Smiley’s People by John le Carré

‘She wants you back now, George,’ Hilary said sternly from the doorway, with the special authority of those who nurse the dying.

But when he went back, everything was fine.

FIFTEEN

Everything was fine. Connie sat powdered and austere in her rocking-chair, and her eyes, as he entered, were as straight upon him as when he had first come here. Hilary had calmed her, Hilary had sobered her, and now Hilary stood behind her with her hands on Connie’s neck, thumbs inward, while she gently massaged the nape.

‘Spot of timor mortis, darling,’ Connie explained. ‘The leech prescribes Valium but the old fool prefers the juice. You won’t mention that bit to Saul Enderby when you report back, will you, heart?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘When will you be reporting back, by the by, darling?’

‘Soon,’ said Smiley.

‘Tonight, when you get home?’

‘It depends what there is to tell.’

‘Con did write it all up, you know, George. The old fool’s accounts of the case were very full, I thought. Very detailed. Very circumstantial, for once. But you haven’t consulted them.’ Smiley said nothing. ‘They’re lost. Destroyed. Eaten by mealybugs. You haven’t had time. Well, well. And you such a devil for the paperwork. Higher, Hils,’ she ordered, without taking her gleaming eyes away from Smiley. ‘Higher, darling. The bit where the vertebrae get stuck in the tonsils.’

Smiley sat down on the old wicker sofa.

‘I used to love those double-double games,’ Connie confessed dreamily, rolling her head in order to caress Hilary’s hands with it. ‘Didn’t I, Hils? All human life was there. You wouldn’t know that any more, would you? Not since you blew your gasket.’

She returned to Smiley. ‘Want me to go on, dearie?’ she asked in her East End tart’s voice.

‘If you could just take me through it briefly,’ Smiley said. ‘But not if it’s-‘

‘Where were we? I know. Up in that aeroplane with the Ginger Pig. He’s on his way to Vienna, he’s got his trotters in a trough of beer. Looks up, and who does he see standing in front of him like his own bad conscience but his dear old buddy of twenty-five years ago, little Otto, grinning like Old Nick. What does Brother Kirov né Kursky feel? we ask ourselves, assuming he’s got any feelings. Does Otto know – he wonders – that it was naughty me who sold him into the Gulag? So what does he do?’

‘What does he do?’ said Smiley, not responding to her banter.

‘He decides to play it hearty, dearie. Doesn’t he, Hils? Whistles up the caviare, and says “Thank God.” ‘ She whispered something and Hilary bent her head to catch it, then giggled. ‘ “Champagne!” he says. And my God they have it, and the Ginger Pig pays for it, and they drink it, and they share a taxi into town, and they even have a quick snifter in a café before the Ginger Pig goes about his furtive duties. Kirov likes Otto,’ Connie insisted. ‘Loves him, doesn’t he, Hils? They’re a proper pair of raving Whatsits, same as us. Otto’s sexy, Otto’s fun, Otto’s dishy, and anti-authoritarian, and light on his feet – and – oh, everything the Ginger Pig could never be, not in a thousand years! Why did the fifth floor always think people had to have one motive only?’

‘I’m sure I didn’t,’ said Smiley fervently.

But Connie was back talking to Hilary, not to Smiley at all. ‘Kirov was bored, heart. Otto was life for him. Same as you are for me. You put the spring into my stride, don’t you, lovey? Hadn’t prevented him from shopping Otto, of course, but that’s only Nature isn’t it?’

Still gently swaying at Conoie’s back, Hilary nodded in vague assent.

‘And what did Kirov mean to Otto Leipzig?’ Smiley asked.

‘Hate, my darling,’ Connie replied, without hesitation. ‘Pure, undiluted hatred. Plain, honest-to-God, black loathing. Hate and money. Those were Otto’s best two things. Otto always felt be was owed for all those years he’d spent in the slammer. He wanted to collect for the girl, too. His great dream was that one day he would sell Kirov né Kursky for lots of money. Lots and lots and lots of money. Then spend it.’

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