The Last Kiss Goodbye (27 page)

‘What are you doing?’ she asked in surprise. She had expected a barrage of questions from Ros about Victoria, about their meeting, about EZ. Instead her eyes were transfixed on the card.

‘I should talk to Victoria,’ said Ros finally.

‘I think she has to go for a walk, but I’m sure we could pop back in,’ said Abby.

They headed back towards Victoria’s room, but were stopped by Tracey coming out of the loo.

‘Where are you going?’ she asked, putting her hand on Abby’s shoulder. ‘Victoria needs her exercise now.’

‘We’ll be five minutes,’ said Abby with as much charm as she could manage. ‘Five minutes, that’s all we need. My friend wanted to say hello.’

‘You’d better be quick,’ said the nurse with a weary shrug.

Abby knocked on the door. Victoria’s voice summoned them inside.

Victoria was out of her chair, and was standing holding a cane. Her face visibly paled when she saw Ros. As the two women looked at each other, Abby could see the years melting away, a bristle of rivalry vanishing as quickly as it had come, softening to a look of nostalgic complicity.

‘Ros,’ said Victoria quietly. ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

‘Hello, Vee. It’s been a long time.’

They stood in silence.

‘I saw this card on the nurses’ bay,’ said Ros finally. ‘Your birthday card to Tracey, I believe.’

Abby didn’t miss the sharp look that darted between the two women.

‘You sent me the postcard, didn’t you, Vee?’ Rosamund’s voice started to crack.

‘What’s going on?’ whispered Abby.

Ros handed her the birthday card and Abby read the message inside.

Darling Tracey. Wishing you much happiness on this special day, best wishes, Victoria H.

At first she didn’t understand its significance, until Ros rooted around in her handbag, pulling out the postcard that she had shown Abby in the Chelsea Physic Garden.

‘I recognised the handwriting, Vee,’ said Rosamund slowly.

‘Victoria sent the card?’ said Abby.

‘Should we walk?’ said Victoria after a moment. ‘I have to do a lap of the garden every day. Not the easiest thing with two artificial hips.’

‘We’ll take it slowly,’ said Rosamund, holding her arm.

The sun was out and Victoria’s cane sank softly into the grass as they stepped through the French doors on to the manicured lawn.

‘Perhaps you’d like to close the door,’ said Victoria, turning to Abby. ‘Most of the residents are stone deaf, and the staff only seem to be interested in celebrity tittle-tattle, if the publications behind the nursing station are to be believed. But still, what I am about to tell you is private.’

Abby did as she was told and then returned to the two older women.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked as she caught up with them. ‘Why did you send Ros the card, Victoria?’

‘Because I didn’t want her doubting Dominic,’ she said, turning her full attention to Rosamund. ‘I know how much you loved him, Ros. We both did. I didn’t want you to believe that he was a traitor.’

‘What do you know, Vee?’ said Rosamund desperately. ‘Tell me everything you know.’

It was several seconds before Victoria spoke again.

‘A few minutes ago, your friend Abby asked me whether Dominic gathered intelligence on behalf of the Russians. The answer to that question is yes. Yes, he did.’

‘So he
was
a spy?’ Abby turned to her in surprise. ‘And you knew that?’

Victoria nodded, her tiny head bobbing like an apple. ‘But he was also gathering intelligence for the British government.’

Rosamund stopped walking.

‘You mean he was a double agent?

Victoria smiled and gripped her cane a little harder, her knuckles turning white.

‘Dominic was the perfect English gentleman, but he was also the perfect spy,’ she said slowly. ‘No family, beyond his war-veteran father. Well connected, intelligent, but considered a bit shallow, too interested in the pleasures of the flesh to be taken seriously. He operated very publicly, but completely under the radar. The Soviets thought he was working for them for years. He fed information back to them through contacts in London or through the letter drops at Brompton Oratory.’

‘Letter drop?’ asked Abby.

‘It was a way of transferring intelligence, usually through letters or microfiche. The Oratory was a popular drop-point because people filed in and out all day and it was close to the Russian Embassy.’

Abby watched Ros nod thoughtfully.

