Real Characters

Peter Hargreaves, city banker, was alone in his North London home. His wife was in New York on a business trip. His teenage children were out with friends. The unaccustomed silence weighed down on him. He heated a meal in the microwave, flipped idly through some pages of his son's sci-fi novel and then watched the news on television. Noticing his labrador's yearning gaze, he took him for a walk. When he returned, he decided to visit a local pub. As he strolled towards it on a pleasant summer's evening, he congratulated himself on the discovery of some well-camouflaged flaws in an elaborate business plan that had arrived on his desk that afternoon.

A loud football commentary was issuing from a television as he entered the Suzie Cue pub. Young men were chatting to mini-skirted girls. An arm-wrestling contest was in progress He bought a pint of beer and sought refuge from the noise in an adjoining-room, where two men were playing snooker. A girl wearing white trousers and a pink T-shirt approached him as he watched and said: 'I'll give you a game when they've finished.'

He replied: 'No thanks. I'd rather watch. I haven't played for years.'

The younger of the two players was trailing well behind, but won the frame with the help of an astonishing fluke, which reminded Peter in of life's uncertainties. His boss, only a few years older then himself, had died a few days previously, leaving a vacancy he hoped to fill.

He was about to leave when the young woman approached him again. Brandishing a half-bottle of whisky, she said with an air of bravado: 'How about helping me drink this?'

'You can't drink from a bottle here.'

'Not here. At home. I want to find out more about you.'

'Why?'

'I just do.'

The girl's pale blue eyes focused on him pleadingly. 'It won't take long. I only live across the road.'

Her nose was slightly bent, her face pale, her hair mousy.

He replied: 'You're a bit pushy, aren't you,' and walked away.

She followed him and pleaded: 'I just want to ask you a few questions.'

'What is this – market research?'

'No. I'll explain later?'

His wife often complained that he was a creature of routine. Deciding that no harm could come of it, he said: 'OK. One drink and you'll let me go.'

'Cross my heart.'

'You won't try to seduce me?'

'You're a conceited bugger. I said just for a drink.'

He followed her out of the pub.

'Do you live alone?' he enquired.

'No, Mr. Barykov will be there. I keep house for him.'

As she led him towards a bay-windowed, semi-detached house about two hundred yards away, he enquired: 'Might he object?'

'No. He lets me live my own life.'

'Just one quick drink. OK?'

'OK.'

'What's your name.'

'Heidi.'

'I'm Peter.'

With a sense of excitement but determined to be on his guard, he followed Heidi through an ornamental iron gate, along a paved path towards a faded mahogany front door. A brass plate on one side declared: Jack Barykov. Translations. A marble bust of a Roman emperor on a table in the narrow entrance hall caught his eye as she opened the door. The tessellated floor was partly covered with oriental rugs. Orchestral music was playing which sounded familiar.

Heidi opened the door of a dimly lit sitting room, revealing heavy, old-fashioned furniture. A deep male voice called out in a foreign accent from the depths of a leather armchair: 'Who is it this time?'

Heidi switched on an overhead light and announced 'Jack, this is Peter.'

'You don't mind Mahler's Fourth, do you, Peter?' the man said.

Peter replied: 'I have the recording at home with Lorin Maazel conducting.'

. 'It's yesterday's soul music. Heidi, not too late. We have work to do in the morning. I'll go to bed now.'

She replied: 'You don't have to. We're just going to have a little chat.'

'Your little chats can last all night.'

A portly man, with a large hooked nose and a mane of dark, wavy hair streaked with grey, rose from the armchair, glanced at Peter, switched off the record player, thrust his spectacles into his jacket pocket, and left the room.

Peter enquired: 'Is that your boss?'

'Jack Barykov – yes.'

'What does he do for a living?'

'He's a businessman and he does some translating.'

Heidi announced that she would get some glasses.

Peter examined the room. The heavy blue velvet curtains at the bay window were old and faded. Book shelves filled one wall. The titles of some of the books were in Cyrillic script. Two Russian icons hung on the wall next to a Mondrian print. A cello and a battered, upright piano stood near the well-worn armchair which Barykov had just vacated.

When Heidi returned with a bottle of ginger ale and two glass tumblers, Peter Hargreaves said: 'Your boss allows you to bring men home?'

'And women, if I find them interesting.'

She poured out the mixture. He sipped it suspiciously.

'Sit down.' Heidi indicated a large settee.

As he gazed at the Mondrian print, she enquired: 'Do you like abstract art?'

'Yes. And the very modern stuff. I go to art galleries occasionally.'

He looked around the room and enquired: 'Does your boss play the piano?'

'Sometimes.'

'Do you?'

Heidi looked scornful.

'Who me? With my background!'

'What is your background?'

'I brought you here, so that you can tell me about yours.'

'How would you know if I'm telling the truth?'

'I can easily see through lies.'

'That's a big claim for someone in your situation.'

'You're a snob, aren't you.'

'That doesn't change the fact that you're rather boastful.'

She replied in an angry tone: 'I've learned the hard way how to see through lies.'

'Seeing through lies is a very useful asset. It's an essential part of my work.'

'What kind of work do you do?' Heidi asked.

'I'm a banker.'

'Really!' she exclaimed, looking impressed. 'Are you married?'

'Yes, with two teenage children.'

'I bet they are a hassle.'

'Didn't you worry your parents at that age?'

'They threw me out when I became pregnant.'

'What happened to the baby?'

'I had it adopted.'

'You've had it rough.'

'Yeah, it was pretty tough, until I met Jack.'

Peter finished his drink, placed the empty glass on a coffee table, stood up and said he must leave.

She said, with an aggrieved air: 'You haven't told me about yourself yet.'

'There's not much to tell. I've told you I'm married. I work in the City. That's about it.'

'What does your wife do?'

'She's a legal representative. She's taking a law degree in her spare time. She's in New York at the moment delivering some documents for the law firm she works for.'

'Is that why you were alone in the pub?'

'Yes, I normally drink in my club.'

'Where is that.'

'In St. James.'

'Why didn't you go there tonight?'

'Why do you ask?'

'Jack advises us always to question people about why they made their decisions.'

'He sounds very odd. I'm afraid I must go.'

Heidi said: 'Just a moment. Let me explain. I'm writing a novel. The reason I invited you here was because I wanted to base one of the characters on you.'

'Why me?'

'Because you resemble the person I am writing about.'

'I'm a very ordinary guy.'

'Nobody's ordinary. That's the first thing Jack Barykov teaches us. Among other things he runs a creative writing school.'

'How long have you worked for him?'

'Five years. I've only recently started the writing course. Aren't I lucky to have lessons from such a brilliant man. The very instant I saw you in the pub I knew you would be the chief character in my book. I thought you looked very unhappy.'

'What gave you that impression?'

'Jack teaches us how to read facial expressions and body language. He always seems to know what I'm thinking. It can be very embarrassing. I nearly handed in my notice twice because of it – no, three times if I count that time in the zoo.'

Peter said: 'I must go,' and walked towards the front-door.

'Hey, where are you going?'

Heidi followed him through the narrow hall. He looked down at her dismayed face, planted a playful kiss on her cheek and walked away.

She called out plaintively: 'See you in the Suzie Cue some time.'

He didn't answer and walked home, congratulating himself on having escaped without endangering his reputation.

2

Two months later he saw Heidi again in the High Street. Encumbered with shopping bags, she was about to step onto a pedestrian crossing. She changed her mind when she saw him, ignoring the hooting of an impatient driver and said accusingly: 'You never came back to the pub.'

'I've been very busy. Did you finish your novel?'

'No.' She shook her head, frowning.

'Have you found anyone else interesting to write about?'

'Not as interesting as you.'

He restored a carrier bag, which appeared to be slipping, into her hand, said pleasantly: 'See you around,' and continued his journey towards an estate agent.

Heidi called after him: 'Come to the Suzie Cue tonight. I've something important to tell you.'

He didn't answer. He was preoccupied with finding a house that would match his new status as an executive director of the bank. His wife, Rachel, who had recently gained a degree in law from the Open University, was in the kitchen when he arrived home, studying a letter outlining her new terms of employment. Punk-Rock was thundering from a bedroom upstairs, which their fifteen-year old son, Winston, had left without switching off his music machine. Their eighteen-year old daughter, Jade, was out with her boy friend, Jake Le Roy, with whom she was having a stormy romance.

'How did you get on with the estate agent?' Rachel enquired.

He patted their dog, Rambo, on the head, as he replied: 'I have asked them to look out for us in the St. John's Wood area.'

He read the letter she had been studying and said: 'That's not much of a raise they've given you.'

'I'm not a fully qualified solicitor yet.'

He handed her a copy of Metropolitan magazine and said: 'If you like we can tour round the area this afternoon. Incidentally, why did you go to New York last April? Couldn't you have sent whatever it was across the Internet.'

'The law is different from banking. Documents have to be produced in court as evidence.'

'Of course.'

'Shall we have a pub lunch?'

'I'd rather eat at home.'

'Switch off Winston's boom box when you go upstairs.'

'Why the hell does he leave it on!'

'You ask him.'

Later, as he was preparing scrambled eggs, Rachel enquired: 'How's the new job going?'

'Fine. I've had to change my bank account to a subsidiary reserved for people with big bucks. A sure sign that I've arrived. And I have to wine and dine new clients. It's a bore but it has to be done.'

'Are you pleased I got my law degree?'

'Of course.'

'I'll get a larger salary when I've completed my articles and become a member of the Law Society.'

'You'll be able to save us money with the conveyancing. Incidentally, an important client has invited me to play golf at Wentworth next month.'

'It will do you good to play more golf.'

'I have to be very careful in everything I do from now on. It's a big adjustment.'

'You're always careful. It took you three years before you proposed.'

'I'm glad I did.'

He gave her a fond smile and said: 'Why on earth did Jade's boyfriend drop out of university? He's such a lout. He can't even be civil when he comes to the house.'

'He was offered – or thought he had been offered – a job as a vocalist with some Rock band. Don't say anything to Jade. It will only make things worse.'

'Why can't young people be polite these days?'

'They're too busy living. They're having a very passionate love affair.'

'Was our love affair passionate?'

'I can't remember. You were already married to the bank when you married me.'

'Everything we own comes from the bank.'

'The bank owns you. I bet you dream in percentages.'

'That isn't true.'

After putting the dishes into the dishwasher, he extracted a single rose from a vase on the kitchen window sill, handed it to Rachel, saying: 'Just to remind you that I still love you.'

She tickled her ear with it and said: 'What's come over you in your old age?'

'Come upstairs and I'll show you.'

'What's the matter with downstairs.'

She took his hand and led him into the sitting-room. They kissed and embraced. A look of yearning appeared on her face as he held her against a sofa. He tugged at her belt. She undid the buckle and stepped out of her trousers. He tried in haste to follow suit, stumbled and would have fallen but for Rachel's supporting hand. 'That's an impressive bulge!' she exclaimed, cupping it with her hand.

'It'll be even more impressive in a moment,' he gasped, struggling out of his boxer shorts.

At that moment, a young child appeared, gazing at them curiously through the French windows.

He whispered: 'Young Jeremy from next door is looking at us.'

'It'll be good for his education,' Rachel commented.

The fascinated expression on the child's face disturbed Peter. He muttered: 'Let's go upstairs.'

'He's only four, darling. He's just retrieving his ball.'

'I can't. Not while he's watching.'

Rachel gave him a reproachful look. They gathered their clothes and retreated to their bedroom.

Afterwards, Rachel whispered resentfully: 'You should have ignored the child.'

'The little devil knew exactly what we were doing.'

'At his age?'

'He seemed to have a very good idea.'

'That's typical of a banker.'

'Why do you stereotype me?'

'Because your whole life is dominated by the bank.'

'I do it for you and the children.'

'You just love power and money.'

Rachel turned over and went to sleep. Peter lay awake, stung by her accusation. All was silent. Rambo, sprawled at the end of the bed, suddenly thumped his tail. Peter hadn't minded his presence, but the unblinking stare of the child had completely thrown him. Perhaps Rachel was right: He was too staid and cautious. It was unfair, though, to condemn his career in banking which had given them a good living and promised soon to give them an even better one.

That evening they watched television, until Jade came home in the early hours of the morning.

'I suppose you've given her a good briefing about sex,' he remarked to his wife as they got into bed.

'What century are you living in!' Rachel responded, acidly.

He lay awake long into the night, reviewing the financing of a new pipeline in Asia, an undertaking which, if they took up their full allocation, would absorb a significant proportion of the bank's financial resources. As the expert on foreign contracts, he had been asked to make a presentation on the balance of risks involved. It was essential for the report to be balanced, comprehensive and informative.

3

A week later, on his way to work, he bought a dozen shirts in the Burlington Arcade, to match new suits for which he had been measured by a Savile Row tailor. He then hailed a taxi to the bank's headquarters in Canary Wharf. As the lift carried him up to the fourteenth floor, he recalled the bank's suite of offices in Threadneedle Street, where he had worked for many years. The dark, walnut-panelled conference room, hung with portraits of former chief executives, emphasised the dignity and importance of banking. A requirement for cabled offices suitable for information technology had prompted the move to a modern building. He wondered if they had made a mistake comparable to that of the early nineteenth-century admirals who planted acorns to ensure that in a hundred years time the navy would still have oak for its battleships. Wireless networking had now made cabling largely redundant. Foresight was expected of bankers and admirals alike. He was going to need plenty in his new job.

He glanced at some emails on his desk, before examining his notes on the projected pipeline. The argument as to whether they should take part in the consortium was finely balanced. He was inclined to recommend a reduction in the share of the proposed loan they had been offered because of political instability in the former Soviet republic through which it would run.

His personal assistant, Colleen Powell, brought in some correspondence, including an application for the financing of a large art gallery in Leeds from the Harcourt brothers with whom they had previously done business. They had just opened an exhibition of modern art in a gallery in the West End.

'The Harcourt brothers have got a chutzpah,' Peter declared. 'They made a right balls-up of their attempt to expand into the USA.'

'It might be useful to find out what they're up to now,' Colleen suggested. 'Would you like to visit the exhibition?'

'Not a bad idea, 'Peter said, glancing across the Thames, where in the distance some new buildings financed by the bank were being erected.

'Will modern art appreciate as much as the Old Masters, do you think?' he enquired, remembering that Colleen's partner was an artist.

'Even faster,' she replied, before returning to the outer office.

He smiled at her predictable answer and decided to visit the Exhibition on his way home. It would be interesting to see what the Harcourt brothers were up to. Purchasing a piece of modern art would certainly impress his colleagues, although was doubtful, if Rachel would approve.

After completing his work, he ordered a company car to take him to the Harcourt Gallery in the New Bond Street, dismissing the driver on his arrival.

