The Betrayals(4)

‘Oh, thank you. I appreciate your concern.’ She tilted her head and stared at him, but for once he didn’t feel any answering spark, just weariness. ‘Jesus Christ, Léo! I can’t—’

‘I’ve told you not to say that.’

‘Oh, not that again. I’m hardly saying the rosary, am I? What are you going to do, report me to the Register?’ She pushed past him, knocking him with her elbow. She’d had her hair freshly marcelled, and a whiff of chemicals caught the back of his throat. ‘I can’t believe you fucked this up. I thought you were supposed to be the government’s golden boy. Didn’t the Old Man say you were—’

‘Apparently not.’

‘You bloody idiot, how could you? You’re a coward, that’s what it is – now that the Party’s in power, you can’t stand the pressure – completely spineless.’ She kicked viciously at the leg of the chaise longue. Liquid slopped out of her Martini glass and splashed on to her dress. ‘Shit! This is new.’

‘I’ll buy you another one.’ He crossed the room to the cocktail cabinet and poured himself a whisky. They’d run out of ice, but he didn’t ring for more.

‘You’d better. And pay the rest of the bill while you’re at it.’ Her voice cracked. She collapsed on to a chair. ‘Oh, look at me, dressed to the nines … I thought he was going to promote you – after Minister for Culture I thought, finally, he’s going to get something important. I got all ready to celebrate.’

‘So celebrate.’ They stared at each other. Perhaps, if he’d said the right thing, she might have softened; but then, if she’d softened, he couldn’t have borne it.

She got up. She drank the last of her Martini in one go, and reached for her wrap. ‘Have a lovely holiday, Léo,’ she said, and left.

Now he tries to shrug off the memory. Of all the things he’s left behind, Chryse?s is the least of his worries. She’s better off than he is, yawning and sitting up in bed, pulling on her negligée and ringing for hot chocolate. She’ll be fine. And even if she weren’t, would he care that much? He turns away from the thought. A month ago, he’d imagined proposing to her: the breathless articles in society papers, the flash of an extravagant diamond on her left hand, the Old Man’s congratulations. Now …

There’s a tap on the door. It makes him jump; when the door opens he’s on his feet, and the maid flinches. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I thought I heard you say to come in.’

‘Of course. Yes. Thank you.’ He waits until she’s gone before he crosses to the washstand and splashes his face, blowing air out through his mouth until his heartbeat settles and water soaks his collar. He’s not afraid; there’s nothing to be afraid of. But sometimes moments catch him off guard: the unexpected knock, the car going too fast as he crosses the road, the glint of metal as a drunkard sways into his path and reaches languidly for a hip flask. Ever since the meeting with the Chancellor. Ever since the Chancellor looked at him with that expression, weighing up how much he was worth. He can still feel the chill of it; as though, halfway through a shooting party, a friend had swung his gun casually to point it into Léo’s face. And, a split second behind, the humiliation that he’d been such a bloody fool not to see it coming, to think it was all a friendly, civilised game … To have walked into the office a little nervous, of course – like being brought up in front of the Magister Scholarium – but sure that the Old Man would come round, only slightly disconcerted when it was the Chancellor and not the Old Man himself who was sitting behind the desk with Léo’s letter in front of him. ‘Ah, Léo,’ he said. ‘Thank you for coming. I trust I haven’t interrupted anything?’

‘I’m sure Dettler can manage without me for an hour.’

‘Well, we must certainly hope so.’ He picked up the telephone. ‘Tea, please. Yes, two cups. Thank you. Sit down, Léo.’

He sat. The Chancellor folded his hands and bowed his head as if he was about to say a prayer. ‘Léo,’ he said, at last, ‘thank you for your letter. We all admire your passion and your energy, you know that. And it is in a young man’s nature to be forthright. So thank you for your honesty.’

‘As Minister for Culture, I felt it was only right to ask if I could talk things through with the Prime Minister before the Bill goes to the vote.’

‘Naturally. And he was very sorry he couldn’t be here today. I know he was very interested in your point of view. He asked me to say that he admires your courage.’

Perhaps it was then that the first misgiving slid coldly down Léo’s spine. ‘The proposals are quite extreme, Chancellor – all I was suggesting was that we reconsider—’

‘He was also rather … surprised.’ The Chancellor glanced past him at the door. ‘Come in. Ah, biscuits! Good girl. Yes, put it down there. On the coffee table.’ The secretary began to unload her tea-tray, and the Chancellor gestured to the sofa. ‘Léo, please …’

Léo got up, crossed to the sofa, and sat down again; but the Chancellor hesitated and walked to the window, gazing out with his hands behind his back. ‘What was I saying?’

‘You said the Old M— that the Prime Minister was interested in what I wrote.’