‘Why was he so worried?’ Smiley asked.
‘Vladi owed him money, that’s why. Fifty quid. Probably lost it on a horse together, one of their many losers. He’d promised to bring it round to Mikhel’s place and have a game of chess with him. In the middle of the night, mark you. They’re insomniacs apparently, as well as patriots. Our leader hadn’t shown up. Drama. “Why the hell should William know where he is?” I ask him. “Go to sleep.” An hour later who’s back on the line? Breathing as before? Our Major Mikhel once more, hero of the Royal Estonian Cavalry, clicking our heels and apologizing. He’s been round to Vladi’s pad, banged on the door, rung the bell. There’s nobody at home. “Lcok, Mikhel,” I said, “he’s not here, we’re not hiding him in the attic, we haven’t seen him since Beckie’s christening, we haven’t heard from him. Right? William’s just in from Hamburg, he needs sleep, and I’m not waking him.”‘
‘So he rang off again,’ Smiley suggested.
‘Did he hell! He’s a leech. “Villem is Vladi’s favourite,” he says. “What for?” I say. “The three-thirty at Ascot? Look, go to bloody sleep!” “Vladimir always said to me, if ever anything went wrong, I should go to Villem,” he said. “So what do you want him to do?” I said. “Drive up to town in the trailer and bang on Vladi’s door as well?” Jesus!’
She sat the child on a chair. Where she stayed, contentedly cropping her biscuit.
There was the sound of a door slammed violently, followed by fast footsteps coming down the stairs.
‘William’s right out of it, Max,’ Stella warned, staring straight at Smiley. ‘He’s not political and he’s not slimy, and he’s got over his dad being a martyr. He’s a big boy now and he’s going to stand on his own feet. Right? I said, “Right?” ‘
Smiley had moved to the far end of the room to give himself distance from the door. Villem strode in purposefully, still wearing his track suit and running shoes, about ten years Stella’s junior and somehow too slight for his own safety. He perched himself on the sofa, at the edge, his intense gaze switching between his wife and Smiley as if wondering which of them would spring first. His high forehead looked strangely white under his dark, swept-back hair. He had shaved, and shaving had filled out his face, making him even younger. His eyes, red-rimmed from driving, were brown and passionate.
‘Hullo, Villem,’ Smiley said.
‘William,’ Stella corrected him.
Villem nodded tautly, acknowledging both forms.
‘Hullo, Max,’ said Villem. On his lap, his hands found and held each other. ‘How you doing, Max? That’s the way, huh?’
‘I gather you’ve already heard the news about Vladimir,’ Smiley said.
‘News? What news, please?’
Smiley took his time. Watching him, sensing his stress.
‘That he’s disappeared,’ Smiley replied quite lightly, at last. ‘I gather his friends have been ringing you up at unsocial hours.’
‘Friends?’ Villem shot a dependent glance at Stella. ‘Old émigrés, drink tea, play chess all day, politics? Talk crazy dreams? Mikhel is not my friend, Max.’
He spoke swiftly, with impatience for this foreign language which was such a poor substitute for his own. Whereas Smiley spoke as if he had all day.
‘But Vladi is your friend,’ he objected. ‘Vladi was your father’s friend before you. They were in Paris together. Brothers-in-arms. They came to England together.’
Countering the weight of this suggestion, Villem’s small body became a storm of gestures. His hands parted and made furious arcs, his brown hair lifted and fell flat again.
‘Sure! Vladimir, he was my father’s friend. His good friend. Also of Beckie the godfather, okay? But not for politics. Not any more.’ He glanced at Stella, seeking her approval. ‘Me, I am William Craven. I got English home, English wife, English kid, English name. Okay?’
‘And an English job,’ Stella put in quietly, watching him.
‘A good job! Know how much I earn, Max? We buy house. Maybe a car, okay?’
Something in Villem’s manner – his glibness perhaps, or the energy of his protest – had caught the attention of his wife, for now Stella was studying him as intently as Smiley was, and she began to hold the baby distractedly, almost without interest.