The Harcourt brothers had made a fortune selling their brand of expensive chocolates throughout the European Union, giving the Belgians and the Swiss tough competition. Now well established, they were endeavouring to enhance their image by investing in the arts. Their latest venture showing the works of conceptual and other modern artists in their gallery had been given considerable press coverage.

A life-size female nude statue made of chocolate and surrounded by pyramids of golden boxes of Harcourt's Sublime Chocolates stood in the foyer. The statue's right breast was melting in the early September heat wave. Peter entered the main hall. Two young women were examining an exhibit called Ship of Fools, which consisted of ten rubber dolls with vivid crimson mouths sitting in a kind of basket-weave ark.

'Highly allegorical,' a silken-haired blonde declared knowledgeably: 'It's the artist's way of saying that the whole of humanity is about to drown through global warming.'

'Of course!' exclaimed her brunette friend, breathlessly. 'How interesting!'

Peter admired the workmanship of another exhibit called Nine/Eleven, which consisted of multiple sections of girders made of shining blood-coloured metal welded together to form a human skeleton.

He then turned his attention to an exhibit called Evolution, which consisted of an upright pillar of internally illuminated Perspex, on top of which was a transparent, illuminated monkey's head. Water flowed down from the monkey's head into a penis projecting from the pillar and then into a basin, from whence it was pumped back into the header tank. Its bawdy humour amused him.

Declan Harcourt approached him, shook his hand vigorously, and said brightly: 'Pity our marketing let us down in the USA. We'll get it right soon.'

'Not with our money, you won't,' Peter said. 'Incidentally, the right tit of your chocolate statue is melting.'

'Is it, by Christ!' Declan replied, looking alarmed. 'I'll tell them to boost the air-conditioning.'

'How much is the pissing monkey?'

'I'll find out. In the meantime, have a look at this one. It'll appeal to gamblers. The work, A Mere Bagatelle, consisted of a brightly coloured upright board, an artist's version of a very old game. Every few seconds an electronically-controlled trigger sent a plastic ball to the top of the board from whence it made an irregular descent into various cups, which lit up as it passed through.

'Ingenious,' Peter murmured. 'But is it art?'

'If it entertains, it's art,' Declan affirmed enthusiastically, and went off to find the director of the gallery.

Another exhibit called Infinite Series caught Peter's eye. It consisted of two robots, dressed in trapeze artists' costumes, which flew off their respective platforms, clung to each other momentarily like lovers before parting and swinging back to their perches. At regular intervals one of the robots fell onto the glass floor of the container. At which point a black-coated man wearing a bow tie appeared, and after putting on white gloves, solemnly replaced the robot on its perch. He then set the machinery in motion again, and silently retreated. It became apparent, when the black-coated man refused to speak to anyone, that he was an intrinsic part of the exhibit.

A voice beside Peter remarked in a foreign accent: 'It is saying that God intervenes to remake the world every time we human beings destroy it.'

'It can hardly be infinite,' Peter protested. 'The motion will stop when the exhibition closes.'

'You won't be here to observe it, so how would you know?' the man said, with a sardonic grin.

'I'd soon find out, if I bought the damned thing.'

'You would then have to pay the wages of the man in black.'

The man gave a hearty laugh.

'Good point,' Peter said, appreciatively. Suddenly recognising him, he said: 'You're Heidi's boss, aren't you.'

'That's right. She complained the other day that she hadn't seen you for some time.'

He ambled away, a sardonic expression on his face. Peter noticed dandruff on his coat collar. Tufts of curly gray hair protruded from under his bowler hat.

He decided that the Perspex monkey was too expensive, so after a brisk round of the remaining exhibits, he took the Underground home.

'Where's your mother?' he asked Jade in the kitchen. She was standing, reading a magazine

'At the hairdressers.'

He remembered that she was to attend the pre-wedding celebration that evening of one of the partners in her office.

'Shall we go out to eat?'

'Mum's left something in the oven. An M and S pie, or something.'

'OK.'

Placing his laptop on the table, he enquired: 'How's Jake?'

'I've just dumped him again. For good this time.'

'I'm sorry.'

'No, you're not, you never liked him.'

'He would never give me the time of day.'

'He thought you were ludicrously staid and pompous. You made it so obvious that you disapproved of the way he dressed.'

'He was always in filthy rags whenever he came to the house. But I never said anything,'

'They weren't filthy. He was personally very clean.'

'You could have fooled me. Anyway, why are you defending him, if you've dumped him?'

'Because you should accept anybody that I bring home.'

' I promise I will in future. All I want is for you to be happy and fulfilled.'

Jade shrugged. Peter thought her face looked quite pinched.

He went on: 'I'll accept them as long as they are not druggies.'

'How would you know?' she asked scornfully.

'If I thought they were, I'd put the boom down.'

'You drink alcohol.'

To avoid another stale and futile argument, he said: 'When you go to university it's easy to get in with the wrong crowd. I'm sorry about Jake. You're obviously upset.'

'Not really. I overdosed on him. He couldn't appreciate that I have extra work to do before I go to uni.'

'He's a drop-out, isn't he?'

'Yes,' Jade said, and ran upstairs in tears.

Peter shook his head and carried his laptop into the study, which also served as a bedroom for visitors.

Soon after he had taken a shower, Rachel returned from the hairdressers.

'You're dressed to kill,' he remarked.

She held up her newly varnished nails to keep him at bay and asked how his day had been.

'Not bad.' He showed her an illustration of the monkey sculpture in the exhibition catalogue.

'I'm thinking of buying it,' he remarked.

'Then you're crazy.'

'So are the Saachi brothers.'

'You're not as rich as they are.'

'Not yet.'

'When you are, you'll be free to indulge your weird taste in art.'

She refused his offer to drive her to the hotel in town where the hen night celebration was taking place. A taxi called for her later and he dined in the kitchen with his children, the television occasionally interrupting their conversation. He felt better when Winston said he liked the sculpture he had considered buying. At least my son and I are on the same wavelength, he told himself. Later, when Jade had gone up to her room, Winston informed him that the band Jake Le Roy had intended to join no longer wanted him and the university had turned down his application for readmission.

'Is Jade still in love with him?' he asked Winston.

He furrowed his brow and said: 'Naah, she's just conscience-stricken for having dumped him again. She was the one who encouraged him to go into the music business in the first place.'

'Will they make it up?'

'I doubt it. She knows what side her bread is buttered on.'

Peter forgave his son's snide remark, because he felt had always felt overshadowed by his sister's superior academic performance. It contained an element of truth. Jade was street savvy, sharing his own belief that it was enlightened self-interest that made the world go round.

After stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, he took the dog for a walk, intending to apply his mind to the pipeline proposal. Waiting for Rambo to urinate against a tree near Barykov's house, he remembered that some of the titles in his bookshelves were in Cyrillic script

He worked on his report before going to bed and was still awake when Rachel came into the bedroom.

'How was it, darling?' he enquired, watching her as she removed her jewellery.

'Vulgar and rowdy. You don't really know someone until you have attended her hen night. She engaged a male stripper.'

'Did he do the Full Monty?'

'Yes it was absolutely disgusting.'

She gave a shrill laugh.

'You sound as though you enjoyed it.'

'Not really. It was very coarse. Is your new job going well?'

'So far so good. But I've just remembered Hegel's famous maxim that everything contains within itself the seeds of its own destruction.'

'What is that supposed to mean?'

'It's like the Peter Principle, which states that people are usually promoted to a level above their competence before coming down with a bump.'

'Typical of you to take such a pessimistic view.'

'It's just a joke, for God's sake.'

Where did you learn about Hegel?'

'I did philosophy as part of my university degree.'

'Very useful to a banker,' she commented, sarcastically.

'Every bit of information is useful in my job. Why do you go on about banking?'

'Because it makes you very dull. You never take risks.'

He winced at her remark. The accusation was only partially true. Occasionally he did place small bets on the horses. Gambling was part of the ethos of the City, a form of shadow boxing serving as a reminder that investment decisions, however well researched, always contain an element of risk. He had long since ceased to mention these wagers to Rachel, because she poured scorn on the small amounts of money involved and drew unfavourable comparisons with famous entrepreneurs who gambled their personal wealth, making vast fortunes in the process.

The following morning a letter arrived at his home containing a brochure headed Barykov Translations. A handwritten note accompanying it read: "Heidi told me you worked in the City. Perhaps I can be of some assistance in your bank's foreign dealings."

When he arrived at his office he thought about the political uncertainties surrounding the pipeline proposal and it occurred to him that Barykov might possess information about the former Soviet republic through which the pipeline would run. He instructed Colleen to arrange a meeting. Any knowledge of the current political situation could prove useful.

He also asked her to arrange some extra lessons for him at his golf club, bearing in mind his forthcoming round with an important client.

4

Mr. Barykov said it would be convenient for you to visit him at eight o'clock this evening,.'Colleen told him.

'How did he sound?'

'Surprised, but pleased.'

It was raining heavily when he arrived at the house.

'How are you, Heidi? he enquired politely, when she opened the door.

'Well, thank you. You're soaked. Let me take your jacket. I'll put it in the kitchen to dry.'

Barykov rose from his armchair in the living-room, and said impishly: 'Did you buy that work, Infinite Series?'

'No. Because, as you reminded me, I would have to pay the wages of the man in black.'

Barykov laughed and pointed towards an armchair.

'Do you require some professional translations?' he asked, with a quizzical expression.

'No, I'm sorry I can't help you there. But I have been asked by my bank to make a report on the financing of a pipeline that runs though Exististan. Politically, as you may know, the country is not very stable. The pipeline could come under attack from terrorists. And if the government is taken over by the opposition party, they may repudiate the contract. Knowing that your background is Russian, I just wondered if you knew anything about the situation in the Caucasus. It's important to thoroughly evaluate the risks. Can you tell us anything at all that may be useful?'

'My knowledge of that region is twenty years out of date. As it happens I did know the present prime minister of Exististan when I worked for the KGB. Not a nice man. Liable to cut off your balls as soon as look at you. What does the Foreign Office say?'

'We have to make an independent judgement.'

'In my opinion the prime minister is ruthless enough to see off the militants. Which is a point is in his favour. But if he ran into financial difficulties, he would not have the slightest qualm in welshing on the loan. It all depends on whether the economy of Exististan remains stable during the period of the loan. As long as the Russians continue to back him, it will probably be OK.'

'So you believe, on balance, that it's safe to go ahead? ' Peter enquired.

'If the Russian Federation economy got into bad shape, their backing could be worthless.'

Peter said sharply: 'So what advice would you give me?'

'Hedge your bets.'

'I had hoped for something more positive than that.'

Barykov's eyes narrowed.

'Would you be prepared to pay me, if I obtained the very latest information on the current situation? I still have contacts in Russia. Particularly in the KGB. I knew Putin, when he worked in Leningrad.'

'Why did you leave Russia?'

'I could make no further progress in my profession. I was unfairly treated.'

'What kind of work were you doing?'

'Mainly translating documents. I speak six languages and have a working understanding of twenty more.'

'Very interesting' Peter remarked. 'I shall have to consult my colleagues. I'll let you know tomorrow how much the bank would be prepared to pay you.'

'Don't call on this number. I have reason to believe my telephone is being tapped.'

'Why?'

'The authorities suspect that I am still working for the Russian intelligence services.'

'Are you?'

'No, of course not. I'm much too old. All I want now is a peaceful life without complications.'

'Do you still have family in Russia?'

'Yes, a wife and a son. But I came here alone. Neither my wife, Tanya, nor my son, Leon, wanted to leave Russia.'

'It must have been a very painful decision.'

'These things happen.' Barykov made a deprecating gesture and continued: 'My KGB pension has been given over to my wife. That is why it is necessary for me to earn my living here.'

'Heidi told me you run a creative writing course.'

'That is a small part of the school I run on the Internet which encompasses a number of different courses, including journalism. I also offer a translation service. But of course, any extra income from any source would be very welcome.'

'Thank you very much, Mr. Barykov. I'll consult my colleagues and let you know the result when you ring me.'

They exchanged business cards.

Barykov shook him by the hand and said: 'Call me Jack. Your name is Peter?'

'That is correct.'

'Would you like a drink? I have some excellent vodka. Perhaps you would prefer whisky?'

'No, thanks. I really must go.'

'Before you go would you do me a little favour and provide Heidi with some more information about yourself for her novel.'

He gestured with his hands. 'She insists that your personality fits in exactly with a story she has in her head.'

'I am probably very different from what she has in her mind.'

'She has set her heart on questioning you. It will only take a few minutes.'

'Is she really writing a novel?

'Of course,' Barykov said heartily. 'The fact that she comes from the lower classes doesn't mean that she lacks talent. Your famous novelist Catherine Cookson was similarly of the servant class. I am a pretty good judge. I have yet to see any of my other pupils produce work as promising as that of Heidi's.'

Peter nodded.

'Don't take a romantic interest in her, Peter,' Barykov said with an impudent grin as Heidi came in. She grimaced at him as he left the room.

Heidi asked Peter about his schooling – he had attended a minor boarding school in Somerset and regretted not having attended a better one. She asked about his siblings – he had a brother, Sidney, a journalist who, coincidentally, lived in Sidney, Australia. His sister, Gloria, was a beauty consultant, in LA, California.

Heidi's hair, he noticed, now had blonde highlights. She was wearing a turquoise blouse and a cerise short skirt. He noticed her shapely legs.

'What age were you when you met your first girl friend?' she enquired.

'About fifteen, I think.'

She asked where he had met his wife. He deliberately told a lie, and said: 'I met her at university.'

'Which one?'

Some perverse impulse made him say 'Birmingham.' In fact he had met her at a friend's house. He continued: 'If you're putting me into a novel, I should like to know what exploits I get up to.'

'I haven't decided yet.'

'Shall I be popular with the ladies?'

'You are credited with being an excellent lover.'

She flashed a quick smile at him.

He looked at his watch and declared that he had to go. Heidi, looking disappointed, went to get his jacket.

'I hope I answered your questions satisfactorily,' he commented, putting on the jacket. It still felt damp.

'Some of your answers weren't true. But it doesn't matter. I am getting all the information I need about you from the way you answer them.'

'How do you know they weren't true?'

'By your expressions.'

'Then don't ask me any more questions,' he said irritably.

'You mustn't get upset. I have to discover your true nature, so that I can write about you.'

'I'd rather you didn't bother,' he said ungraciously and left the house.

Pools of moisture on the pavement glistened in late rays of sunshine as he made his way home.

He told Rachel when he came home: 'Barykov knows Russia well, but he's been away too long for his information to be of any value.'

'Will you include it in your report.'

'I doubt it.'

5

'Mr. Barykov is on the phone. Shall I say you're at a meeting?' Colleen asked him the next day.

'No, put him through.'

'Hargreaves here, Barykov.'

'I can give you some information about the Exististan pipeline that might be useful. You can have this information for free.'

'Go on.'

'A contact has told me that Putin has put the squeeze on the Prime Minister of Exististan. He has bribed part of the Exististan military. If the present PM doesn't buckle down he'll be overthrown.'

