‘Connie’s not coming back, George,’ she called as she hobbled ahead of him. ‘Wild horses can puff and blow their snivelling hearts out, the old fool has hung up her boots for good.’ Reaching her rocking-chair, she began the ponderous business of turning herself round until she had her back to it. ‘So if that’s what you’re after, you can tell Saul Enderby to shove it up his smoke and pipe it.’ She held out her arms to him and he thought she wanted him to kiss her. ‘Not that, you sex maniac. Batten on to my hands!’
He did so, and lowered her into the rocking-chair.
‘That’s not what I came for, Con,’ said Smiley. ‘I’m not trying to woo you away, promise.’
‘For one good reason, she’s dying,’ she announced firmly, not seeming to notice his interjection. ‘The old fool’s for the shredder, and high time too. The leech tries to fool me, of course. That’s because he’s a funk. Bronchitis. Rheumatism. Touch of the weather. Balls, the lot of it. It’s death, that’s what I’m suffering from. The systematic encroachment of the big D. Is that booze you’re toting in that bag?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ said Smiley.
‘Goody. Let’s have lots. How’s the demon Ann?’
On the draining-board, amid a permanent pile of wasbing-up, he found two glasses, and half filled them.
‘Flourishing, I gather,’ he replied.
Reciprocating, by his own kindly smile, her evident pleasure at his visit, he held out a glass to her and she grappled it between her mittened hands.
‘You gather,’ she echoed. ‘Wish you would gather. Gather her up for good is what you should do. Or else put powdered glass in her coffee. All right, what are you after?’ she demanded, all in the same breath. ‘I never knew you yet do anything without a reason. Mud in your eye.’
‘And in yours, Con,’ said Smiley.
To drink, she had to lean her whole trunk towards the glass. And as her huge head lurched into the glare of the lamplight, he saw – he knew from too much experience – that she was telling no less than the truth, and her flesh had the leprous whiteness of death.
‘Come on. Out with it,’ she ordered, in her sternest tone, ‘I’m not sure I’ll help you, mind. I’ve discovered love since we parted. Addles the hormones. Softens the teeth.’
He had wanted time to know her again. He was unsure of her.
‘It’s one of our old cases, Con, that’s all,’ he began apologetically. ‘It’s come alive again, the way they do.’ He tried to raise the pitch of his voice to make it sound casual. ‘We need more details. You know how you used to be about keeping records,’ he added, teasingly.
Her eyes did not stir from his face.
‘Kirov,’ he went on, pronouncing the name very slowly. ‘Kirov, first name Oleg. Ring a bell? Soviet Embassy, Paris, three or four years ago, Second Secretary? We thought he was some sort of Moscow Centre man.’
‘He was,’ she said, and sat back a little, still watching him.
She motioned for a cigarette. A packet of ten lay on the table. He wedged one between her lips and lit it, but still her eyes would not leave his face.
‘Saul Enderby threw that case out of the window,’ she said and, forming her lips as if to playa flute, blew a lot of smoke straight downward in order to avoid his face.
‘He ruled it should be dropped,’ Smiley corrected her.
‘What’s the difference?’
Smiley had not expected to find himself defending Saul Enderby.
‘It ran awhile, then in the transition time between my tenure and his, he ruled, quite understandably, that it was unproductive,’ Smiley said, picking his words with measured care
‘And now he’s changed his mind,’ she said.
‘I’ve got bits, Con. I want it all.’
‘You always did,’ she said. ‘George,’ she muttered. ‘George Smiley. Lord alive. Lord bless us and preserve us. George.’ Her gaze was half possessive, half disapproving, as if he were an erring son she loved. It held him a while longer, then switched to the French windows and the darkening sky outside.