he could stand it no longer. He was grasping for the handle when suddenly the cries changed, as though from a different voice, then changed yet again, casting him into a torment of uncertainty. There was more than one woman. Baader had more than one woman, was screwing them all, in Goodfellowe’s bed, and Goodfellowe hated him for it! In a fury of jealousy and disgust, he threw open the door. There, stark naked and with smiles of fulfilment, were Baader’s conquests. Mickey. And Elizabeth. Oh God, and Sam too. Tied willingly to the bed. He could see her in every detail, every tensed and articulated muscle, every fold of her young skin. And beside her on the bed, Baader was stretched out, laughing at him …

He had got to his office in the House unusually early. He found Mickey, equally red-eyed and sleepless, clearing her desk.

‘I won’t be long,’ she said, not looking up from the papers.

He coughed. Such a stupid, nervous gesture, he thought. But he felt stupid and nervous. He coughed again.

‘I was too hard on you yesterday, Mickey. After all, you were entirely unwitting. You didn’t mean to—’

‘To betray you. I think those were the words you used. Betrayal.’ With considerable vehemence she threw a pile of papers into the waste bin, still not looking at him.

‘Yes, but … as you said, I was the first one to raise the matter with Baader. It wasn’t entirely your fault.’

‘Personally, I don’t believe any of it was my fault. What I did I did for you and in what I believed to be your best interests. It’s scarcely my fault that politicians can’t be trusted.’

He was still standing by the door, and only now took a tentative step forward. ‘It could’ve been worse. No one died.’

‘So you’re not blaming me for the St Petersburg fiasco? That’s very generous of you. Which leaves me carrying the can only for a little casual arson, burglary and assault on your daughter.’ She was looking at him now, her eyes brimming with bitterness.

‘This has got out of hand.’

‘Well, it’s certainly out of my hands now. And good bloody riddance.’ Another avalanche of old correspondence descended into the waste bin, which shuddered in protest and then toppled, strewing its contents across the floor.

‘Look … Mickey …’ He coughed again, swallowed hard. ‘Please stay.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘We’ve been working together, been friends, for how long?’

‘You’ve got fingers. You count.’

‘Nearly five years. That’s a hell of a lot of friendship to walk out on.’

‘Forgive me for correcting you, I know it’s not a secretary’s place to correct a politician, but I’m not walking out. You bloody well threw me out!’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Very sorry.’

‘Oh, I see. That’s supposed to make it all right, is it?’

‘I hope saying sorry helps.’

Flames began to lick around her eyes. ‘I said sorry yesterday. And I meant it. Remember how you responded? Remember, damn you? You called me a slut.’ She kicked the pile of papers, which scattered like a snowstorm about the room. Then you threw me out.’

‘Look, I was overwrought.’

‘Screw being overwrought. You were way, way out of order. Who the hell do you think you are?’ The flames had now consumed any restraint she might have retained. ‘You call me a slut because I happened to have sex with a politician. Does that make Elizabeth a slut because you managed somehow to find your way into her underwear?’

‘Look, this is—’

‘Does it make Sam a slut because she gets into the back seat of a BMW? Lets the boys fondle her. Fumble with her? Then FUCK her? That makes her a slut, does it? Does it, Tom?’ She was on the point of screaming.

‘Please, Mickey, this isn’t necessary.’ His lips felt as dry and unforgiving as sandpaper. He worried who else might be listening to every word through the open door.

‘Then what makes me a slut in your eyes, Tom? Is it because I enjoy sex? Because I like being penetrated? Because if I want it I take it?’ Then a look that suggested she wanted to do damage. ‘Or is it because you’re jealous of other men having me?’

‘For pity’s sake.’

‘Pity doesn’t come into it. You showed me no pity yesterday. All you showed me was your typical male double standards, and it makes me want to throw up!’

He advanced a pace towards her, trying to find a placatory note. ‘Mickey, calm down. I’ve already apologized.’

‘But you haven’t suffered. You men make us women suffer yet you refuse to take any of the blame.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘How old were you when you got married, Tom?’

‘What’s that got to do with—’

‘Just answer the bloody question.’