'Are you sure that this is correct?'

'One-hundred per cent sure.'

'Thank you, Barykov.'

'I trust we'll meet again.'

'I expect we shall. Goodbye.'

The information Barykov had just given him could alter the balance of risk-taking by several percentage points. But why had Barykov not asked for a reward? The answer came three days later, when Barykov telephoned and enquired if his information had been helpful.

Peter grudgingly admitted that it had been. Barykov then said: 'There is a little favour you can do for me in return. I am seeking finance to expand my business.'

'Present your plan to the bank and it will be considered on its merits.'

'Would you be kind enough to look over it first and inspect it for any discrepancies.'

'Certainly.'

'Thank you, Peter. The name of my company is The International Learning Institute and incorporates the various activities I told you about. In the meantime, pending my formal application, you might like to take a look at our web site.'

'Submit your business plan and I'll see that it's examined.'

He had been put out by Barykov's excessive eagerness to obtain a return for his favour. But he took a less harsh view when Sir Michael Montgomery, the chief executive of the bank, complimented him on obtaining useful intelligence.

'What was your source of information?' he enquired.

'A former Russian KGB man now living in this country.'

'He seems to have been spot on. How did you come to meet him?'

'I met him in a pub.'

'Sounds like a useful chap to know. Keep in touch with him, in case any more Russian business comes up. Well done. We're going ahead with the pipeline deal, if they agree to our terms.'

Rachel complained, when he got home that evening, that one of the partners, Vera Greene, had told her that it would be years before she pulled her weight.

He replied: 'Never mind, darling. We don't need the money now. You can tell 'em to go to hell, if you want to.'

'This has nothing to do with money. It's about my career. I've wasted years bringing up the children when I could have had a successful career in law.'

'You call bringing up a family wasteful!'

'What's the point of having children when they make such intolerable demands.'

'At least we're now in a position to meet those demands.'

' From now on I intend to concentrate on my legal career.'

'By all means. And I'll give you every encouragement.'

He peered into the freezer and enquired: 'What's for dinner?'

'Where did you have lunch?'

'In the Savoy Grill with a client.'

'I had a ham sandwich, sitting at my desk.'

'That's too bad,' he replied, irritated by her response. ' Look, I'm going for a walk. I'll make something when I come back. You can tell me then what you would like to eat.'

He walked a few yards before remembering that Gerald and Ursula Patman had been invited for a game of bridge that evening and turned back. When he returned, Rachel was busy laying out a table-cloth on the kitchen table and had already put frozen fish and chips in the oven.

'I remembered the Patmans were coming. You're doing what I had intended to do. More efficiently perhaps.'

'I have been brainwashed into being efficient. It's a pity you can't be brainwashed into being more considerate.'

'I shall try in future,' he said earnestly.

Gerald Patman was a very successful divorce barrister, who had formerly been married to an equally successful barrister. He had fallen in love with his second wife, a former Jamaican beauty queen, while on holiday in Jamaica. She was an artist, specialising in gaudy paintings of opulent local girls in their finery which sold very well. She had grown plump and indolent after eight years of marriage, living as she put it, 'off the fat of the land.' Gerald joked that they had found a secret formula for marriage but wouldn't divulge it in case he went bankrupt through lack of clients. He was fond of telling jokes but was loftily indifferent to his audience's reaction. "Humour, like virtue, is its own reward,' he had once quipped when nobody laughed.

The Patmans arrived promptly at eight, Ursula wearing a lime green dress. showing an abundant cleavage. Gerald wore a blue cashmere jersey and a matching open-neck shirt. Peter poured drinks and they sat around a card table set up in the sitting-room.

'So what have you two been up to?' Gerald enquired, conversationally. He was a slim man in his early fifties, his sparse fair hair carefully combed to give maximum coverage across his balding head.

'Quarrelling, as usual,' Rachel said tartly.

'That's good for business,' Gerald said, his eyebrows raised. 'Any reason?'

'Sheer boredom,' Rachel said and began to shuffle the cards.

'Peter, you should go to Jamaica and finds yourself a new wife,' Ursula said, mischievously. 'Look how well it worked out for us.'

Rachel said: 'Perhaps I should go out there and look for a new husband?'

'Jamaican men are much too smart. They give you loads of babies and then send you out to work to keep them.'

'I already go out to work. For less than one tenth of Peter's earnings.'

'Money's not everything, if you enjoy your work,' Ursula commented.

Gerald chimed in: 'Ursula enjoys the absence of work, don't you darling.'

'Yes. God blessed the seventh day and made it holy. No reason why the other six days shouldn't be holy as well. Gerald earns enough and I'm very thankful for that.'

'What about your painting, Ursula?'

'She hasn't lifted up a paintbrush for yonks,' Gerald said with a shrug.

'You used to paint lovely young sylph-like figures,' Rachel said. 'Like the ones on the wall that you gave me.' She pointed to a painting of a group of naked black girls splashing in a waterfall.

'She's resting on her Lorelei,' Gerald said, grinning at his witticism. 'How about we play some bridge.'

But after a single rubber they gave up.

Peter poured out more drinks. Gerald told them a joke about a divorce case, demanded another gin and as Peter refilled his glass, said: 'How's bonking?'

'What!' Peter replied, startled.

'Banking– how's banking?'

'Oh, it's going well.'

'How should I invest my vast fortune?'

'Spread your bets,' Peter advised tersely. He didn't like giving advice.

'What do you invest in yourself?'

'I invest in money.'

'That's a cop out. Don't you ever take risks?'

'Peter is horribly averse to taking risks of any kind, aren't you, darling,' Rachel said.

'I do occasionally,' Peter said solemnly, thinking of his occasional racecourse bets.

'Marriage is the riskiest business of all,' Rachel said. 'I doubt if there are many winners. What do you think, Gerald?'

'My professional interest is in the dark side of the moon,' Gerald said, smiling. 'But a bright side exists. Find your bright side I always say to couples when they first come to me. Look how successful the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh's marriage has been. Which reminds me that if we had a Jewish queen, they would complain she was too Jewish.'

Peter didn't laugh, considering the joke to be in bad taste.

Rachel was sitting at the dressing-table, when they went up to bed, Peter put his hand on her shoulder and said: 'Shall we take Gerald's advice and find the bright side?'

'Gerald is an idiot,' Rachel responded. 'How could he divorce a brilliant woman who gave him three children and marry a lazy cow who does nothing but lie around all day and spend his money!'

'She doesn't spend a lot as far as I can see. She doesn't even have her own car.'

'That's because she's too lazy to drive.'

'You haven't answered my question: How do we find the bright side to our marriage?'

'There isn't one.'

'Should we see a marriage counsellor?'

' All I require is for you to change your attitude?'

'Meaning?'

'Stop being a banker.'

'It brings in the money, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'It doesn't bring in enough. Why don't you try something else for a change.'

'You were very keen for me to get to my present position. Now you're asking me to throw it all up.'

'It's precisely because you see giving it up as impossible that we are having this row.'

'What else can I do?' he asked in dismay.

'You could open a business, go into property. Anything that would shake you out of your complacency. You're so predictable. Take a risk sometimes – a real risk.'

'But I do take risks.'

'You let other people take risks. You've become old before your time. And dull. Horribly dull.'

Peter lay awake long into the night, smarting from her accusation.

6

Heidi had met Barykov nearly six years earlier when she was working as a bar maid in Manchester. He was the only customer. After ordering a large vodka, he asked if she had ever been to London.

She shook her head.'

'You should come down there. You could meet a rich young man who'd want to marry you.'

'It hasn't happened in Manchester. Why should it be any different in London?'

'I'm prepared to give you expert advice on how to go about it.'

'I'd have to find a job.'

'I'll give you a job. You can be my housekeeper.'

'What would that entail?'

'Cooking, doing my laundry. Not much housework – a woman comes in to clean.'

'I've met your type before. It's just an excuse for an easy fuck.'

'You wouldn't have to sleep with me – unless you wanted to. Which, I admit, is very unlikely.'

'Impossible. Not unlikely.

Two hours later, when he was very drunk– he offered her a generous salary and she agreed to accompany him to London..

The arrangement worked reasonably well. Barykov complained to her one day that when he lived in the former Soviet Union the fact that he had a Jewish grandfather had worked against him He added ruefully, 'Lenin had a Jewish grandfather but it didn't harm his career.'

The grandfather in question had been killed by the Nazis during a round-up of Jews in the Ukraine during World War Two. When he learned of his grandfather's fate, he decided to write a novel about the adventures of a Jewish girl trying to emigrate to Israel. Zionism was frowned upon by the Soviet Union at the time. The book was condemned by the Writer's Union. The KGB accused him of deviating from the party line. His other writings and novels were blacklisted. After a long struggle with the authorities, during which time his wife adhered to the official line, he managed to obtain an exit visa. When he first came to England, he scratched a bare living doing translations. Later, he founded a school of journalism, communicating with his students by e-mail and the Internet. He also became a recruiting agent for newspapers and magazines looking for journalists. He had thousands of aspirant writers taking his courses. One of his students had become an internationally-known poet.

He complained bitterly to Heidi about his own lack of success as a novelist with British publishers. He told her one day, as he came out of his bedroom, a gap in his pyjamas trousers exposing his grey pubic hair and his genitals, 'They won't make allowance for the fact that I think in a Russian way. British publishers wouldn't publish Dostoievsky or Tolstoy today. They'd say there isn't enough sex.'

'Cover your pecker,' Heidi commanded.

He closed the gap in his pyjamas, shuffled his slippers, did in an improvised dance and went on: 'But at least here I don't have to resort to Samizdat.'

'Why should it worry you?' Heidi enquired. 'You're making a good living.'

Barykov screwed up his face.

' I would have liked to have written a best seller. The world has passed me by. Perhaps you will succeed, Heidi, where I have failed .You have strong story lines and characters who experience powerful emotions. Lots of blood and guts.'

'You only say it to keep me working for you.'

'What's for breakfast, Heidi?'

.'Sausages, bacon and fried eggs.'

'Good. Get it ready. I'll be down shortly.'

'You don't deny what I've just said?'

'What? Oh, that. You're a silly little girl. I should have kicked you out years ago. The only reason I haven't is because you come into my bed occasionally .'

Heidi glared at him and went down to the kitchen. She had been up for three hours, cleaning the house while he was asleep. He had fallen asleep the night before listening to opera.

She was particularly angry of his reminder that occasionally she slept with him. His love-making was energetic, mechanical and totally self-absorbed. There were long periods when she stayed away. But he always won the battles of wills, which made her even more angry. Sometimes she threatened to leave, but he took not the slightest notice. It was his interest in her writing activity which persuaded her to stay. He was a hard taskmaster, intolerant of spelling, grammatical errors and sentimentality.

She said: 'Why don't you go back to your wife?'

'She has another lover.'

'Why don't you divorce her?'

'Because my son would say: 'Since my father divorced my mother, it's about time I did the same. One should always analyse the results of one's actions. Besides, a divorce costs money, which I need for my business.'

'You could give up your Man United season ticket.'

'Oh, no, no. That is as essential as food.'

The former supporter of Moscow Dynamos had transferred his loyalty to the Manchester football team shortly after arriving in England. He said that football was good for the masculine soul. He occasionally went up to Manchester to attend a home game.

'What about the female soul?' Heidi enquired on one occasion.

'They don't have a soul – not in the football sense.'

'There are women's football teams.'

'But they don't fill stadiums.'

'You're a chauvinist pig.'

He replied calmly: 'Masculine pigs are very necessary.'

'We're all human beings, not pigs.'

'That is a pity. Pigs don't wantonly kill each other, unlike human beings.'

One of the bedrooms housed the computer equipment he used to run his Distant Learning web site. Another contained filing cabinets containing hard copies of the various courses he ran for students all over the world. He had translated his courses into six languages and intended to expand further. He employed one secretary, of whom Heidi was jealous. Barykov reckoned he would soon need more employees, as well as a good deal more office space.

'Why go to all that trouble?' Heidi asked him one day, annoyed because he had refused to read her latest chapter. Ex-communists like you are supposed to be opposed to money-making.'

'I want to get rich so that I that can devote my money to a deserving cause. That doesn't include you. Get out of here. Now. Right away!'

Duster in hand she retreated, shutting the door behind her violently.

Barykov said to himself: She's getting above herself. But, who knows, she might even one day write a best seller.

The telephone rang. It was Peter Hargreaves offering to examine his business plan.

'By all means, Barykov said heartily. 'I'm in most evenings.'

'O.K. I'll call in when I take my dog for a walk.'

'Thank you. I look forward to seeing you.'

7

The Internet was at last forging ahead and becoming very profitable Peter reflected, on his way to Barykov's house. Rachel's course with the Open University had been very sucessful.. Internet-based learning had great potential. Barykov's acumen, his language and business skills were impressive; in addition, he was determined, intelligent and ambitious

Rambo, straining at the lead, leaped at Heidi, as she opened the front door.

She patted him on the head and told Peter that Barykov was at a Masonic meeting and asked if he would like to wait.

'Do you mind the dog?'

No, I like dogs. Come in, please.'

She invited him into the living room, and gave Rambo a bowl of water, which he lapped eagerly, after which he settled down beside Peter's chair, panting contentedly.

'I find it interesting that your boss is a Freemason,' Peter remarked. 'It was outlawed in the Soviet Union.'

'Jack says anything that was not allowed in the Soviet Union must be good.'

Peter nodded agreement.

'Where's the cello?' he remarked, noticing that it was not in its accustomed position.

'He's put it into an auction.'

'And how's your novel going? he asked politely.

'Not well.'

She then asked: 'Are you going to help finance Jack's business?'

'Possibly.'

'He's so busy these days that he hardly has time to help me with my writing.'

'Why don't you finish the novel and then show it to him.'

'I can't. And it's all your fault. You happen to be the chief character. But you don't co-operate when I ask you question about yourself..'

'Why don't you just make up characters? Isn't that what most novelists do.'

'Jack strongly believes in applying the Stanislavsky method of acting to fiction.'

'How does that work?'

Heidi said suddenly: 'Do you mind if I smoke?'

She lit a cigarette, and drawing on it hungrily continued: 'Jack recommends that you find real people and then observe everything they do. If you can get under their skin, they will come off the page as real people.'

'You want to get under my skin?'

Heidi drew on her cigarette again and eyeing him steadily, said: 'Yes, if that will enable me to finish my novel.'

'I'm afraid it's not possible,' Peter commented absently; his eyes were focused on a painting of a heroic peasant girl holding a sheaf of wheat, which he was thinking was very typical of the Stalinist era.

'Why not?'

'I shall be far too busy.'

'I was going to ask you that time I saw you on the pedestrian crossing if you would meet me in the Suzie Cue to answer some questions.'

'Are all the characters in your novel based on real people?'

