The Double Bind of Mr. Rigby (18 page)

‘Well, I may be wrong. I don’t think so. We’ll see. Anyway, why don’t you see if you can become his intimate, his confidant. Personally, I don’t think he’ll let you into the secrets of his mind.’

‘You’re right in a way. He hasn’t done so yet. I’ll see what I can do. I sure couldn’t talk to him as I do to you.’

‘Then, I don’t employ you. There’s the difference.’

We talked about books. Paul had just read an extraordinary book that had opened up an international debate on the proposed formation of a proper constitution for the European Union. An obscure Oxford don, in the twilight of his career, had written a seminal work that sparked to life an essential debate on what sort of constitution Europe should have. So far there had been no universal discussion as there had been in America in the 1780s, with its Jeffersons and Madisons. Everything in Europe was being done top downwards in the French manner. The haughty, elitist Giscard d’Estaing chaired the committee to establish the constitutional framework. The French model was full of patronage and rule by
énarques
, whereas the British and German methods were democratic from the bottom of society upwards. The donnish author advocated a broad constitutional conference, similar to the one in Philadelphia in 1787 with representation from all constituencies of opinion. His book had become an international bestseller, read by a large part of the general public. Rarely seen in Oxford after its publication, he had retired on its royalties to a pampered life in the Cotswold countryside.

That is what I liked about Paul. You could have an interesting, intelligent discussion with him about all sorts of different matters. He read a great deal. His mind was alert to what was a happening in the world. You could not be bored in his company. In many ways he was similar to Mark, but at that time I did not know him so well.

That was how the evening passed. We were warmed by the wine and by the logs burning in the grate: there was no shortage of scented pinewood fuel in Estonia. It was a pleasant and comfortable time. I felt relaxed, totally at leisure. At the same time, I was conscious that my mood had to change. Deep in the recesses of my mind there was a latent feeling of danger. Yet I was content to leave my worries until the next day. We drank our wine, sipped our coffee, and eventually parted at around 10.30, Paul to go to his Myrex lodging, me upstairs to the second floor room at the Gloria. We arranged to meet the following morning. Paul would call for me at half past nine and we would walk into the new town and to the conference hotel. I collapsed into bed, slightly befuddled, saw on television Jennifer Lopez being interviewed, and at once began imagining the presence of Roxanne, Lena, Bianca or Milly with me. After some minutes, I considered my sorry position and thought how pathetic I was, living in such a fantasy world. I should have been doing something about it: less time should be spent on Myrex in Tallinn, more time on the affairs of my heart and sexual adventures in London. Fate was not kind.

I woke at seven on that Sunday morning to the bells of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral ringing out from its onion domes. I read a couple of review articles from the
New York Review of Books
in bed for half an hour, then shaved, revitalised myself in the sauna, showered and took breakfast downstairs in the cellar. By 9.30 I was ready and waiting for Paul. When he arrived, the first thing he told me was that Arne had sent an email saying that he would be with us at the conference hotel about 2.30 that afternoon. Paul had replied, bringing him up to date on one or two Myrex matters, and had mentioned that I was present and we were all looking forward to meeting him. Again, it was bitterly cold. We wrapped ourselves up in our coats. Paul had gone native and wore an Estonian pointed hat that tied under his chin. He had discarded his baseball cap in favour of something that covered his ears. I put my scarf over the top of my head, covered my ears with it and tucked the ends into my coat. I then put my beret on top of that. We walked briskly down into the new town. The streets were deserted compared with what they were like on other days of the week. A few cars passed by as we made our way towards the Estonia Monument. One or two churchgoers were determinedly walking to or from their place of worship. We arrived at the hotel involved in lively conversation, almost drunk on the stimulating coldness of the fresh air. We left our outdoor gear in the cloakroom, settled in some armchairs in a pleasant reception room off the vestibule. It looked out on to an interior courtyard with some leafless, skeletal shrubs and small trees that grew in its corners. Through the glass of the long windows, they looked like contemporary sculptures on show in some exhibition. I particularly liked one, angular and arthritic in the way that its boughs bent. I commented to Paul that Charles Saatchi might have been inclined to make a bid for it: perhaps there was a catalogue in which we could look up the prices. He went along with the joke and wondered if the show would be moving on to Tokyo or Los Angeles. We were both in a good mood.

A waiter came across to where we were sitting and we ordered coffee. We asked for a cafetière so that we had plenty of coffee, and some hot milk. Neither of us felt like coping with a cappuccino, mostly concocted of warm milk froth that quickly cools. When the piping hot coffee came, the waiter, an amiable young man, brought with it a miniature of Norwegian Gammel Opland aquavit. He suggested, in perfect English, that we added some to our coffees. I asked him if being a waiter was his intended career. He replied that he was a student: he earned money at weekends by working at the hotel. I thought back to my days at the Alphonso XIII in Seville, and one young waiter there, contrastingly black-haired, who gave an impression of being able to satisfy any demands made of him. It seemed that it was an aspect presented by all those accommodating waiters. Naturally I had never approached one of those Ganymedes with a proposal of any sort, nor had any one of them made the first move towards me. It was all in my imagination. Yet I knew that such affairs and assignations happened. And what about beautiful women left on their own in hotels by their busy husbands? I resolved to ask Roxanne if she had experienced any liaisons with such elegant, attractive waiters. My feeling was that if anyone had enjoyed that sort of relationship, then Roxanne would have done so.