‘He was taken into their trust, but that only enabled him to feed information back to MI5,’ continued Victoria, rubbing the handle of her cane.

‘And how do you know all this?’ said Abby, picturing Sean Connery as James Bond.

Victoria laughed.

‘Because I was his handler.’

‘Handler . . .’ said Abby, suddenly remembering Alexei Gorshkov.

‘It was the perfect arrangement. My husband Tony and I could invite all these well-connected and influential people to our gatherings, and Dominic could befriend them and pump them for info.’

‘Was Tony a spy too?’ asked Ros quickly.

‘Heavens, no. I don’t think he ever knew my secret either. I loved him dearly, but he was a dreadful misogynist underneath it all. I don’t think it ever occurred to him that a woman could be so clever.’

She paused and turned to Ros.

‘I know you might think we never saw eye to eye, Ros, but believe me when I say it was nothing personal.’

‘It felt like it,’ whispered Rosamund. ‘I felt as if you wanted to sabotage our relationship.’

‘Dominic was a successful spy because no one ever suspected him,’ said Victoria. ‘But then he starts dating a left-wing radical, and suddenly he’s drawing attention to himself, inviting investigation from British intelligence. At the same time, you, dear Rozzie, get him frozen out of party land, so he’s no use to Moscow.’

‘Do you know what happened to him?’ asked Ros, gripping her old rival’s arm.

Victoria shook her head sadly.

‘We – the more discreet elements of the Security Service – made enquiries after his disappearance. We were told that someone Germanic-sounding had been spotted in the villages around Kutuba asking about the British adventurer. We never found out who it was, but we believe Dominic was assassinated before we could get to him.’

Abby heard Ros give a slow, sad exhalation.

‘But why would he be assassinated?’ she asked quickly.

‘He wanted to leave the intelligence service. Had done for a while, but once he met Ros, he made his mind up that he definitely wanted out. I assume he said this to the Russians too, but I’m not certain how easy it is to leave the KGB.’

‘Surely they wouldn’t have killed him for that?’ said Ros, looking up.

‘No. But they take a more dim view of double agents.’ Victoria’s face was hard, efficient, as if she had turned off her personal feelings like a tap.

‘How did the Russians know he was a double agent?’

She closed her eyes.

‘I ask myself that very same question every single day. Could we have done more to stop the leaks? What more could we have done to protect our colleague, our friend?’

‘So what happened?’ asked Abby.

‘There must have been a mole. Someone who knew about Dominic’s position in MI5 and tipped off the Russians. He wasn’t the first to be sold out in that way.’

‘Have you any idea who it might have been? How it might have happened?’

A tiny tear slipped down Victoria’s cheek.

‘I had my suspicions about Jonathon Soames. Call it women’s intuition rather than fact-gathering intelligence, but he was too nice, too good to be true, and I never trusted him. He had a very senior but rather vague role in Whitehall. And he was influential, connected, a member of various security think tanks, the perfect recruit for the Russians. I mentioned it to my superiors and they laughed in my face. Upper-class men stick together like glue, whereas I was always viewed with suspicion, not because of my background, but because of my sex. They dismissed me as a gossip-monger, a troublemaker, and because I had no proof, I began to doubt my own instincts and stopped pushing. Six months later, Dominic was dead.’

‘So you think Jonathon found out that Dominic was a double agent and shopped him to the Russians.’

She nodded, the movement so slow and sad it was as if it was painful to do so.

‘Jonathon made all the right noises when Dominic disappeared. He even organised a small memorial service for him a few years later. Seven years later. That’s how long you have to wait before you can declare someone dead in absentia. I didn’t go. Not because I didn’t want to remember Dominic, but because I couldn’t stand the hypocrisy of Jonathon weeping crocodile tears.’

She sat down on a bench, and Abby didn’t know which was too much for her: her dodgy hips or the weight of the story.

‘Dominic loved you, Ros,’ said Victoria, her words barely a croak. ‘He loved you so much. I told him how dangerous it was for him to keep seeing you, but he said that you were non-negotiable. As for me? Yes, I tried to break up your relationship, but not totally out of love for queen and country. It was more than that. I was jealous. He loved you. Not me. I may have won the battle, but I didn’t win the war.’