'No. But you are the central character.' 'What kind of book is it – mystery, horror, romance?

'Historical romance.'

'Good. I suppose when I read it I shall be able to see exactly what kind of a person I am.'

'Yes. It might help you to understand yourself better,' Heidi said airily, stubbing out her cigarette in an ashtray.

Nettled by her answer, he remained silent.

Heidi continued: 'Jack says that the Internet is becoming a huge money-spinner.'

Peter nodded. It had occurred to him that it might be worth investing personally in Barykov's enterprise, which possessed many of the qualities which guarantee success. He reminded himself that many former communists from Russia had taken to capitalism like ducks to water

A pungent smell appeared as Heidi suddenly sprayed the room with a canister. 'Jack doesn't like cigarette smoke.' she explained. I don't usually smoke, but you make me feel nervous.'

'Good heavens. Why?'

'I don't know why. Perhaps it's because when I saw you in the pub I realised I had dreamed of you before I had even met you.'

'You're clairvoyant?'

'Perhaps.'

Peter said playfully: 'In that case be warned. I have a dark side to my nature.'

'Which is exactly what women readers like.'

Barykov came in at that moment and said: 'Glad to see you, Peter.'

He waved imperiously at Heidi, who promptly left the room.

Barykov deposited a small leather case on a coffee table and said quietly: 'I am in the process of expanding our international activities. We are getting more enquiries than I can cope with. I need more staff and new premises. Too rapid an expansion can, as you know, prove dangerous for a new business. But if I can acquire sufficient financial resources it cannot fail to become a huge success.'

'Bankers love numbers,' Peter said, quietly

'Wait just a moment.'

Barykov left the room and returned with a sheath of documents, which he handed to Peter.

Peter studied them in silence for a while, drumming his fingers on the side of the chair. He then said quietly: 'On the basis of these figures I think it is just possible that my bank might be able to help you.'

'How long will it take?'

'Nine months to a year.'

He had deliberately exaggerated the time it might take. He went on: 'But if you're in a hurry, I could personally lend you the money. Of course, I would want a stake in the business. But it would be cheaper than borrowing from the bank. '

'What kind of stake would you require?'

'Fifty per cent!'

Barykov gave a derisive peal of laughter, causing Rambo to growl softly.

'He won't bite you,' Peter assured him.

'Unlike his master,' Barykov said in an aggrieved tone. He added: 'I might consider ten per cent.'

Peter shook his head.

Barykov complained: 'I'm feeling tired. Perhaps we can continue this discussion another day.

'Of course,' Peter said pleasantly. 'Did you enjoy your Masonic evening?'

'Yes. Free Masonry teaches one to appreciate the ephemeral nature of one's existence.'

'I believe the Soviet Union didn't approve of Free Masonry.'

'Closed systems of thought don't like competition.'

On his way home, it occurred to Peter that Barykov had sold his cello because he was running short of money. Thanks to his own recent promotion, he was now in a position to draw on several credit lines that would enable him to buy into Barykov's venture. If necessary, he would take out a larger mortgage on the family home. Now was the time to show Rachel that he was prepared to take a courageous leap into the entrepreneurial world.

8

Six months later the sun was shining brightly into a large bedroom in a Scottish manse in Ayreshire. The large, stone-built house in which it was situated was the headquarters of the company Peter now jointly owned with Jack Barykov. The previous owner had bought fishing and shooting rights associated with the manse, which enabled Peter to boast to his colleagues that he owned a country estate in Scotland.

The company was generating enormous profits. It seemed possible that he would soon join the ranks of the multi-millionaire entrepreneurs so much admired. He had not told her of his new venture, and was looking forward to her expression of surprise when he casually let slip that they had joined the ranks of the multi-millionaires. She was currently under the impression that he travelled to Scotland occasionally to keep an eye on one of the bank's investments.

Another even more secret acquisition lay in bed beside him. He was grateful to Heidi for encouraging him to take the biggest gamble he had ever taken in his life. Her assurance that his character matched that of the super-hero in her novel had been a major factor in persuading him to invest in Barykov's Internet enterprise. He had ceased to be a tight-fisted banker, playing it safe always. Thanks to Heidi, he had become high-rolling merchant adventurer – one, moreover, who had an immense appeal to women.

She had also changed remarkably in the past few months. From the pallid, shy creature he had first met in the pub she had blossomed into a mature, beautiful woman whose frenzied love-making delighted and astonished him.

There was a stained, sepia photograph on the wall above the headboard of a stern-looking Victorian clergyman. They had discussed the Reverend Timothy Brown the previous night. Getting out of bed, Peter said: 'Did we shock him last night, do you think.'

Heidi shook her head.

'No, darling. I don't think anything we did would ever have shocked him.'

They dressed and went downstairs for breakfast in the staff canteen presided over by Mrs.

McGregor, a cook they taken over from the previous owner of the manse. Later, Heidi rose from her chair and reminded him that she had booked a round of golf for him at Turnberry.. She told him she had to collect some provisions from Ayre, the nearest town and added, 'After lunch we'll drive to the golf course.'

The rooms on the ground floor of the former manse were occupied by some specialist tutors, who dealt with some of the more difficult Internet queries from the students. Batteries of computers linked to tutors working from their homes were housed in the basement of the former manse. The new learning institution was raking in money from all over the world. 'All highly ethical,' Barykov had declared jovially to Peter, 'and all highly profitable.'

Peter had discovered that Barykov was a mathematician, philosopher and a formidable chess player. His philosophical comments sometimes made Peter aware of his own abysmal ignorance in a subject he had once studied, economics having long since taken precedence in his interests. Before making his huge investment Peter had arranged for the accounts of Barykov's company to be subject to rigorous examination by two leading firms of accountants. He had also employed a private agency to look into Barykov's background. His record was completely untarnished the agency assured him. His obstinate refusal to follow the party line during the latter days of the Soviet Union could only be accounted a virtue.

Heidi told Peter that Barykov approved of their love affair and had declared that it was good for the Company. Her duties involved supervising the cleaners and looking after the welfare of the twenty or so staff who worked at the former manse. She was anxious to take on further responsibility.

When Peter entered Jack Barykov's office, on the ground floor, he found him in earnest discussion with a handsome young Indian. Looking up, Barykov said: 'We're just carrying out some routine checks on the software. Meanwhile all is well on the financial front. That's your chief concern, isn't it, my friend.'

'The quality of the brand is also very important.'

'Never fear, Peter. In a hundred years time our reputation will surpass that of Oxford, Yale and Harvard. Rajiv, meet Peter Hargreaves, who has invested a great deal of money in International Learning. He is our chief financial adviser.'

Rajiv and Peter shook hands.

Barykov then said: 'We'll go through this later on, Rajiv. I wish to brief Peter on a few matters.'

Rajiv left and he gave him a review of the latest events.

When Peter expressed surprise at the number of students who failed to finish their course, Baykov explained: 'It approximates to the average level of failures in similar educational establishments. We employ every form of persuasion to encourage people to complete the course. But there will always be some backsliders.' He added reminiscently: 'The KGB once carried out a survey to determine the percentage of people who lacked idealogical commitment. It varied enormously across the Soviet Union. Siberia had the least percentage. Georgia had a lot, supposedly because its warmer climate made people lazy. Joseph Stalin, who came from Georgia, was furious with the result, although to tell the truth he was the biggest backslider of the lot!'

Barykov laughed at what Peter guessed was an old KGB joke and then enquired: 'Have you liked what you have seen so far?'

' Everything seems to be going well. Are you managing to get qualified staff?'

'So far so good. We have two-hundred and fifty instructors working from home-based computers in the UK, all of whom have taken our instructor's course. As we expand, I expect that proportion of UK-based staff to diminish. We can get better qualified staff in India and China, who will work for considerably less. Raji spends a lot of time in India recruiting tutors.'

He turned to the keyboard in front of him, brought up a spreadsheet on the screen and pointed to it without comment.

Peter was amazed. The revenue was flowing in even faster than forecast. Nevertheless, as a precautionary measure he suggested to Barykov that they should install a system in the computer's financial software that would flash a warning should danger signs appear in the company's finances. Barykov then pointed out that it could adversely affect their stock market prospects if it became general knowledge that this had happened. It was agreed that the alarm would only operate in the password-protected computers of the two partners. Barykov then suggested that they would discuss the long-term future of the business over dinner that evening.

When Rajiv had been recalled, Peter decided to explore the surrounding countryside. He walked through along a corridor towards the dark entrance hall. Two stag heads glowered down at him from one panelled wall. A pair of claymores, some murderous-looking dirks with jewelled handles and other ancient weaponry dominated the other. He went outside, descended a flight of worn granite steps and found himself in a large, neglected front garden. As he made his way between towering fir trees through a path infested with weeds, he made a mental note to arrange to have the garden cleaned up.

After climbing a steep slope, he saw in the distance Ailsa Craig, a small island rising like a brown, upturned cylinder from the waters of the Firth of Clyde. A herd of Black Angus cattle were grazing in the field beside him A man high up in a tractor called out to him as he made way for it in the narrow lane, but he failed to understand his Scottish accent. He crossed a bridge over a fast-running stream and continued towards a small village in the distance, pondering the remarkable changes that had taken place in his life.

His promotion had come about because of the sudden and unexpected death of his boss. Following that a chance conversation in a pub with Heidi had led him to encounter an entrepreneurial genius who was about to make both of them both extremely rich. There was every prospect of owning holiday homes abroad, a yacht, a personal jet airplane and all the trappings of the very rich. The vague dreams of his youth were about to come true. He relished the thought of Rachel's surprise when he told her about the change in their fortunes.

Perhaps the greatest surprise had been Heidi's amazing transformation from the plain, shy girl he had met in the Suzie Cue into a charming, mature, self-confident, sexy young woman with a wonderful sense of humour. Recalling the storms of erotic pleasure from the previous night had the power to arouse him again. During interludes between love-making she told him funny, Rabelaisian stories. The praise she heaped on Barykov irritated him. Nevertheless, he did not regret joining forces with this remarkable genius.

He was still smiling, as he bent down to enter a low-roofed pub called The Pelican and ordered a half a pint of beer from a bald-headed, bearded landlord with a mustard-coloured calico apron wrapped around his extensive girth.

'Good day to you, sir,' the landlord said, 'Are you from the manse?'

'I am,' Peter volunteered.

'We're getting extra business since it reopened. Well educated people work there now. Foreign some of them. But their money is as good as anybody's. Do you work there by any chance.'

Occasionally,' Peter volunteered, cautiously.

'Aye, Well, you're very welcome. They tell me they have more computers there than you could shake a stick at. It's all good for the economy. I might take one of those computer courses myself one of these day, when I get a bit of spare time.'

'Excellent idea,' Peter said enthusiastically, taking the glass of beer the publican handed to him. The only other customers were a pair of farm labourers chatting in corner of the saloon.

As he sat at a table near the entrance, he allowed himself to think of what might happen if the business failed. He would be personally bankrupt. Any breath of wrong-doing involving the business he had bought into could result in the loss of his job and might even preclude him from working again in the financial sector However, he was confident that sufficient safeguards were in place to ensure this wouldn't happen. Thanks to Heidi he had utterly confounded all those people who had regarded him as dull and unadventurous. He had only one lingering doubt: the Internet on which the business was based had yet to demonstrate that it could establish a long-lasting brand name. But the Internet itself was a comparatively new institution and some brand names were already becoming reassuringly familiar.

He recalled the masterstroke that had persuaded Barykov to take him as his partner. Having identified the auction house commissioned to auction Barykov's cello, he had made a successful telephone bid . The following evening he had given Barykov back his cello, which had belonged to his mother and had been among his most treasured possessions. Barykov admitted having sold it to ease some pressing business debts. Peter's shrewd move resulted in a signal improvement in the relationship between the two men. Shortly afterwards Barykov signed the partnership contract, dividing the business equally between them. Peter had then released the first tranche of the money.

One evening, yielding to an impulse he had called to see Barykov. Heidi told him he was out but would be returning soon. He sat in Barykov's armchair, looked at the cello, now back in its familiar place, and congratulated himself.

Heidi offered him a cup of tea, which he declined.

She drew up a chair and sat next to him and asked: 'What made you decide to put money into Jack's business?'

'My accountants ran their eyes over the business plan. Because of a very rapid expansion he had run down his capital. But the last two years' figures confirmed my impression that it's going to be a winner.'

'I bet he talked you into it. He can be very persuasive,'

'No. The facts talked for themselves.'

'If I hadn't spoken to you in the Suzie Cue that day none of this would have happened.'

'Yes. Isn't that amazing.'

'It wasn't just luck. I told you I had met you before in my dreams.'

'Don't give me that hogwash again,' he said, with a tolerant smile.

'That really was the way it happened.'

'You imagined you saw me in your dreams.'

'No. I knew the very first moment I saw you in the pub that you were the person I had met in my dreams. You're my eternal dream boy.'

She reached out and put her hand over his.

'Dream boy! I'm nearly forty-three.'

'You look much younger.'

'How old are you?'

'Thirty-three on September 13th.'

'You're an amazing girl, Heidi.' He looked at his watch. 'You'll have me believing in the supernatural if I'm not careful.'

'Why shouldn't you?'

' Bankers deal in hard facts, not romantic dreams.'

'If it makes you happier to believe in them, it must be good.'

'It wouldn't be very good for the shareholders of my bank.'

'You have a duty to yourself as well as to the shareholders.'

'Their interests must come first.'

'Why?'

'Because they put their trust in me.'

'Your other self – the leading character in my book – always puts himself first.'

'Then I'm not like him.'

He looked at his watch again.

'I must go. I can't wait much longer. I'm taking my wife out to dinner this evening.'

'Why don't you tell her you've changed your mind and are going to a rave-up.'

'You have no idea at all, have you, of what marriage is all about.'

'It seems to be about one person dominating another person.'

'Marriage is a partnership in which husband and wife try to please each other.'

'Then phone your wife and tell her you're going to get pissed. If she wants to please you, she'll say: Okay. Go ahead and have a good time.'

'You're very naive, Heidi. I haven't the slightest wish to go to a rave-up. I'm too old, for one thing.'

'Nonsense. The way you were looking at my tits a moment ago proves that you're not.'

' Heidi, you're way out of line.'

'You were stroking them in your imagination.'

'That isn't true, Heidi, Don't go on like this. It won't work. I'm a happily married man.'

'I'm just trying to show you that we can be moulded by other people, including wives, into becoming something we don't really want to be. Anyway, it's perfectly normal for a man to want to fondle a woman's breasts.'

'Who said I feel that way about you?'

'Assume that you have fallen in love with me.'

'Why should I?'

'Perhaps I can manipulate you into falling in love with me. Dictators manipulate people all the time.'

'Is that what Barykov tells you?'

'Yes. But he can't manipulate me, even though he's very clever. There are things I can do that he can't.'

'Such as?'

'Create life-like characters.'