The aquavit gave a kick to our drink and to our inner selves. I felt warm, benign, relaxed, and ready for anything. The morning so far, so different from life back in England, was like a tonic. At that moment, I felt as though I were on holiday. Gradually, people whom we had seen at the meeting the day before began to appear, and at around 10.30 we all assembled in the large plenary session room and started the day’s business. It was mostly organisational stuff to do with the way in which we wanted the conference to go, forms of discussion, establishment of focus groups, appointment of chairs. Representatives of different government departments, corporations and commercial firms were already talking to each other: in fact, it seemed to me, and I mentioned it to Paul, the conference was well under way, its purposes being fulfilled in those preliminary stages. Busy government officials from the Finnish and Estonian delegations began to pass to and fro, and attach themselves to one group or other. Later I met a number of representatives from big computer corporations, people from Microsoft, IBM, an Irish director of Dell. Paul said that it was often the way. He had only attended four such events but of the four, three had worked in that way. The initial, informal meetings, turned out to be just as important as the meetings themselves.

Surely enough, early in the afternoon, Arne appeared. It was after lunch and we greeted him as he came down the stairs. I was surprised that he had not taken the lift and asked him if he had a phobia about them.

‘No. I use them when I have to but I find using the stairs is a good way of keeping fit. Heart, lungs and leg muscles are kept in good order by using the stairs. In my work, I have to sit down a lot. I must consciously try to exercise.’

I thought that typical of his ascetic nature. Everything about him was disciplined. Everything was done for a purpose. He was a man of calculation and decision. He was the perfect executive. I remember thinking two things: you could never get to know him at all intimately; and he would not be great fun socially. Yet no doubt, he had his moments when you valued his company. The sterner side of his nature would help you in a crisis. I had met a type like Arne in the army, not highly amusing but reliable and intensely effective.

Arne told us that he had flown in from Moscow during the morning and that a Myrex chauffeur had met him and driven him to the Tallinn house where he had caught up on some correspondence and talked to Raoul on the telephone. He seemed pleased to see me and said we should have a private talk: had I thought more about the Myrex offer of employment. He said that Raoul was eager to have me on their payroll.

‘I really am flattered that you all want me so much, but I don’t think so. It would be such a change for me and I’m not sure I want to stop what I’m doing.’

‘We can give you more than hack journalism. Is there anything else you do?’ Arne asked. I could not quite work out if he was trying to indicate, ironically, that he knew of my link to Willy, but then I decided that it was an innocent, natural, remark. I did not answer his question. I merely said, ‘It’s very generous of you, or rather of Myrex. It’s not quite what I want, and, anyway, I feel I’m doing a useful job now. You may be right about hack journalism, yet it can be useful.’

Arne turned away, touched Paul’s elbow to indicate that Paul should follow him, and said almost under his breath, ‘Raoul will not be pleased.’ I thought that strange but returned no comment.

Twenty minutes or so later, Paul came back and joined me. Arne had apparently pinpointed the people he wanted to meet throughout the conference. Paul had been given his instructions for what he needed to do.

‘Arne sure wants you with Myrex. He asked me to keep the pressure up on you. He’s not going to give up easily. He’ll tempt you like the devil.’

It was a good image Paul had used. Arne, ascetic, disciplined, discreet, confidential, would take me to the top of the mountain, show me the world, offer me its riches, and try to buy my soul.

‘He won’t succeed. I value my freedom. I don’t think I want to know any more of Myrex than I know already.’ That was not true, of course. I wanted to know as much about Myrex as I possibly could: my editor and Willy were no doubt even keener than I. I continued, ‘You know it inside out. You can tell me if I’m right in wanting to stay away.’

Paul was quick to respond.

‘That’s not altogether right. You probably know the old firm better than I do. After all you know the boss.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t know him professionally. Roxanne and Raoul I only know socially. You work for him in the corporation. You’ve got to know more of its workings than I do.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Paul said. ‘I’m only Arne’s PA. You know I’m a sort of glorified office boy. I don’t see Raoul and the big guys. I’ve met Raoul once for a few seconds. That’s all. I just have to do what Arne tells me to do, which, for the moment, suits me.’

I wanted Paul to relay my view back to Arne. Paul was not yet on our side. I could not be sure that he ever would be at that point. I had not yet introduced him to Rovde. I remember making a mental note that they had to meet as soon as possible. I intended to arrange a meeting one evening over the next few days.

