‘The man who betrayed him. He said that even though communism will win in the end, it’s better to die on the losing side than to live under the spiritual night of communism. Do you think Alex ever thinks that?’
‘Of course he doesn’t, he’s Russian himself, isn’t he?’
‘Is he? He sounds American to me.’
Laura knew it was time to end the conversation. She told him to pull himself together, that he was late for work. He mumbled something about how he was indeed late, for the important discussions about better ways to kill one another. ‘I mustn’t miss them, they could be useful.’
‘You know it is useful; I know it is. Here are the papers from the day before yesterday.’ Laura was putting the copies into the black bag and brushing her hair as she spoke.
‘Look at you, so clean and sure,’ said Edward, and moved towards her to give her a kiss before he went. It was a while since they had embraced, and she put one hand on his cheek and stroked it. How dry the skin felt now, how bitter it smelled, the skin of a sleepless alcoholic. Laura remembered it now, under her fingers as she sat in the hairdresser, and, looking into her face in the mirror, she lifted her hand to touch her own face. In the mirror she caught Mrs Rostov’s gaze very briefly, but did not engage.
Gervase was distracted by another customer and slow to come and comb Laura out. When he was finished, her hair looked shiny and set, at odds with the tired, sad look on her face. She remembered when she was younger wondering why older women went to such lengths to dye and dress their hair, since when it was most beautifully done it only threw into sharp relief their faded faces. She stood putting on her camel-hair coat before she left the salon; the air was fresh after the thick heat of the hairdresser. On the sidewalk she saw a familiar face. ‘Joe! What are you doing round here?’
As Joe greeted her, Laura felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness when she remembered that night at Portstone, but that was long ago now. Ever since that evening, way back last summer, they had hardly met, only in passing at big parties.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she muttered. Standing there, she was blocking the doorway, and someone had stumbled against her. It was Mrs Rostov, tying a silk scarf over those aubergine curls. They nodded at one another – just the slightest, the most casual nod – and she walked over to a waiting car.
Joe looked at her getting into the car, in her fur coat and large black bag, and then turned back to Laura, silhouetted in the doorway in her pale coat and large black bag.
‘Come and have a coffee?’ he said. ‘I’ve got the day off. Everyone was all over the Hiss sentence yesterday, but I missed the boat on that one.’
‘Did you?’ Laura said, as though she simply didn’t remember anything she had ever been told about the case. ‘I can’t really, I’m meeting someone else – I should go.’
‘I’ll walk with you then,’ Joe said. His sudden persistence was not really surprising, it was like Joe to latch onto one quickly, but Laura was uneasy today in his presence. ‘I was thinking about Edward, I’d love to ask him more about how Britain is moving; I was thinking of going over to London for the general election. Extraordinary if Churchill gets back in. What the hell will that mean for foreign policy? I’m wondering about Iran, about Egypt – Churchill wouldn’t let anything go lightly.’
Laura was dismissive, telling him Edward was unlikely to want to say anything, particularly before the election.
‘I don’t want to spill any beans, just get more of a handle on the various players.’
‘You know Edward never talks about work.’
‘He doesn’t, does he? He’s not happy here, is he?’
The question came without warning. ‘He was happier in England,’ Laura agreed and went on walking. They were passing a news-stand. She didn’t want to see the headlines, so she averted her eyes as always. ‘I’m going into the subway here.’
‘It’s good to see you.’ Joe was unexpectedly close to her, and Laura was afraid to look up into his face. ‘Tell you what, it’s been so long, could I come round for a drink tonight? Are you and Edward going to be in? I wouldn’t be disturbing you?’