'He write novels, too, doesn't he?'

'Yes, but he can't make his characters come to life like I can.'

At that moment Jack Barykov appeared. He announced to them both cheerfully that he had found a property in Ayreshire that would make excellent headquarters for the rapidly expanding business. He and Peter then discussed the proposed move to Scotland, while Heidi served coffee..

She said with a mischievous smile afterwards, as she escorted Peter, to the front-door: 'You can text love letters to me when I move up to Scotland with Jack '

'You should confine your romancing to your novels.'

She raised herself up and kissed him on the lips.

As he walked home, feeling a reprise of her moist lips on his, he reproached himself for his weakness.

Rachel was reading a magazine in the sitting-room when he arrived home. She turned off scenes of rioting on the television screen and said: 'Where have you been?'

'I had an appointment with a client who lives near the Suzie Cue pub.'

'Is that why you don't like having lunch there?'

'Of course not. We can go in there for lunch on Saturday, if you like.'

'Who is this guy?'

'Who said it was a guy?'

'This woman, then?'

'He is, in fact, a man called Jack Barykov. He's trying to raise venture capital to expand his business.'

'Why don't you see him at your office?'

'He lives less than a mile away, so I thought I'd drop in to see him.'

'Will the bank approve his application?'

'We haven't decided yet.'

'Is it a big loan?'

'Darling, I don't ask questions about your clients. But since I was the one who introduced him to the bank, I feel a personal responsibility for seeing that everything goes smoothly.'

'Barykov? It sounds like a Russian name.'

'He's Russian but he has lived in this country for quite a while. Have you heard from Jade?'

'She rang today. She is settling in well. Her room is OK and she likes what she has seen of the campus so far. But we may have to increase her allowance.'

'Has she finally got rid of Jake?'

'I dare not ask. She has to live her own life.'

Peter picked up a copy of the Guardian and scanned through it, as Rachel resumed reading. There was silence, until Rachel showed him a fashion photographer's image of a TV presenter at a party wearing a very revealing dress.

'Very undignified,' he murmured. But it will keep her in the public eye for a little longer.'

'You wouldn't like it if I exposed myself like that.'

'I wouldn't mind. You still have a nice figure.'

'Don't be ridiculous. Get back to your newspaper.'

An image of Heidi came back to him as he read the newspaper. Rachel, it was apparent, no longer found him sexy. Gerald Patman had once quipped: "Men marry for better or worse, women marry for better or Wurst." Was he deficient in that area? Heidi, not only found him attractive but also saw him as a dashing hero. One day he would read her novel and would be able to see exactly how he appeared in her eyes.

9

An oil price increase improved the prospects for the new pipeline which had occupied his attention for so long. But the possibility of inflation that might arise from the increase put in jeopardy a number of other ventures. It pained him when he had to refuse finance to a company of which a friend was chief executive .The high degree of socialising demanded by his new job, which included playing rounds of golf and attending sporting events put a further strain on his marriage. On one occasion, when Sir Michael Mongomery was abroad, he deputised for him at the City of London's Lord Mayor's banquet.

Rachel complained that he had left her with insufficient funds to furnish their expensive house in St. John's Wood. He used family money to make up the deficit, secure in the knowledge that The International Learning institute was making great strides. His total financial resources were now committed to his partnership with Barykov. But he was confident that the impending stock market flotation would provide sufficient funds to make him completely independent for the rest of his life. His reputation in the City would be greatly advanced and numerous offers of directorships would come his way. Success might even heal his marriage.

Heidi called him on his mobile number one morning, while he was studying some papers in his office

'Who gave you this number?' he enquired huffily.

'It was on the business card you gave Jack.'

'What is it you want?'

'I'm sorry if I've called at an inconvenient time, but I should like to meet you for lunch.'

'Any particular reason?'

'I've got into a very difficult chapter in my novel and I need your help.'

'Why should I be able to help?'

'You figure in it. Don't you remember?'

'I don't see how ....'

She interrupted him, saying: 'I just need you to help break my writer's block. I'll pay for the lunch.'

It seemed churlish to refuse her request and it might offend Barykov. Anyway, it was flattering to have his opinion sought by an attractive young woman. He arranged to meet her at an Italian restaurant nearby. She arrived ten minutes late, by which time he was drinking a glass of Chablis and eating his lunch. The waiter helped her remove her coat, underneath which she was wearing smart jeans and an embroidered designer top. Barykov, he thought, must have given her a raise in salary, in anticipation of the success of their business venture.

She apologised for being late. He recommended the sea bass, saying: 'That won't damage your figure.'

Am I too fat?'

'Good heavens, no. What exactly is your problem, Heidi. I haven't got much time.'

She said breathlessly. 'Peter, my hero – that's you in my book – is in love with the King's mistress.'

'Excuse me. What king are we talking about?'

'King Charles the Second – the Merry Monarch. In my story King Charles has a very young mistress, who is really in love with Sir Peter Crawford, a Privy Counsellor who handles the King's Purse.'

'Why are you telling me all this?'

'So that you can help me out.'

'Why should I be able to help you?'

'Because YOU are Sir Peter Crawford.'

Peter chuckled.

As the waiter served their meals, he commented, dryly: 'I suppose if I'm in charge of the King's purse, it's because you see me as an old moneybags.'

'Don't be so silly. You're not taking me seriously. Writing fiction is very hard work.'

'Why don't you ask Barykov?'

'He's far too busy with this move to Scotland'

'I haven't the faintest idea what it is you want.'

'You are the key figure in my book. I am depending on you to describe how you would behave in certain circumstances.'

'Why don't you just use your imagination?'

'I need help with male characters, because I have only known coarse, selfish men. You have a sensitive side to your nature, and for that reason have much in common with my chief protagonist.'

'My wife says I'm just a typical banker.'

'Then she doesn't understand you. You are both sensitive and sensuous.'

Peter examined her face, with a quizzical look on his own. She seemed utterly sincere.

Heidi went on. 'My whole future is based on successfully completing this novel. I have failed miserably in everything else I have done. Jack's recognition of my talent has enabled me to regain my sense of worth. He assured me that I will eventually be able to make my living writing. All I want now is for you to tell me how you would react in certain hypothetical situations.'

Peter motioned to the waiter to refill his glass. He felt sympathy for her. Her disadvantaged background would have made life generally very difficult. As for her claim to have dreamed of him before they had met, he supposed he would have to forgive her for such a flight of fancy. Novelists earned their living by letting their imagination run away with them.

He looked at her steadfastly and enquired: 'What did you mean about having failed miserably?'

Heidi looked downcast.

'I felt utterly worthless as the result of giving away my baby. Jack has tried to restore my confidence. But I feel it is only through my writing that I can become a full human being again.'

'I rarely read fiction and I haven't the slightest idea what it would be like to be a seventeenth-century courtier.'

'Just think about what I have described and tell me how you think you would have reacted next time you come to the house.'

'OK. I'll try.'

'That's great.'

Leaning forward across the table, she whispered: 'Put yourself in the other Peter's place. You have just lifted your sweetheart's skirts. She is fainting with desire. You are about to enter her when your housekeeper shouts: 'Sire, the King is here and wishes to pay his respects. Tell me what you would do.'

He laughed and said: 'OK. I'll think about it.'

He paid the bill and hailed a passing taxi for her.

On his way back to the office, he thought she obviously has me typecast as a typical swashbuckling hero. And she's absolutely right. She has an insight into my true character. Have I not recently earned my spurs by investing in a promising business enterprise?

Returning to Canary Wharf, he said a cheery 'Good afternoon' to a member of his staff who followed him into the lift. His lunch with Heidi had not been a waste of time. He had learned how her mind worked and even perhaps understood himself a little better.

10

While an accountant was describing to him some of the finer points of evaluating companies by using a new, sophisticated form of discounted cash flow, he found himself wondering how he would have behaved in Sir Peter Crawford's situation. To run would be shameful. To defy the King could result in the loss of his head.

He asked the accountant to repeat his argument, saying: 'It was a heavy night last night. Another one of those damned City banquets.'

Arriving at his home that evening, he admired the facade of the Regency house he had bought. Its value had already increased considerably. His confidence increased that his investment in Barykov's Internet scheme was sound and would soon make him very rich.

Because, the builders were still at work, he and Rachel were sleeping in separate rooms. He went up to his own bedroom and changed into casual clothes before coming downstairs for dinner.

Sitting in the newly-decorated dining-room, he glanced around at the modern Italian furniture and asked Rachel: 'How was your day?'

'Not bad. I'm working on an interesting case of a contested will. By the way, your brother Sidney rang up from Australia this afternoon. He says that when he comes to stay with us at Christmas, he would like to take a look at the Trust you set up to manage your mother's affairs.

'That's OK,' Peter replied, feigning indifference, although her words had made him feel uneasy..

A pallid girl with a mass of golden tangled curls – one of two recently engaged Romanian house maids – served bowls of onion soup. He did not like the new domestic arrangements, but had to acknowledge that Rachel needed extra help in coping with the increased entertaining that had become an essential part of their life as the result of his promotion to the Board.

His eighty-three year-old mother had recently, at her own request, been placed in a care home. Until then she had been living in a large house on seven acres of valuable land. Her will decreed that when she died her estate should be divided equally among her three children. The house, together with the land, had fetched a considerable sum, the interest on which paid the fees of the nursing home. Peter was in charge of the trust fund. He had borrowed some of this money temporarily in order to finance the Barykov enterprise, justifying himself on the grounds that the inconvenience and expense of settling his mother into the care home had fallen on his shoulders, while his brother and sister were enjoying sunnier climes in California and Australia. Nevertheless, the prospect of being criticised for borrowing from the fund made him uneasy.

'Any other news from Down Under?' he enquired

'Not really. By the way I have invited the Patmans a week next Thursday. How does that fit in with your schedule?'

'Sounds all right.' He fiddled with his BlackBerry digital assistant for a moment, and confirmed that it was OK.

'Did you – er – speak to Winston about the maids?' he enquired.

'No. That's your job.'

'I suppose you're right,' he conceded grudgingly.

The previous night there had been some sounds of giggling in the corridor. Peter had emerged from his bedroom in time to see the blonde maid disappear into the nearby bathroom, leaving Winston standing outside, looking flustered and red-faced

'What's going on?' Peter had enquired.

'Just a bit of fun with Magda,' Winston declared airily.

Peter did not relish having to lecture his son. He recalled a similar experience of his own when he had been Jason's age, with a dairy maid who worked on a neighbouring farm. At the age of fifteen he had been invited into a barn by a wild-eyed dairy-maid, who thrust a breast into his mouth and masturbated him.. It happened the day before he was due to return to boarding-school. He was bitterly disappointed when he came home at the end of term and found that she had left the neighbourhood.

He said: 'Do you know where to find the bridge table for when the Patmans come?'

'It's in the attic with a lot of other junk. But there won't be bridge. Just conversation.'

When Winston came in, he steered him into the breakfast room and said: 'Winston, a word.'

'Yes dad?'

'Which of the two maids do you fancy?'

Winston, flushed and shuffled his feet.

'Neither of them. She tickled me and so I tickled her back.'

'Some eighteenth-century wag once said: "If you lack order in your household you'll get ordure instead. Therefore do not shit in thine own nest."'

'I get it, dad.'

'Enough said.'

He congratulated himself on having made the point rather well.

He paused outside Rachel's bedroom, knocked on the door and said he had performed his fatherly duty.

She said: 'Good,' and resumed reading.

He went in and tried to kiss her. She muttered: 'I've a ghastly headache. I've just taken two aspirins.'

His continued towards his own bedroom, which was cluttered with luggage and sports equipment and smelled of wet paint. As he took off his shoes, he could hear the two maids laughing and chattering in the adjoining room. They reminded him of the laughter and adventure he had enjoyed in his youth.

He lay on the bed and looked up at a ceiling with the original Italian mouldings and thought gloomily: I now own a genuine Regency house. I have the best car that money can buy, excellent share options and provision for a generous pension. But now I am less happy than I was before. Meanwhile, the rounds of meetings and business lunches, the need get a decent return on shareholders' funds, and the fierce competition with other financial houses – someone had likened it to the locking of antlers at rutting time – was getting him down. Even his daily visits to the gym no longer gave him pleasure – unless aching limbs could be accounted pleasurable. The only prospect that cheered him was the floatation of the company he jointly owned with Barykov. Once this was safely accomplished, he would sail into the comfortable and safe harbour of Wealthy Man's Land. A land, he reminded himself, where it was not unknown for a man to take a mistress.

.

* * *

Gerald Patman being shown over the house, noticed a faint odour in the basement and suggested that a former occupant of the housemight have killed his lover and buried her there. He declared the modern furniture in the dining-room 'totally out of character.' 'Minimalism,' he declared, doing a fair imitation of Oscar Wilde, 'is for those who cannot afford maximalism. When house prices drop you'll regret having bought this stone elephant.'

Ursula intervened: 'This is a beautiful house. It has dignity and charm. You're being an absolute beast!'

'I'm jealous, actually. Such opulence. Such style. Such a three-hundred years mortgage!'

'It's already paid for,' Peter remarked, although this wasn't true.

As Rachel proudly showed them one of the bathroom, modernised to the highest standard, Gerald said: 'Don't mind me. I've had a bad-hair day. Spell that H-E-I-R. One of my clients refuses to change his will, which would have permitted a perfectly sensible settlement. Mind you, I do like this loo, although I suspect the house will fall down the first time you use that ghastly-looking cistern.'

Rachel asked Ursula if she had finished a portrait of her she had begun six months previously.

'Yes. It's not the best thing I've ever done.'

'I'd love to see it,' Rachel said, as Magda served coffee.

'You can collect it any time you wish.'

'I must pay you,' Rachel insisted. 'You're a professional artist.'

'Not any more. Gerald insists I am now a lotus eater.'

'I said you were a gluttonous eater,' Gerald said with an impish glint in his eye

A week later, as Peter drove past the house he had once owned on his way to collect the sketch, he wondered if the new owners were as happy as he and Rachel had once been. Although their marriage had deteriorated, they would probably stay together, he decided.. There was little point in making divorce lawyers like Gerald Patman rich.

Ursula, welcomed him at the front-door, wearing a turquoise housecoat decorated with golden sun flowers. She caught him by the arm as they entered the living-room and led him towards an armchair with frayed arm covers.

'Would you like a drink before I show you the sketch.'

'Thanks. I'll have a small whisky. Where's Gerald?' he enquired.

'He's at a golf club dinner. I refused to go. I can't stand those terrible golfing jokes.'

As Ursula bent over a Victorian rosewood drinks cabinet, her house-coat fell apart, offering him a vision of dark melon-like breasts.

'You're right, Ursula. Golf is a good walk spoiled.'

'I hate being a grass widow.'

'Why don't you take golfing lessons?'

'Gerald said there are too many bunkers in his golf club. He means Archie Bunker – the American equivalent of Alf Garnett.'