She had stopped shouting now; he’d made some progress. He decided he’d better co-operate. After all, this was nothing to what he knew he would be in for later.

‘Twenty-eight.’

‘Fooled around with a lot of women before that, eh?’

‘A few. Sure. Doesn’t everyone?’

‘And that’s all fine and dandy. For a man. You brag about it, how many times you scored, how many notches you had on your bedpost. You get led around by your dicks. But when any girl reaches out to take you up on it, all of a sudden she’s a slut. Because she brings you face to face with all your male hang-ups. That you aren’t big enough. That you won’t last long enough. That she knows someone who’s always going to be better than you are. All the things you worry about with Elizabeth.’

His eyebrow twitched.

‘So you take it out on us. Because you daren’t accept that a girl might have the same approach to sex as you yet with none of your pathetic schoolboy insecurities. That’s why you’re all control freaks, because we threaten you. And that’s why you feel you have to bring us down.’

‘I’m not trying to bring you down.’ He supposed he had this coming. He had no choice but to take it.

‘Then why in your eyes, Tom, am I a slut?’

‘Mickey, you are not a slut. I can’t apologize enough for what I said. If there is any way I can make it up to you …’

‘I’m not proud of the mistake I made with Paddy. And I don’t mean the sex; that wasn’t a mistake. That was fun. But I misjudged him.’

‘I did that too.’

‘I know it was moronic and always going to end in disaster. But I was blind. Because I made the biggest mistake of all.’ There was a huge intake of breath. ‘I fell in love with him.’

Women, he’d never understand them. She was an Amazon who had just gone to war and reduced him to incoherence and shame. Now she burst into tears. She was in his arms, sobbing her heart out. ‘Oh, God, how I hate blubbing bitches,’ she cried.

He could feel her tears, her heat, her passion. He knew she was right. He was jealous of Baader.

‘Tom, is there any chance it wasn’t Paddy? Not directly? That perhaps he told someone in all innocence – a civil servant, a colleague?’

‘He promised he wouldn’t. And after St Petersburg? After they tried to burn out Kunga? No, not in innocence. Sorry, love. It was Paddy.’

‘I’ve made such a fool of myself.’

‘I want you to stay, Mickey. Please. I can’t do all this without you. I need you. We’re a team, you and me. I want your help.’

‘And I want to help, too.’ Her head was buried deep in his chest. ‘How can I help, Tom? To make it better. Tell me.’

He shocked himself almost as much as he outraged Mickey with what he said next. He hadn’t thought it through, had arrived with only an incoherent and half-formed idea of what needed to be done. Now he expressed it with stunning simplicity.

‘You have to go on seeing Paddy.’

She looked up, her eyes full of confusion. ‘But I can’t. Not now.’

‘You must. It’s the only way. We’ve got to find out what the other side is up to. He’s our only contact, the only chance we have of keeping up with them. Otherwise we are lost.’

‘But you know I can’t go on seeing him without sleeping with him.’

He could find nothing to say.

‘I can’t just go and say to him, sorry about the shag, let’s have a cappuccino instead.’

‘I know.’

Her next words were formed very deliberately. ‘You complete chateau-bottled shit.’

‘Think about it, Mickey. It’s the only way.’

‘Complete. And utter.’ She pushed herself away from him.

‘He’s used you, Mickey. I want you to use him.’

‘But I love him. Don’t you understand? That doesn’t just stop.’

He swallowed, trying to find a more persuasive argument. He couldn’t. ‘It’s our only chance. Otherwise we have nothing.’

‘Let me get this clear, Tom. You don’t think I’m a slut. Is that correct?’

‘Of course.’

‘But you want me to have sex with someone, practically to prostitute myself, simply to get information from him. And that won’t make me a slut?’

Deep breath. ‘No.’

‘I see. But I don’t believe. So tell me, Tom. Would you ask Elizabeth to do this? Or Sam?’

‘That’s hypothetical …’

‘Would you even ask yourself to do this?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Here’s the deal.’ Her lips drew back in a smile, but it was not a pleasant expression. This was revenge, and she was going to take it hot. ‘I’ll go on sleeping with Paddy. Spying on him. Betraying him. On one condition.’