‘No one won,’ said Rosamund painfully. ‘Dom’s gone. I loved him, but I didn’t even have the chance to show him.’

Chapter Thirty

An appointment with Dr Melanie Naylor was the last thing Abby needed. She still couldn’t believe she was here. It was only out of nostalgia and the emotion of the previous day’s events at Appledore that she had agreed to attend when Dr Naylor’s secretary had phoned to confirm the appointment.

The clinic was in a double-fronted house in Clapham Old Town. It was smart and expensive-looking – there was clearly money in the high-end marriage counselling business, noted Abby on her arrival. She was asked to sit in a small waiting room, which was like a particularly chic friend’s study, with comfy sofas, glossy magazines on a walnut table, and a jug of water with slices of cucumber floating in it. It was all a bit too informal for her liking.

After a few minutes, she heard a ring on the bell and a familiar voice introducing himself to Dr Naylor, who had answered the door.

‘Mrs Gordon? Do you want to come through?’ said the doctor, popping her head around the door and smiling at Abby.

Melanie Naylor was about forty. No white coat, just a smart navy wrap dress that looked like DVF. Abby glanced at Nick. He was wearing suit trousers and a pale blue shirt. She always laughed at what men wore in hot weather – shorts and brogues, suits with sandals, Lycra or board shorts – but Nick got it just right. She wondered if he had been to see a client. She wondered if he fancied Dr Naylor, pretty and perfectly poised as she held the door open for them.

Abby sat down on a fashionable-looking orange sofa and glanced up at the certificates on the wall. According to her website – which Abby had googled and read at length – Dr Naylor was a halfway house between a counsellor, which sounded truly terrifying, and a divorce mediator, which didn’t sound much better. Throw in the doctorate and Abby had started to feel as if she had some sort of problem, when her only problem was the cheating husband sitting next to her.

There was a desk in the corner, but Dr Naylor didn’t sit at it, instead choosing an Eames chair opposite the sofa. Abby assumed this was a therapist’s trick, a removal of boundaries to create the most open environment possible.

‘So you two separated several weeks ago?’ said Dr Naylor after taking down a few details.

‘That’s right,’ said Abby, deciding that now she was here, there was nothing for it but to be as honest and transparent as possible. ‘I found a text on his phone from another woman. Nick admitted being unfaithful and I asked him to leave the marital home. The problem, and it’s always been Nick’s problem, is that he does things without thinking about the consequences. He always has. I mean, the first time we met, he turned up to Glastonbury without a tent, because his had been stolen. Who does that? Nick does, because he believes that things will always work out in the end. But it can’t work itself out this time.’

She’d said more than she had wanted to, but she felt like a Duracell bunny that had been wound up and was ready to go.

Nick looked uncomfortable. She could feel him squirming on the seat next to her and she was glad.

‘Have to tried to talk about it? Have you tried to work things out?’

‘There was an argument at the time, but it was very emotional,’ said Nick sheepishly.

‘Have you spoken since?’ asked Dr Naylor.

‘I’ve tried,’ replied Nick.

‘There’s nothing to say,’ said Abby flatly. ‘The facts are pretty simple. Infidelity is non-negotiable in our marriage. I can’t get past it. I can’t get past the betrayal.’

She thought of Elliot Hall and her bubble of self-righteousness popped. She flushed, and felt her shoulders sag a little in shame. She hoped Nick wouldn’t bring up her own recent admission that she’d had dinner with someone.

‘I think there’s plenty to say, to talk about,’ said Melanie Naylor reasonably. She turned to Nick. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

‘It was just a one-night stand. Not just,’ he corrected himself quickly. ‘I know how bad that sounds. But it wasn’t an affair. I went away on business and I slept with a client. Someone I had known for a few months, and one thing led to another.’

Someone I had known for a few months.