'That's disgusting. Why does he remain a member?'

' I told him not to bother to resign. I can see no point in spoiling his fun.'

She handed him a tumbler of whisky and announced that she would fetch the picture. Her speech sounded a little slurred, Peter thought. He guessed that she had been drinking.

A few minutes later, she returned with a charcoal sketch. Its powerful, hypnotic quality instantly grabbed his attention. Rachel's features were accurately portrayed – her chin and cheekbones had a pronounced Asiatic quality that first attracted him. But her eyes seemed haunted.

'Splendid,' he said. 'Rachel will treasure this.'

'It's just a sketch.'

'It's a fine work of art.'

'Thank you.'

Ursula poured herself a rum and coke and sat beside him.

'What were you thinking of when you did that drawing?' he asked.

'I was thinking of my grandma.'

'You were fond of her?'

'I still am. She's ninety-seven. She has lots of fascinating tales about her youth. One particular story used to frighten me. She told us that one of our ancestors in the early part of the nineteenth century was among a group of eleven slaves working on a Jamaican plantation who tried to sail in a small boat back to Africa. A storm blew up and they were shipwrecked on a small, uninhabited atoll somewhere in the Caribbean. They barely managed to survive – two of them died shortly afterwards, but the remaining nine, six men and three women, settled on the tiny island By the time they were rescued by an American ship fifty-three years later there were forty-two men, women and children. The captain of the ship returned them to Jamaica. My grandmother's grandmother was among them.'

'That's very interesting.'

'But,' Ursula added gloomily, 'there had been so much incest that the descendants of the people on the island are infertile. My grandmother had only one child and my mother only one.'

'Perhaps they only wanted one,' Peter said, looking at his watch.

'No, I believe that's why I can't have children. I would love to have children of my own.'

'There's still time,' Peter said cheerfully.

'Not much time. Can I refill your glass?'

'No thanks.'

'I need another drink.'

Ursula tottered over to the drink cabinet, refilled her glass and then sat heavily on Peter's lap, spilling whisky from his glass onto her robe as she did so.

'Don't worry, don't worry,' Ursula said, as he mopped it with his handkerchief. 'There's plenty more where that came from.'

She was naked underneath her housecoat. She sipped her drink, then tenderly kissed him.

Peter protested: 'Hey, Ursula, let's not spoil things.'

'My marriage is already spoiled.'

'What went wrong?'

'Gerald refuses to give me a baby. I want you to give me one.'

'But you've just told me you can't have children.'

'It might be an old wife's tale.'

'Have you discussed it with Gerald.'

'He hates babies. What he likes best of all is telling me about other people's sex lives. Come upstairs. I'm not bad looking.'

'You still look like a beauty queen.'

Ursula shrugged of her robe and stood in front of him naked. He was reminded of the melting chocolate statue in the foyer of the Harcourts' art gallery.

'Why me?' he enquired.

'Because you're a model Englishman.'

'Thank you for the compliment.'

She placed his hands on her breasts.

A vision of another face then came into his mind, he gently pushed her away and said: 'I'm sorry, Ursula. I'm just not made for this sort of thing. Let's pretend it never happened.'

He bolted for the front door, grabbing the sketch as he went.

The face he had seen was Heidi's. What's happening, he asked himself, as he drove home, feeling confused. Why did I see Heidi's face instead of Rachel's. I must be in love.

11

Rachel was working on a laptop computer in her bedroom when he came home.

'You were a long time.'

'There was a lot of traffic.'He showed her the portrait. After studying it, she remarked: 'I look as though I've seen a ghost.'

'It probably reflects Ursula's preoccupations when she was working on the portrait. She says she can't have children.'

'Why does she want children?'

'I don't know. Who are you e-mailing?'

'Amy, Sidney's wife. She wants to know what clothes to bring at Christmas.'

'OK. Give them my best wishes.'

As he left to go to his bedroom, he decided to tell Sidney when he came that the Trust deeds and documents were held by the solicitors and would not be available during the Christmas vacation.

Lying on his bed, he thought again about his business enterprise. The whole amazing project had come about because Heidi had taken a fancy to him in a pub. She was very special. She seemed to have an uncanny notion of his thoughts and emotions. Of course, her claim to have known him before they met was sheer nonsense. But he wou;d forgive her because she was in love with him. He now owed her a debt of gratitude for having saved him from Ursula. He smiled at the thought that had he allowed himself to be seduced it would have been a just punishment on Gerald for his dreadful jokes.

Did Heidi really saw him as the hero of her novel, he wondered. The very idea of her imagining as she wrote it that he was making love to her was intensely erotic. He was glad that Barykov was too old to be a rival. But he appeared young enough to be able to ride this second wave of Internet commerce, making huge profits in the process. He studied again Barykov's business figures, which two firms of chartered accountants had certified correct. He asked himself why he had he risked so much on an ambitious scheme. The answer was that the opportunity had come along at exactly the right moment in his life. Heidi's assertion that he was an adventurer at heart was absolutely right. That special quality had been vitiated while he had been stuck in the ranks of middle-management. But Heidi had recognised it in him immediately.. She was wrong in only one respect; he wasn't like his purely penis-directed counterpart in her current Restoration drama. He was a sensitive man capable of falling deeply in love.

The following evening, he informed Rachel, as she sat in the study surrounded by office files, that he was going out after dinner to meet a client.

'Which one?

' Jack Barykov. The bank is financing his business venture. I need to discuss a few details.'

'Something to do with that pipeline project?'

'Not exactly.'

'You make it sound very mysterious.'

He retreated from the study, wondering if he had aroused her suspicions. He drew comfort from the fact that she had failed to home in on his amazing encounter with Ursula, which he had kept secret out of fear that she would say he must have encouraged Ursula in some way to make a play for him. The business secret hw would keep under wraps for as long as possible. Barykov and Heidi would soon leave for Scotland to set up the business administration. He would make frequent business trips up there to see Heidi.

When he made a call at Barykov's house, Barykov gave him documents to sign which transferred ownership of the new headquarters to their partnership. He was now joint-managing director of The International Learning Institute Ltd.

After the signing, Barykov showed him a very special malt whisky he had bought on his last visit to Scotland.

'Och aye,' Peter said and added: 'That's a Scottish expression, by the way.

'I know that, mon,' Barykov replied in an authentic Scottish accent. 'I'm a sassy soaker up of dialects, d'yer ken.' Peter found this amusing.

Handing him a large glass of whisky, Barykov said: 'I'd like to thank you again for the cello. It was a very kind and thoughtful gesture.'

He then poured himself a generous measure of vodka.

Peter ,sipping the whisky, tod himself that his purchase of the cello had been a stroke of genius.

'Have you played it recently?' he asked.

'I've not had the time, unfortunately. But when I do play it I hear my mother singing. She had a magnificent contralto voice.'

Barykov drank his vodka in a single gulp, manoeuvred the cello onto its spike, and played a few plangent notes from Dvojak's cello concerto, which confirmed in Peter's mind that he had invested wisely in this multi-talented man.

When Heidi reappeared wearing a peasant smock, he had a sudden a vision of himself striding through the Scottish heather with her hanging onto his arm.

'How's Sir Peter Crawford?' she enquired, sitting down beside him.

'You tell me that he is on the horns of a difficult dilemma..'

'We'll discuss it later.'

She turned towards Barykov, who was sitting in his accustomed armchair, and went on: 'Peter and I discussed my novel over lunch recently. He has agreed to help me, haven't you, Peter.'

'I'll try,' Peter said.

'We have more important matters to discuss at the moment,' Barykov said sternly. 'Will you make yourself scarce, Heidi.'

'Certainly, lord and master.'

She curtseyed mockingly and left the room.

Barkov put the cello back in its accustomed position, returned to his armchair and said to Peter: 'Why are you so keen to make money?'

'That's a very odd question to put to a banker.'

'We're going to be very closely linked from now on. It's important that that we should know each other well.'

'I suppose because money brings the good things in life. May I ask you the same question?'

'My former colleagues in the former Soviet Union who have made money now smile occasionally, which they rarely did before. That great Irish playwright, George Bernard Shaw said a man was never so innocently employed as when he was making money. But I have my own reason for acquiring money. I have an important idea I wish to spread around.'

''What kind of idea?'

Barykov smiled enigmatically.

'You will find out in due course. In the meantime, here's to our success.'

He poured another generous measure into Peter's glass, filled his own with vodka and said: 'If Karl Marx had realised that drunks live in an entirely classless society, he would have bought up all the distilleries instead of writing Das Kapital. And who can deny that the world would be a much better place!'

He finished his vodka in one gulp.

Peter again warned himself to be vigilant. Building up the new business so that it met the stringent criteria for a stock market launch was a complex task requiring a good deal of concentration. He was disappointed to hear Barykov say that he did not wish to make money for its own sake. It was essential to be fully focused to get such a huge enterprise off the round. Still, as his boss had once remarked: "Russians are inscrutable human beings. Deeper than the ocean." He was lucky Heidi would be up in Scotland to keep an eye on things for him.

12

Peter put the shaving-brush back in the cabinet and looked at himself in the mirror. A confident, youthful-looking face met his eyes, and he congratulated himself on the steps he had taken to improve his life after years of being trapped by dull, daily routine.

Colleen told him that she was pregnant when he arrived at the office He asked politely if her partner was pleased. To which she responded coldly. 'He's not the father. I'm leaving him.'

'How will you manage?'

'My mother lives in Madrid. I intend to join her there.'

'You must know what's best for you.'

The news of the break-up of the relationship depressed him, reminding him of his own marital problems.

The decline on the oil price seemed as if it might tip the pipeline project into loss. Mike Montgomery told him that they must be ready, if it became necessary, to disclose to the financial press provisions they had made for such an event. 'It's a first principle always to cover your rear,' he declared jovially, the defiant glint in his eye suggesting that he had weathered many such storms before. Peter suddenly became aware that he had probably seriously underestimated the degree of shrewness and guile needed to stay on top of the 'greasy pole.' But his days of innocence were long gone. He was now a mature banker. confident in his ability to cope with everything the market threw at him. His reputation would be much enhanced when his private investment became, as he was sure it would, one of the financial successes of the decade.

Gerald Patman had once described a banker as a bookmaker with social ambitions. How wrong he was! How little he knew. Bankers dealt with more important issues than football matches and horses. They made critical judgements on individuals, companies and countries. Whole economies could be wrecked if their estimates were wrong. One day soon Rachel, too, would realise what an important role he played in the world.

Heidi telephoned him and asked him to meet her at ten o'clock in the Suzie Cue that evening. He told her he was looking forward eagerly to seeing her.

When she arrived, he led her to a table in a dark corner of the snooker room. He did not wish to be seen by any of his former neighbours who might come into the pub.

'You're looking very preoccupied,' Heidi declared.

'A married woman recently tried to seduce me.'

'Did she succeed?' Heidi enquired, raising her eyebrows.

'No. She was very drunk '

'Would you fuck me if I was drunk?'

'I would rather you were sober and aware of what you are doing.'

'But if I was drunk with passion?'

'That would be a different matter. But you're not likely to fall for an old guy like me.'

'You're in great shape for an older man.'

'I think it's my money you're after.'

'No. It's your youthful spirit.'

'Would that also apply to Jack Barykov?'

'No. He's much older then you. And he's very eccentric.'

'Why do you say that?'

'There are all sorts of crazy things he wants to do. I put it down to his experiences in the Soviet Union.'

'While I think of it, please don't telephone me at work.'

'How can I get in touch with you?'

'E-mail me, or text me. Use the name Joe Wetherby. Pretend you're my stockbroker.'

'I don't know anything about the stock market.'

'Shares are either a keep, a buy or a sell. That's all you need to know.'

'I had to see you tonight.'

'You want advice about your novel?'

'No. I just wanted to see you. I want you to make love to me.'

'Do you really mean that?'

'Of course I do. We can go to my place. Jack Barykov has gone up to Scotland.'

'Then why did you ask me to come here?'

'I couldn't be absolutely sure that he'd be gone. He can be very unpredictable. But he's definitely gone – he went off in a taxi about an hour ago'

'Will he be angry when he finds out that we are lovers?'

'He'll get over it.'

' Did you sleep with him.'

'Occasionally in the past. But not since I met you. Don't worry about Jack. He's completely wrapped up in his business. He just uses me to get his rocks off. Don't look at me like that. Come on. Let's go home.'

She grabbed Peter's hand and he followed her to the house. As Heidi opened the front door, he said: 'You're a wonderful girl, Heidi and I'm in love with you. But if we're going to have an affair, we'll need to be very discreet.'

She switched on the lights, invited Peter to sit in an armchair, sat on the arm and said: 'Peter, get this in your head: Jack lives in a world of his own. He thinks he has a mission to put the world to rights. He regards his Internet business as just a stepping stone to higher things.'

He looked at her incredulously.

She continued: 'I told him that I intended to sleep with you in order to research my book and he just said abstractedly: "Sounds like a good idea." He's very naive in some ways. Look at the way he tries to convince me that I'm a literary genius.'

'She sat on his lap and kissed him tenderly.

As he savoured her moist lips, it flashed through his mind that Heidi's love-making might be as inventive and imaginative as her writing.

Suddenly she stood up and tore off her jumper, exclaiming:'Phew! it's hot in here.'

Standing in skirt and brassiere, she said with a shy laugh. 'Shall we have a drink before we proceed any further?'

'I want you now.'

'I want you, too. But I think we should have a drink. I'm terribly thirsty.'

'If you insist. But I want to be sober when we make love. I'd love a cup of tea.'

'OK. Read this while I'm gone and tell me what you think.'

She wnet to a chest of drawers, and handed him a typescript. It contained a raunchy narrative with a background story of true love Just the stuff to keep millions happy, he thought after reading a few pages.

He was still reading when Heidi, fully dressed, returned with cups of tea.

'Why have you got dressed again?' he asked.

'Because, darling, your wife will be waiting for you.'

He glanced at his watch. It was half-past eleven.'

'We still have time.'

She shook her head.

'I'm gagging for it, as the lads say. But we don't want to make trouble at this very moment. I'm yearning to spend the night with you. Please, darling. There will be plenty of time later.'

'I sincerely hope so,' he said regretfully.

'What do you make of my novel?' she asked.

'I've only read half a dozen pages, but it's riveting stuff.'

'Did you like the scene where he makes love to her?'

'I haven't reached that part. Incidentally, why do novelists spend so many pages describing sex? You wouldn't spend pages describing how someone sneezes.'

And noting her downcast expression, he said quickly: 'Of course, I'm only joking.'

'People want to read about sex, because they don't get enough of it.'

'How right you are. I wish we could make love now.'

'We have to be sensible. I think you'll love the passage later on when they cram cherries in each other's mouths and spread cherry juice all over each other's bodies.'

'Is there any cherry juice in the house? he enquired with a smile.