‘Name it.’

‘That you sleep with a woman I nominate first.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because it’s the only way to prove you don’t think me a slut. For me to do only what you have done.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘I mean every word.’

‘But … I’m married.’ He shook his head like a dog trying to get rid of a tick. He knew that was the most pathetic excuse. Try another. ‘I mean, what about Elizabeth?’

‘Explain to her what you’ve just explained to me. That this is no more than a noble sacrifice. Giving up your body for the cause of justice. I’m sure she’ll understand.’

Somehow he had his doubts. He looked alarmed. ‘Mickey, I’m in enough trouble with her already. I really don’t want to do this.’

‘Frankly, the way I feel now I don’t give a toss. But that’s the deal. You want my help. You lead the way.’

‘A bit bloody Faustian, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, no, Goodfellowe. For me, watching you is going to be fun.’

Another night without sleep. At some point in the far-off future, the time would come when he would simply fall into bed with nothing more to cloud his mind than thoughts of vineyards and mountains of votes, all of which had been cast for him. But he knew that so long as he went to bed thinking of women, he was lost. Like last night. He’d spent the time thinking of what Mickey had said, and knew he had deserved it, even if he was paying not only for his own sins but for those of all mankind – or at least the mankind Mickey had come into contact with, which seemed a fair proportion of the whole. He was filled with horror at being used, of being treated like – well, OK, like he was proposing to treat Mickey, but being sexually submissive went against the grain in a man. Yet in the very same breath he also found the prospect undeniably electrifying. It sent a charge shooting right through him, his body twitched in anticipation. Trouble was, he had this awful feeling this was a process that was way out of his control, that he was strapped helpless to a chair and would suddenly find himself frying. Oh, but what a challenge … His senses were intrigued. Half of them said go for it; almost all of them shouted that this was destined for nothing but trouble.

Anyway, it was no more than an outburst of temper. She’d have calmed down by now.

He found her in the small kitchen of the Dragonaria, the basement beneath the House of Commons where the secretaries toiled. She was making tea.

‘Feeling OK?’ he asked cautiously.

‘Never better.’

‘Sorry about yesterday. I truly am.’

‘Don’t be. I thought we came to a perfect understanding.’

‘You mean …’ – he stumbled – ‘you expect me to go ahead with this?’

She banged the pot of tea down on the counter and turned. He had rarely seen more resolution in anyone’s features. ‘England expects, dear boy.’

‘Seriously? There must be some other way.’

She went back almost light-heartedly to making the tea. ‘Her name is Andrina Capp. She’s one of the secretaries here in the Dragonaria. Over in the far corner, in front of the blue filing cabinets. The ones that are usually covered in flowers and thank-you cards. Tea? It’s fresh!’

She poured a steaming cascade of the liquid into a mug until it frothed and bubbled, waving the spout of the teapot up and down like a … Well, he had no illusions as to what he was intended to think.

‘But how do I know that she’ll … you know, agree?’

‘But that’s where I’ve been kind to you, Tom. She’ll do it for anyone. Even you. But she’s not the least bit party political. After hours she goes in for proportional representation. Reckoned to have gone through half the Shadow Cabinet, practically any of them who’s under eighty and not a lesbian. Although she’s even believed to have had some of the lesbians, too. You’ll do!’

‘I don’t want to embarrass her.’

‘You won’t embarrass her. She’s brazen.’

‘Please, Mickey. Think again. We can surely find some other—’

‘You’re the one who should have thought, Tom. Burnt bridges, and all that.’ She pushed the mug of steaming tea in his direction. ‘So that’s the deal. You do your bit, honey. Then I’ll do mine.’

He had expected a harridan. Instead he found a petite young woman of perhaps twenty-five with blonde bobbed hair, freckles and a hugely engaging personality. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it?

‘Goodness, what a magnificent bunch of flowers,’ he offered somewhat ludicrously by way of introduction. She smiled in the sort of manner that suggested goodness had nothing to do with it.