Abby felt sick at that image of intimacy. He hadn’t told her how well he had known the woman before. Abby had imagined that she had been a sexy stranger, and that had been some small consolation. But now she could picture them talking and laughing together. Knowing little things about one another. Things perhaps as simple as how he liked his coffee. Whether he preferred French or Italian food for lunch. Had Nick got excited every time he knew they were to have a meeting? Had he worn a favourite suit on the days he was going to see her?

‘I read the text, Nick. She wanted to see you again and it sounded as if you had discussed it. When was that? The morning after? You can’t blame it on alcohol then.’

‘Yes, we discussed it,’ he said quietly. ‘And I wasn’t that drunk.’

It was like a punch in the guts. She couldn’t bear to look at him and focused her eyes on the far wall.

‘We’re here to be honest,’ said Nick, trying to catch her eye. ‘I want to be totally honest with you.’

‘I don’t want to hear it,’ she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

‘Let him talk,’ said Melanie softly.

There was silence, and then Nick spoke again.

‘I’ve never stopped loving Abby, but I didn’t like the state of our marriage, not since we started trying for a baby.’

‘Did you want children?’ asked Melanie. It was a reasonable question.

‘Yes. Eventually. We married young, but I loved being married to Abby. I loved spending time with her. Talking to her, just reading the newspaper lying next to her, made me happy. Then she wanted to try for a baby. I wasn’t really ready but I agreed because I loved her, and because it was something I wanted too. Maybe not at that minute, but when is it ever the right time to have a family?’

He paused and crossed one leg over the other, and started pulling awkwardly at his trousers.

‘We tried for a long time but nothing happened. Two IVF attempts were unsuccessful. Whatever we did seemed to make it worse. We went to more fertility experts, which made us more frustrated. We weren’t getting on so I spent more time at work. We had tests. Lots of them. Turns out we have sperm and egg incompatibility. If there’s a medical term for that, I don’t know what it is, but the long and short of it is that Abby and I are unlikely to ever have children together. Ironic for two people who fell head over heels in love the first time we met.’

She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t think she could bear it.

Nick puffed out his cheeks and even Dr Naylor looked emotional.

‘I thought we could handle it, I thought we’d get through it. Then my sister Ginny told me Abby had said she couldn’t be in a marriage where she couldn’t have kids. Apparently they’d had some conversation about it. I sort of lost it. I felt totally rejected, worthless. I went away on business a few days later. A client showed some interest and I slept with her. It was madness, but when I think about why I did it, it wasn’t because I was drunk and reckless. I wanted to feel like a man. I wanted to feel wanted.’

He shifted in his seat so that he could look more directly at Abby.

‘I know that’s little consolation for you now, Abs, but believe me when I say that I don’t want anyone else but you. I never did. If you want a divorce, if you want to move on and find a man who can give you what you want, then that is something I am going to have to accept.’

‘Ginny said I didn’t want to be married to you?’ Abby was trying to process everything he had just said.

‘If we couldn’t have children. She said it was making you question our marriage. I can’t remember her exact words, but that was about the sum of it.’

Abby desperately trawled through her memory bank. She couldn’t believe she had ever said that.

‘Nick, I was in love with you. I wanted to grow old with you. I honestly don’t remember saying that to Ginny. Even if I did, it wasn’t what I meant.’

Dr Naylor reached for a box of tissues and handed it to her.

She took one and blew her nose, then looked up at the counsellor, who seemed to understand that they had probably had enough emotion for one afternoon.

‘I think another session within the next few days would be useful,’ she said briskly. ‘But first you need to go away and digest everything that has been said. You should do that separately, and then we can reconvene.’

Neither of them said anything until they were outside on the street.

‘That wasn’t so bad,’ said Nick, pushing his hands into his pockets.

‘Other than the part where you admitted that you’d known that woman for ages, and that you weren’t drunk when you slept with her. Oh, and the fact that your sister lied about the way I feel about our marriage.’

‘You said you couldn’t remember what you’d told her.’

‘I don’t need babies to make our lives complete, Nick. I want children, yes. Trying for kids felt like the next stage in our relationship, and I admit, I would be very, very sad if I never had them. But I don’t miss something I’ve never had. And from the minute I met you, all I ever wanted was you.’