'Oh, darling!' She sat on his lap again, pressing her face closely against his. 'I do wish we had time. I want to make you happy. But sending you home late so that your wife will guess what you've been up to won't help. We'll work things something out soon.'

'OK.' He gave a deep sigh and said: 'Tell me how I can arrange something.'

'Jack will be away for the next two weeks, fixing things up in Scotland.'

Peter remembered that the following week Rachel had arranged to spend a night with her mother . He said eagerly: 'OK. Thursday next week. We'll spend the whole night together. I hope I measure up to Sir Peter Crawford.'

'You are Sir Peter. Whatever you do cannot disappoint me.'

'Shall I always have to live this fantasy world of yours?'

'I'm afraid so. Writing is such an important part of my life.'

'I understand.'

They kissed until she reminded him again that it was time for him to go.

13

Peter sat in his office, thinking about the night he had just spent with Heidi. She had insisted that he used exactly the same love-making technique as her fictional character, Sir Peter Crawford and had spelled it out it out, step by step. Afterwards she had assured him that he was Sir Peter Crawford's doppelganger in every way possible.

'I'll have to get a knighthood soon, then,' Peter remarked.

Good fortune seemed to have followed him since meeting Heidi. He had been promoted to the board, had made a hugely promising investment, and was enjoying a love affair which made him feel incredibly young.

A ray of sunlight illuminated an executive toy on his desk Rachel had given him. The chromium-plated metal balls, hanging from a rail made a gentle clunking sound when set in motion. He watched them swinging to and fro in a state of euphoria.

Colleen commented that he looked very cheerful, as she came in with a pile of documents. 'That's because the Footsie has recovered its poise,' he declared. And added: 'Mind you, don't go on a stock-buying-spree just yet.'

As he studied the documents he was thinking that in case Winston mentioned his absence from the house the previous night, it would be prudent to tell Rachel that he had stayed at his club.He didn't feel guilty. He had changed irrevocably. After spending years measuring out his life in small, carefully calculated doses, he was living it ow with every nerve and fibre of his body. It should have always been thus, he thought.

It was difficult to believe that Heidi was the same girl who had lured him with a bottle of cheap blended whisky into her house. The ugly duckling had indeed turned into a swan. Which reminded him of the passage he had read in Heidi's novel. "As King Charles and Nell strolled by the side of a lake, the king said: 'Dearest Nell, I hope I shall glide as smoothly into Heaven as yonder swan sails across the water.'

'Your Majesty, that swan possesses a royal dignity only matched by your own.'

'Then he must be my first cousin. When I die, we shall greet each other in swan language.'

'I pray that will be many years hence.'

'Shall you miss me when I am gone, dear Nell?'

'Long may you reign, Sire. And long may the swans in England's rivers and lakes continue to remind us of your glorious reign.'

'Dearest Nell, do not try to flatter me. I have a premonition that I am not long for this world.'

'I pray, Sire, your fear it is ill founded. No man without a long future ahead of him could have pleasured me as you did last night. I felt like a swan beating a path upwards to Heaven.'

'We flew together, did we not last night?'

'Truly, your majesty, we are a couple of love birds.'"

Barykov, he supposed, deserved credit for discovering Heidi's talent for writing such romantic crap, for which there was a huge market. She had told him that when Barykov read that particular passage, he remarked that the King had anticipated modern science in claiming the swan as his cousin, because we share a high percentage of the same genes.

'Why do you keep quoting Barykov?' he enquired, irritably.

Hunched up in bed, legs apart, her splendid breasts exposed by her flimsy night dress, she said: 'He has a remarkably well furnished brain. When he says something remarkable, I quote him. Nothing wrong in that, surely.'

Peter tried to get out of his head a persistent image of Heidi being hypnotised by his business partner. 'I guess not. I have a considerable respect for him. But when we have conversations, it's your ideas I want to hear, not his.'

'You shall always hear my ideas, darlink,' she said, affecting an East European accent. 'Especially where love is concerned.. But when it comes to business matters, listen carefully to Jack. He has an amazing capacity to look into the future.'

'Did he tell you about our proposed launch on the stock market next year?' Peter enquired, trying to gauge the extent to which Barykov confided in Heidi.

'Of course he did.'

'I didn't think you were that interested in business matters.'

'How can I fail to be interested when it's all going on around me.'

'Jack still manage to find time to read your stories.'

'Yes. He has drawn up a contract under which when I get published, he will get twenty per cent of th royalties.

'Sounds excessive to me.'

'I'm not complaining.'

'Has he contacted any publishers? '

'He's doing everything though an agent, because literary agents know the ropes. He has arranged to split the commission with the agent. It will work out cheaper for me this way he says.'

Peter remained silent, thinking that he had underestimated Heidi. He stroked her face and said: 'Damn Barykov. I just want him to make us very rich, so that we can spend more time together.'

'Can't we all be friends?'

'I suppose so. He's not such a bad guy. And he's quite brilliant. The moment I saw his plan I knew that it would be a first-rate investment.'

'Did you guess I would be a part of it?' Heidi enquired in a husky, sexy voice.'

'I hoped you would be. You're very lovely.'

'Where and how am I lovely?'

'Here, there, everywhere, he said, caressing her. 'Oh, my darling I do so want you again.'

'You shall have me,' Heidi said, languorously.' But first you have to tell me how to solve Sir Peter Crawford's dilemma. He was on the point of fucking the King's mistress, if you remember. What would you have done?' 'I would have jumped out of the window.'

'There are armed soldiers in the courtyard.'

' I would hide in a closet.'

'And listen to someone else making love to your sweetheart?'

'. It sounds better than the alternatives. Oh, darling, can't we forget this ridiculous stuff. I'm dying to make love to you.'

'No. We must decide what will happen next. It is terribly important'

' If he's caught in the lady's apartment, he will lose his job at court. Right?'

'Yes, and if the King is really angry, he would have him murdered by foot pads, or exiled to the country, a terrible punishment for an ambitious man like Sir Peter. Remember, he is just about to shag his beautiful mistress, when the cry go up: "The King! The King!"'

Heidi threw her hands above her head to dramatise the situation, which made Peter feel even more lustful.

'I would hide in the closet.'

'You are a coward,' Heidi said, lovingly running her hands over his chest. 'A dreadful coward.'

'Cowards live to fight another day. That way they get to spread their genes around.'

She gave a sigh.

'Come into me, then, my sweet coward. You have described how Sir Peter would behave. And thus it shall be in my book.'

She heaved herself onto him, crying with delight as they made love.

14

You could do with a few more workouts,' Peter's fitness trainer, told him, making the motion of tapping his stomach with his forefinger. His finger would have made contact with my flesh, if I weren't a director of the bank, Peter thought with satisfaction. It was one of the privileges of rank not to be tapped. He continued stepping on the treadmill, taking comfort from the thought that Heidi loved him in spite of his convex abdomen. The heat coursed through him as he remembered their torrid love-making.

Rachel had come back from Bournemouth with a disturbing account of her mother's dementia, saying that she would soon have to go into a care home. However, when his plans took effect, the extra expense of keeping her there would not punch too much of a hole in their finances. By 'their', he asked himself, did he mean his and Rachel's, or his and Heidi's?

The previous night Rachel had entertained Gerald and Ursula Patman, as well as Thomas Greenhalgh, a junior executive at the bank and his young, pretty, pregnant lawyer wife, Daisy. When Ursula came in she greeted Peter with a friendly smile as though nothing had happened when he called for the picture, which made him feel vaguely disappointed

Gerald refrained from his usual witticisms during the meal, but at one stage enquired flippantly of Daisy: 'Would the Catholic Church regard it as a miracle if the Virgin Mary had been inseminated by IVF? Ursula intervened, to say that she would like to have children by any means, and that included IVF. Tom tactfully changed the subject and expressed admiration for Ursula's portrait of Rachel, now hanging above the fireplace.

Peter, decanting a bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape, pointed out that having a basement in which to store wine was one of the advantages of their new home. He had invited young Thomas, a rising star in the bank, because it was useful to have loyal and sympathetic aides on when contentious issues arose. One issue, due to come up shortly, was the question of outside directorships. .Sir Michael, the chief executive, having declared his wish to ban them, because it detracted from the total commitment necessary for the bank to retain its pre-eminence.

Peter mentioned the Urinating Monkey he had seen at the Harcourt's exhibition with the deliberate intention of arousing controversy.

'Pushing out the boundaries must surely be a good thing,' Gerald declared.

'Lawyers don't push out boundaries,' Daisy declared. 'So why should artists?'

Gerald, tilted his chair to a dangerous angle and putting his hands behind his head, said: 'You're right. But an important legal consideration arises: If the monkey didn't piss genuine urine, would you be entitled to return it under the trades description act?'

'What was the asking price?' Ursula enquired.

' Peter refused to say.

'And where would you have put it, had you bought it?'

'In the garden.'

'The neighbours would have complained,' Rachel declared.

'Not if they if they knew the price tag,' Peter declared cheerfully.

Ursula gulped more wine, and said: 'If I painted monkey shit and ask a fiver for it, nobody would want it. But if it was on a huge canvas and hung outside Harrods, it would be worth millions. Don't you agree, Peter?'

He replied: 'I am inclined to agree. What do you think, Tom?'

He answered: 'My guess is that the reason Salvador Dali's famously signed sheets of lavatory paper haven't come up for sale at Sotherby's is because the purchasers have used them for the purpose for which they were originally intended.'

'My paintings don't command high prices,' Ursula complained.

'They will one day,' Rachel said, with an encouraging smile. 'That's a splendid portrait you did of me. Who's for coffee?'

Magda came in at that moment, causing Peter to wonder if Winston had kept his promise.

He and Rachel now occupied twin beds in a huge bedroom, the adjoining bedroom having been converted into a bathroom after an expensive diversion of plumbing.

Later that night, as Rachel read a magazine, Peter said: 'It went off all right, didn't it.'

'Yes,' came the laconic reply, as Rachel continued reading.

His thoughts turned towards his business venture. Barykov had told Peter some really horrific stories about the KGB, declaring that the British secret services were no less ruthless. He had also told Peter that some recently-acquired , highly-sophisticated software had enabled him to reduce the numbers of staff, adding with a grin: 'As we used to say in Russia, when we eliminated people, "Goodbye, enemies. Now let's drink to new friends."'

Despite his occasional reservations brought about his business partner's reminiscences, Peter was encouraged by the progress that had been made. The momentous step he had taken by investing in a rapidly expanding business had been fully vindicated so far. Rachel's criticism of him for being timid in his business dealings were now totally refuted.

His new mistress had cost him surprisingly little so far. He had heard other men boasting of buying their girl friends jewellery and expensive sports cars. Heidi by way of contrast seemed satisfied with his love. She strengthened his belief in his manhood, asking for nothing in return. He particularly appreciated that she had shrewdly seen that he possessed the entrepreneurial qualities his wife thought he lacked. Sir Michael, mentioning some of his recent work had said to Peter approvingly "Cometh the hour cometh the man," But of course, his boss had no idea of the changes that had taken place in his life, changes that would eventually have a profound influence on the future course of his banking career, making him a major figure in the City.

The move to Scotland was a blessing. No need for the time being to make a choice between wife and mistress. Heidi would soon be working at the business premises in Scotland, and he would not lack pretexts for visiting her there. His only worry was that Barykov might become a rival for her affections.. But it seemed unlikely.

15

During one of their business meetings, Peter asked Barykov why he encouraged Heidi to continue with her writing when the chances of her getting published were so small. He added. 'Incidentally, she told me you have compared her with Catherine Cookson.'

'We all live on illusions!' Barykov answered, smiling. As your poet Pope said: "Where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise." Telling her how good she is maintains her self esteem.' A cleft appearing between his black, bushy eyebrows, he enquired: 'Do you get depressed when your favourite football team loses?'

'Sometimes.'

'You must admit that we thrive on illusions. It doesn't matter a damn whether your team wins or loses. The game could settled by the toss of a coin. Isn't that a perfect example how we all deceive ourselves?'

'What does that have to do with Heidi?'

'She enjoys the prospect of one day becoming a best-seller. Why deprive her of that hope? If you're so concerned, why don't you buy a publishing house for her?'

'Are you serious?'

'You'll be able to afford it sooner than you think.'

Peter said after a pause: 'Why continue with the Creative Writing school, which gives a poor return on our investment.'

'It more than earns its keep as an attention-grabber. When students discover they lack writing talent, they invariably sign up for another course, which bolsters total put earnings.'

'What kind of novels did you used to write?'

'Dull socialist realism. My troubles started when I realised that I had to break away from that outdated style. I wrote a story in a modern vein about a girl who wanted to leave the Soviet Union for Israel and I was then given a hard time by the apparatchiks.

'What made you write that particular book?'

'I learned that my Jewish grandfather had been killed by the Nazis and it raised certain questions in my mind.'

'But you're not Jewish.'

'No. But I began to wonder why my paternal ancestors refused to conform. I was at that time beginning to revolt against the hidebound nature of the Party. I even went as far as learning Hebrew – not difficult for me, because I pick up languages like a dog picks up fleas – and I learned one intriguing thing: My great-grandfather's name was not Barykov – it was Baruch, which means Blessed in Hebrew. He had thought that Russianising his name would allow him to become fully assimilated. But the Nazis thought differently. They shot him and his son just the same. When I had finished my research I wrote a book called Escape from Paradise. But it got me into such hot water that I came to England.'

'Do you still have an interest in literature?'

'Yes, I still get excited when I see a spark of literary talent.'

'Heidi told me she met you in Manchester.'

'Yes. She was working in a pub. She's very different now that she has educated herself.'

'Do you approve of the romantic nonsense she writes?'

'It is her natural idiom. I consider that post-modern novelists have paid a heavy price for being too intellectual. They have lost a great deal of the mana they once possessed.

'The what?'

'Mana – the honour that Polynesian people award story- tellers. Novelists can only earn that respect by fulfilling their obligation to tell a good yarn. Which is what Heidi does.'

'I gather you met her in Manchester. Does she have any relations there?'

'She has one. She telephones her occasionally.'

Peter eyes fell on the cello. He asked: 'Have you played the cello recently?'

'No. I am too busy converting the former manse we have bought into a fully functioning business headquarters. You will appreciate the magnitude of the task when you come up there. Do you have the second tranche of the money?'

Peter fished a cheque out of his pocket, together with a receipt, which Barykov signed. Conscious that the money had come from the sale of his mother's house and land, Peter consoled himself with the thought that it was impossible to make money without taking a risk. There was still time to retreat. Barykov had purchased the manse and the land at a knockdown price and he could still make a profit if he pulled out. But he was loath to loose the prospect of becoming very rich.. And he didn't want to lose Heidi.

Barykov informed him that he had had some success in recruiting teachers in from a recruiting agency that Peter had recommended . They were being trained in the techniques used by the Institute and in a few weeks would join the team, most of them would be working from their homes.

