Rupert said, ‘Yuri, I believe you two have met.’
‘Last year at the Soviet Embassy,’ she said. ‘When we did Three Sisters at the National.’
Belov was dressed for the country in a light brown thornproof suit. He looked fit and well and smiled with great charm as he took her hand and kissed it.
‘I saw you three times. I now believe with great regret that Chekhov can only be played at his best by the English. Your performance as Masha was fantastic.’
‘Half-English in my case,’ she said, ‘but my thanks for the compliment.’
‘Mrs Farne has prepared lunch in the conservatory,’ Rupert said. ‘Do you want to change?’
‘Five minutes.’
She went out. Lang opened a bottle of Bollinger and poured. ‘Her performance on the firing range has been superb and Ian McNab was more than impressed with the way she took to his instruction. She’s to go to his gym when she’s back in town.’
‘What did you tell McNab?’ Belov asked.
‘I said she’d had a close shave with a mugger and wanted to know how to take care of herself.’
Belov sipped some champagne. ‘Amazing, this whole business of acting. The ability to be the role. As Masha she was totally convincing as a Russian woman, and yet I saw her in a TV showing of that Hollywood movie she made where she shot several men quite convincingly.’ He accepted a cigarette from Rupert. ‘Will she join us?’
‘Oh yes, I think so,’ Lang said.
At that moment Grace entered the room dressed in jeans and sweater. She took the glass Lang offered her. ‘Tell me, Rupert, the sheep above the forest. Are they yours?’
‘That’s right, why?’
‘Oh, a rather unpleasant man was up there. Shabby old tweed suit, shepherd’s crook. Took exception to me riding through the fields.’
‘That would be Sam Lee.’ Rupert wasn’t smiling now. ‘What happened?’
‘When I stopped, he pushed the Montesa over, then he grabbed me from behind.’
‘He what?’ Lang’s face was suddenly bone white, his eyes blazing. ‘Did he harm you in any way?’
‘Well, the fact is I’m afraid I harmed him,’ she said. ‘I tried something the Sergeant Major showed me. Reverse elbow strike to the mouth, swivel and put a knee to the crutch. When I last saw him he was in the foetal position on the ground.’
Lang laughed out loud. ‘Oh, my God, that’s bloody marvellous.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll have George deal with him. He’s out.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’ll behave better next time. Give him a chance, Rupert.’ She smiled. ‘Shall we go in to lunch?’
They had cold salmon, a mixed salad and potatoes, and Lang opened another bottle of Bollinger. Rain drummed against the conservatory glass.
‘Sorry about the weather,’ he said. ‘That’s Dartmoor for you. Starts to improve from March into spring.’
‘All the joys of country living,’ Grace told him.
Curry saw to the coffee and Belov said, ‘I saw a late-night showing on television of a Hollywood film you made, Miss Browning.’
‘Grace,’ she said. ‘Please, and it was my only Hollywood film. I didn’t like it there. They had me wear a series of incredibly short skirts and I killed rather a lot of men. It was what’s known as a revenge movie in the trade.’
‘Yes, in the film you killed more than efficiently,’ Belov said. ‘As I recall, the police nicknamed you Dark Angel.’
‘My one contribution to the script. One of my great grandmothers on my father’s side was Jewish. I recall the stories she told me as a child. Judaism teaches that God is the master of life and death, but he employs angels as his messengers.’
‘So there was an Angel of Death?’ Curry said.
‘When God inflicted the ten plagues on the people of Egypt in Exodus the Jews were instructed to put blood on either side of the doorpost so the Angel of Death would pass over them. To this day that’s why Passover is celebrated.’
‘An interesting legend,’ Belov said.
‘In Hebrew the Angel of Death is Malach Ha-Mavet. In the old days the word was used to frighten children. The film people, when I suggested it, thought it too melodramatic and came up with Dark Angel.’
‘Interesting,’ Belov nodded. ‘The revenge concept.’
‘Revenge gets you nowhere. Let’s stop fencing, gentlemen. We all know pretty much all there is to know about each other. If at some time I’d caught up with and killed the man who murdered my parents it wouldn’t have brought them back.’
‘But it might have afforded a certain satisfaction,’ Rupert told her.
‘True.’
‘I mean, things happened in a hurry back there in Belfast, but you didn’t regret shooting that swine, did you?’
‘Not at all. In fact it rather exorcized a ghost in my machine. I sleep better now.’
There was a long pause and rain rattled the windows. Finally Belov spoke. ‘Do I take it you are prepared to join us, Grace?’
‘Yes, I think so, but on my terms. You and Tom have a political commitment and I understand that, but it means nothing to me.’ She ran a hand over Lang’s hair. ‘Rupert can’t take life seriously. He bores easily, likes the excitement. I relate to that more.’
‘In what way?’ Curry asked.
‘My father’s family believed they were kin to the Victorian poet, Robert Browning. There’s a line in one of his poems. “Our interest’s on the dangerous edge of things.” I can relate to that. It’s like a performance, if you like, and performance is what my life is about.’
‘Exactly,’ Belov said. ‘But always fantasy, always except for that alley in Belfast. That was real and earnest, razorsharp. I should imagine that afterwards on reflection it must have seemed like one of your finest performances.’
‘Very perceptive, Colonel, but I have one stipulation. If I don’t like the sound of something I don’t do it.’
‘But of course, my dear.’ He smiled at the other two and raised his glass. They all followed suit. ‘To us, my friends, to January 30.’
Back in London, Grace was free for most of March. She went to Ian McNab’s gym three times a week and bought herself a BMW motorcycle which she used to explore parts of the city she’d never been to before. Towards the end of the month she began rehearsals for Macbeth. It was in the third week of rehearsals that Curry asked if they could all meet and she invited them to Cheyne Walk.
As she handed round coffee Belov said, ‘I’m having problems with the KGB here in London, not that they call themselves that since the breakup of things in Russia. The latest title is Federal Service of Counter Espionage. At the moment the London Station is being run by a Major Silsev. Here’s his photo.’ He passed it across. ‘A crook of the first water, involved with the Russian Mafia. He’s into illegal trading in weapons, various currency rackets, drugs – particularly drugs.’
Grace examined the photo and passed it to Lang. ‘He looks mean.’
‘He is.’ Belov passed her another photo. ‘Frank Sharp, one of the most notorious gang bosses in the East End of London. Silsev intends to make a deal with him. If Sharp meets his terms Silsev will bring in heroin with a street value in excess of a hundred million pounds.’
‘Why should you mind? I didn’t think you were in the business of doing good,’