So that was how it was. From the Monday morning until Wednesday night when the conference finished, Arne was relentless. Every so often he would bring our conversation round to the desirability on Myrex’s part to have me working with them. I maintained my independent position. Arne persisted. The pressure was on. I resisted.

Mark’s presence reassured me. He had arrived, as he said he would, on that Monday morning. He signalled his arrival by leaving me a note at the Gloria’s reception desk. He thought it best to keep apart and was staying at a small hotel in the fork of Lai and Pikk Streets, close to Club Havana. We were to keep in touch on our mobile phones. By that means I kept Mark briefed about what was happening and where I was.

On the Tuesday evening I managed to bring Paul and Rovde together. I asked Mark if he would like to make up a four: he responded that as in a game of bridge, on that occasion, he would be dummy and sit out the hand. He still thought it wise to keep himself in the background. I suggested to Paul that we might meet for drinks and perhaps dinner at the minimalist Italian restaurant. He readily accepted. At the end of the last session on that day, Paul and I were chatting, looking out of the wide windows of the vestibule, when Arne appeared. It suddenly struck me that it might be provocatively interesting to have Arne join us.

‘Arne, we are going to have dinner at the Italian restaurant. Why don’t you join us? We’re going to meet Uri Rovde, one of the members of the American Baltic commercial mission. It’d be great if you could come. Uri’s on the delegates’ list but has not been much in evidence so far.’

In fact, Rovde had not shown up at all. I later discovered that he had been instructed to meet a member of the Norwegian Security Service who needed to discuss with the Americans ways to ensure reactor fuel was not stolen from a disintegrating Soviet submarine beached in an Estonian harbour. Rovde’s task was to open channels of communication for the Norwegians.

Arne responded politely. He bowed slightly and said, ‘Thank you. It is kind of you to include me. May I come for a drink beforehand? I should like that. I do not want to dine tonight. I have some reading to do and I want to go to bed early.’

I reflected that there are few powerful men who would confess their desire to go to bed early. Perhaps it was a sign of huge power. He did not mind who knew of his personal habit. They could make no difference to the scope of his power.

‘That would be good,’ I said. ‘Let’s meet at seven, have some drinks, and then we’ll dine about eight. If you change your mind about dinner, so much the better.’

Arne assured me that he would not. We met at seven. I made sure that I was at the bar five minutes early. I knew that Arne, by his very nature, would be on time. I had raised Rovde on his mobile that morning. Sure enough he was with Mo. They were in the English Café. I held on for a moment or two while Rovde obviously walked to the entrance landing at the top of the stairs. I explained what I had planned and he agreed to meet us that evening. He told me that he would chase up Paul’s security status so that he would be in a position to attempt the recruitment or simply to enjoy an evening’s dinner with friends. As it turned out, Uri went into prime mode for recruiting Paul. Uri told me later that Paul’s profile was, as I had suspected all along since I first met him, perfect. He would try to fetch him on board.

It was a curious evening. On the one hand there was Arne whose one ambition was to persuade me to work for Myrex: on the other Rovde was trying to argue Paul into working for the US government. I amused myself by thinking that there were two recruiting agencies busily plying their trade. Arne met with resistance. Rovde seemed to succeed. I could see that Arne and Rovde treated each other with caution. Arne, I think, quickly realised he was talking to someone who was no ordinary American, just out of the big Midwest, entirely new to foreign lands, naïve and over-confident. He assessed that there was much more to Rovde than anything like that. Rovde was a sophisticated New Englander, a man of the world. Arne, I reckoned, soon listed him in his mind as someone who was capable, competent, and possibly dangerous to cross. Arne, of course, was right.

Rovde greeted Arne bluffly. He revealed to me afterwards that he detected a clinical chill to Arne’s personality that he could not unfreeze. He did not like the man. He tried to hide his feeling but found it difficult. In another situation, he told me, he would have given Arne none of his time: in this one, he was forced to appear pleasant and make conversation. It did not matter. Rovde had his task set out for him. Paul’s conversion to the cause was the main target of his conversation

Arne was subtle. That evening at the bar, his assault was not full-frontal. He made the occasional allusion to opportunities for me within Myrex, but he was informative and reasonable. His was a gentle approach. He sensed he was on difficult ground. Rovde, though, was working with more pliable material. Paul responded to his thinly veiled suggestion that he should consider a change of employment, and I knew that Paul was ready for a different challenge, a new experience. His job as runner and facilitator for Arne was beginning to pall. Uri flattered him, told him how useful his experience would be, explained that his background, educationally and socially, was just right, pointed out that he was the right age, and stressed that an important, substantial career was waiting for him in service to the American people. Uri’s campaign for Paul’s heart began after Arne left.

At exactly eight o’clock Arne made his excuses and went home. He made no fuss, was not embarrassed, shook hands warmly with Paul and me, and rather formally with Rovde. He hoped we would enjoy our dinner, called a waiter to find his coat, and we waved after him as he walked out into the street. As he went out, Mark came in. He was shown to a table at some distance from ours. We did not signal recognition.