She thought she could see the hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

‘Does that mean you’ll give Melanie another go? I thought she was pretty good.’

‘She didn’t say much.’

‘Not sure that’s the point. She’s there to make us talk.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me all that before?’ said Abby after a minute. ‘The stuff about feeling rejected.’

She had always known that their infertility had driven a wedge between them, but she’d never suspected that it had made him feel unloved, unwanted. Was that enough of a reason to condone or forgive what he had done? Abby wasn’t sure.

‘Because it would have sounded like an excuse.’

He paused and looked up at her.

‘Did you ever feel like that too?’

Abby gave a little shrug. ‘Sometimes, when it all seemed so difficult, the IVF and the hormones and the moods and the arguments we used to have. I thought it might have been a sign that we shouldn’t be together. But then I remembered all the good times . . .’

‘There were a lot of good times.’

There was a loud grumble, and Abby realised with embarrassment that it was her stomach.

‘Was that you?’ asked Nick.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

‘I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’

‘Want to have dinner? Alba is just around the corner.’

It used to be their favourite restaurant when they lived near Clapham Common. They’d go there every Friday night and laugh and chat till closing time. She smiled at the innocence of it all. The calm before the storm.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said quickly.

‘Abby, we’re still husband and wife. I think that just about qualifies us to share a pizza.’

‘I want my own pizza, thanks. I’m starving.’

A black cab rumbled past, and before she knew it, Nick had got the driver to stop.

They were there within a minute, and as they found a table on the patio area, the waiter recognised them, which surprised Abby, as they had been gone from the area for three years.

‘I miss this place,’ said Nick casually as his eyes scanned the menu.

She missed
this
. She missed the small simplicities of their life.

She thought of the Joni Mitchell track that Nick used to play on the drive down to Cornwall, ‘Big Yellow Taxi’, with its lyrics that reminded you that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

She thought about Ros and Dominic, who had never had the opportunity to grow old together, to laugh, to row, to eat pizza together on a Friday night, to do all the things that couples did, and suddenly her heart ached.

As if he was reading her thoughts, as if he could look into her mind and see
The Last Goodbye
, Nick spoke.

‘So Dominic Blake was a spy.’

She nodded.

‘KGB. Who’d have thought it?’

‘Well he was. But it turns out that he was working for the British all along.’

‘What do you mean? He was a double agent? Or is that a triple agent?’ he asked, trying to work it out. ‘It didn’t say that in the piece.’

The pizza arrived and Abby lowered her voice. She was glad that the patio was empty as she told Nick everything she had discovered about Dominic Blake, glad to share it with him, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t judge.

‘So you think Jonathon Soames dobbed Blake in to the Russians?’ he said, leaning back in his chair when she had finished.

‘That’s Victoria’s theory.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Nick sipping his beer. ‘With friends like that, who needs enemies? So Dominic Blake is dead, probably murdered, and Soames get a peerage and a stately home . . .’

‘It isn’t fair, is it?’ said Abby, glad of Nick’s support, glad that he saw this the way she did, glad he had spotted the injustice of it all.

‘Can’t you out Soames?’

‘How?’

Nick shrugged as if he was thinking out loud.

‘Elliot Hall wrote the piece. I thought his dad was Andrew Shah.’

‘He is,’ she said, wondering how he knew that.

‘Shah owns one of the largest newspaper groups in Europe. The press have come under fire recently, but remember all the attention the
Telegraph
got for breaking the expenses scandal. Every newspaper in the world wants a bit of that kudos. If one of Shah’s papers outed Soames, as a Russian asset, a traitor, that’s big news. That sells papers.’

Abby shook her head. ‘Soames is establishment, Nick. So is the Shah family. They’re all going to protect each other. That’s how it works. I’ve learnt that much recently.’

Nick picked up the last bit of pizza and stuffed it into his mouth.

‘Shah cares about profit. He cares about the reputation and power of his newspapers.

‘Look, I’ve discussed this with Elliot, and he reckons it’s not in his interests to admit he was wrong about Dominic.’

‘But Elliot is just a writer,’ he said with pointed dismissiveness. ‘Bypass him. Take it straight to the editor.’