Peter sipped the whisky that Baykov had bought on his last visit to Scotland and enquired: 'Do you miss the excitement of being in the secret service?'

'It wasn't all that exciting. I spent much of my time translating foreign documents.'

'Did you ever watch prisoners being interrogated?'

'Yes. It wasn't very nice. When I asked why it was necessary, they told me it was because capitalists were doing the same things to our comrades. We have to keep abreast of them I had no alternative but to accept that argument.'

'Did you get hardened to it?'

'Forgive me, my friend, but do we have to pursue this unpleasant line of conversation?'

'No. But I find it very interesting.'

'It is a popular belief that intelligence work is fascinating. But it soon becomes routine. I once submitted a satirical short story to the Writers' Union about a torturer who complained to his bosses that his quota of applying Genital Electrical Torture (GET) had been set too high. He demanded either that either his quota be reduced, or else he should be switched to FNP – Finger Nail Pulling. The net result was that he was tortured himself until he begged to be returned to his former work.'

'Sounds brilliant,' Peter commented. Did they publish it?'

'No, of course not. Torture officially did not exist in the Soviet Union. The fact that I had implied that it did contributed to the row which led to my removal from the service.'

'It is astonishing how you managed to build up a business here.'

'With a little help from my friends,' Barykov murmured softly.

Peter guessed that like other defectors who changed sides, Barykov had been helped by the British secret service.

Barykov returned to the subject of torture, saying: 'You know, Peter, a man is like an onion. He has many layers. You strip off one and you find another one underneath.'

'Like a striptease artist?' Peter enquired facetiously.

'Not like striptease. I am talking about minds.'

'Sorry.'

'Am talking about human beings and their minds.'– Barykov's Russian accent became more pronounced when he had been drinking. He went on: 'Under torture a man regresses to a previous mode of thinking. I have seen a dedicated communist formerly utterly devoted to Party ideals declaring himself a secret capitalist. Anything to stop the pain. Then he will admit to being a believer, Jewish, Christian, Jehovah's Witnesses, whatever. So KGB man will say: We have unmasked him, he was a covert capitalist. We have now found the true, dastardly nature of the man, an enemy of the people who has been living under false colours. He will be re-educated in the Gulag. Again they apply torture and then they find that he does not believe in any of these false doctrines. He babbles on about Jean Jacques Rousseau. He says: 'Man is born free, but his dog turns him into a slave. That's why we keep dogs, so that they can teach us also to be slaves.' The interrogators wonder what he is talking about. It is not in their manual of instructions. So they get back to work on him. They strip off another layer and he is now a Buddhist. He believes in Nirvana and his soul is improving every time they torture him. Finally he is just a baby, a creature of sensations with no beliefs at all and no sense of the past or the future. We have stripped him down to bare nothing. But before sending him off to the Gulag they interrogate him once more, just in case they have got something wrong. And now they find yet another layer. He is a hero who flings the word Freedom back into their faces. Off he goes to execution. But of one thing you can be sure: they would have found yet more layers, if they had let him live.'

Barykov, breathing heavily, poured himself out another vodka and, said: 'I'm sorry for that outburst. The KGB has left its mark on me. That is why I start talking about torture. Did you ever ask yourself the philosophical question: who am I? If you do, you inevitably come up with the notion that there must be a person behind you who is asking that same question; and behind him yet another, who asks that question. It is like an infinite series of mirrors, proving that our identity is linked to something in the distant past – an endless chain of umbilical cords: from your mother, your grandmother and back to ancient history. Your navel reminds you of that long chain. Imagine a bar of soap into which we impress a scrap of the previous bar of soap. Even when thousands of bars of soap have been impressed on the new bar something remains of the original. Perhaps our bodies and minds are so sensitive they respond to reminders from the distant past, however much they have been diluted. I get an inkling of this whenever I listen to Sibelius or Mahler.'

Barykov was obviously very drunk, Peter thought, as Barykov continued: 'The more I drink the more I strip off layers of myself. Soon, I am back in the KGB, trying to survive. That is why I start talking metaphysical nonsense. I apologise, my friend.'

'No need.'

Peter looked at his watch.

On his way home Peter felt vaguely hostile towards Barykov and wondered if it was because he learned that he had a Jewish ancestor. That cannot be, he told himself. Charles Goldstein, my former boss was a Jew and I liked him immensely, He was cultivated, immaculately dressed, and had a sense of humour. When he returned from taking time off during Jewish festivals, he used to ask jokingly whether his absence had caused fluctuations in the Footsie. Gerald Patman is Jewish and his jokes are even worse. But underneath he's really quite a reasonable sort of guy. Nevertheless, Barykov makes me feel uneasy. I suppose the reason is that I resent the fact that Heidi slept with him. I don't like the fact that she is still his servant. I'm worried in case she goes back to him.

Rachel was in bed when he came home. She sleepily: 'Ursula rang to apologise.'

His heart gave a sudden lurch. 'What for?'

'For talking crap about modern art.'

He was relieved to hear that Ursula had not told her what had happened. 'What she said about modern art was spot on. While I think of it, is Winston behaving himself?'

'You mean with Magda?'

'With either or both of them.'

'I'm not here during the day to check. But would it matter?'

'It would if he made one of them pregnant.'

'Don't be silly. Your son is far too savvy for that. And so, for that matter, are the maids.'

Getting into bed, he realised that he had drunk too much. He reached for the electric control which altered the angle of his mattress, but was unable to make up his mind whether to stay in the prone position, or raise his upper body twenty or thirty degrees. Why does life have to be so complicated, he asked himself. The double bed we threw away didn't require decisions. Instead of one perfectly good bed we now have two new ones, each one heavily dependent upon technology. We used to have one cleaning lady. Now we have two living-in maids who make me worry in case they seduce my son. Moreover, I can't help becoming interested when they waggle their bottoms at me seductively. I used to have one job and now I have two, which has put me in breach of company regulations. Sir Michael, having made millions from outside interests, has pulled up the drawbridge. I used to have one woman to satisfy; now I have two. Perhaps I'm lucky one of them no longer makes any demands on me.

He pulls the duvet closely around him and thinks of Heidi. She teases every last shuddering morsel of pleasure out of me. Her crimson mouth expresses such sweet emotions.. Her upper lip sometimes trembles in anticipation of delight. She pretends that the excitement I am about to inflict may be too much for her to bear. After our lovemaking, she thrusts her lower lip forward, to warn me of another imminent attack of uncontrollable lust. She is my very own Nell Gwynn who, having seduced the King, is bent on seducing one of his courtiers. She allows me to sleep the sleep of the just. If she were here with me, I wouldn't care which angle I had set this damned mattress.

16

Winston was slumped in his chair, eating cornflakes, when Peter came down to breakfast – Rachel had already gone to work, He ignored his father's cheerful 'Good morning.'

Peter made his own breakfast in silence.

He wondered, on his way to work, whether Winston was sulking because he resented his warning concerning the maids. As he drove past the MI5 building, the bizarre thought crossed his mind that he probably knew more about what was going on there than he knew about what went on in the minds of his own family.

Arriving at his office desk, he logged onto the International Learning website. The moving banner advertising the Creative Writing Course appeared, and was quickly replaced by a smiling, young woman wearing cap and gown directing a pointer at the courses available. This was followed by a list of the salaries the various careers offered. It was a well-designed web site and reassured him that his money was well invested.

Colleen, already looking pregnant, enquired as she caught a glimpse of the computer, screen: 'What's that?'

'A web site a friend of mine owns.'

'I thought I recognised it. I'm taking a course with them in Spanish,'

'Is it any good?'

'Excellent. It'll help when I take my baby to Spain. I'm joining my mother, who lives in Madrid.'

Reassured, Peter carried on investigating a proposed merger between two grocery chains.

Two weeks passed without him seeing Heidi.

She telephoned his mobile one day, when he was in his office and asked: 'Have you gone off me?'

'Don't be absurd.'

Making sure there was no one within earshot, he whispered: 'You know I love you.'

'Can you come to the house?'

'I'm deluged with work and social commitments.'

'We're moving up to Scotland shortly. How shall we meet?'

'I'll visit you up there. What is Barykov going to do with his London house?'

'He's going to rent it.

'OK. I must go now. I'll think of something soon. Bye.'

A few days later, he showed Rachel an invitation to a twentieth-fifth anniversary of his graduation at Manchester university and announced that he intended to attend the reunion.

'I want to see how everyone else has progressed.'

'Can you spare the time?'

'I'll move my schedule around,' he commented, as he thoughtfully highlighted an important article in the Financial Times.

When he telephoned Heidi and told her about the subterfuge he had used she said: 'That'll be lovely. I'll be able to visit my aunt.'

'I hadn't intended to go to Manchester. I was going to book a room at the Savoy.' 'Can we go to Manchester? You can attend the reunion and I'll call on my aunt.'

'OK. Manchester it shall be.'

On a warm day in early May, he picked her up from Barykov's house and drove off, feeling like a naughty schoolboy. He turned on the air-conditioning and the GPS navigational device which would direct them to their destination.

'What is your aunt's name?' he enquired. 'Tell me all about her.'

'Bess Saunders,' she answered, after a pause.

'What's she like?'

'She's OK. But you don't have to meet her. You go to your class reunion.'

'I've no intention of doing so. I'd rather spend the time with you.'

'You may not like her. She's not your type.'

'What is my type?

'You're a swanky banker.'

'I'm not a snob, although you did once accuse me of being one.'

'I hope you'll make allowance for the fact that she has had a very different kind of life-experience.'

'If she's poor, I may be able to help.'

'She's comparatively well off.'

'Then what's the problem?'

'She's on the game.'

He was shocked, but said nothing until they joined the M1 motorway. Soon, after overtaking a large container lorry, he had a sudden inspiration.

'Is she your mother?'

'Yes, she's my biological mother.'

'Well, then, I shall be able to see where all your delightful characteristics come from.'

She leaned over, kissed his face and said: 'Those are the nicest words I have ever heard.'

'I do find les mots justes sometimes.'

'Well, you certainly hit the button, Peter – or should I say Pierre?'

He grinned. He was pleased that Heidi had been utterly honest. He would have preferred to have an affair with a woman of his own class. But fate had decreed otherwise. The one he had got was the perfect antidote to his own dull, plodding nature. She was lively, spontaneous and creative. If she wasn't successful yet in her chosen sphere, she undoubtedly would be soon. Barykov, a novelist himself, was unlikely to make a mistake in that area. Seeing something of the squalid side of life would be more interesting than seeing his old class-mates, who no doubt, by now would be as dull and staid as he had been until he met Heidi.

He drove to a hotel in Manchester he had booked on the Internet. He had chosen a lower-grade hotel, with the aim of reducing the chances of meeting someone he knew.

'Not luxurious,' he declared, after the porter had deposited their luggage inside the room. 'But perfectly adequate. For answer, she bounced excitedly on the white-bobbled coverlet and said: 'Pairfect for cop-ula-tion,' in a Scottish accent.

'Och, woman, 'he replied, 'would you not like some dinner before I ravage that beautiful body of yours.'

'Whatever you highness desires.'

He ordered two bottles of good wine to wash down a meal of indifferent quality.

Heidi then pointed out that he would be driving shortly.

'Driving? '

'To see my mother. Have you forgotten? I called on my mobile while you were in the shower. She said she'd see us later on.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I thought that was what we had agreed.'

.'OK.'

He changed his order to two glasses of house wine, telling the waiter: 'I'm afraid my lady insists that I remain sober.'

'Never mind,' she said a grin after the waiter had gone, reaching for his hand. 'We'll have a Sir Peter Crawford special for dessert?'

'What's that.'

'A banana with ice-cream,' Heidi replied with a giggle. 'Incidentally, I must warn you I resemble a Lucien Freud nude in my birthday suit.'

'Nonsense. You look lovely. Your breasts are like twin white doves.'

' They spread out when I'm horizontal.'

' I'll anoint them with melted chocolate and lick them clean.'

'I'll do the same with your banana,' she whispered salaciously.

He guffawed so loudly that it startled several commercial salesmen sitting near them.

As he hacked at a sinewy piece of steak, Heidi said: 'I would like to see your wife some time.'

'That wouldn't be very sensible.'

'I don't mean socially. I would just like to see what she's like.

''It's not a very good idea, Heidi.'

'All right. But trust me. The last thing I would want to do is destroy your marriage.'

She bent her head and appeared to concentrate heavily on her meal.

'Don't get upset, Heidi. Of course I know you would behave very discreetly. But coming into contact with my wife could spoil things.'

'It would help me to form an idea of the way you live.'

'Forget it, Heidi, ' he said curtly. 'Let's just enjoy ourselves.'

'OK. If you insist. I shall have to rely on your giving me a clearer picture of her '

'Why do you want that?'

'Because,' Heidi said gently: 'Sir Peter also has a wife. I need to weave the relationship that exists between him and his wife into my story.'

'But Sir Peter isn't me.'

'He resembles you so closely that you could be interchangeable.'

'O.K. If you insist. As long as you don't intrude into my family affairs.'

'I won't, darling. I promise. I should just like to see her some day, so that I can work on Sir Peter's fictional wife.'

'O.K. But I'm not sure how we can arrange it.'

'Jack wants me to join him Scotland soon, so for the moment you can dismiss the whole idea from your mind

*

Peter set the address in Wilmslow Heidi had given him on his Global Position Navigation device. On the way there he said to Heidi: 'How did you manage to track down your birth mother.'

'Shortly after I came to London to work for Jack, I told him that that my adoptive parents had forced me to give up my baby after I became pregnant at sixteen. I left home then and lived in a succession of squats and bedsits until I met Jack.'

'Why do you call him Jack. He signs documents Ivan?'

'He likes to be called Jack.'

'OK. Go on. No wait ....'

Peter was listening to a verbal instruction from the navigational device.

'OK, he said. 'Continue.'

'When I told Jack that I had broken off contact with my adoptive parents, he offered to trace my real mother. It took me a long time to make up my mind. But I eventually agreed to let him.'

'Are you pleased that you did.'

'I wasn't very pleased when I learned what she did for a living. But I'm glad I've met her now. I have no one else in the world.'

'You have me.'

'And Jack I suppose.'

'Why do you say "I suppose"?'

Heidi said thoughtfully: 'I can't rely on him. He has such big ideas.'

'You mean for our business?'

'No. He has a messianic complex. It's similar to my writing. If you asked me to give it up I couldn't. It's as much a part of me as breathing. Whatever it is that Jack is stricken by comes into the same kind of obsessional category.'

'What is it all about?'

'He hasn't told me yet.'

'How would you describe Jack Barykov?'

' He's both angel and demon.'

'Aren't we all?'

'Yes, but he is a man with a mission and that makes him dangerous.'

'Well, as long as the business continues to prosper I won't waste much time worrying about his other pre-occupations.'

'How about mine?'

'Your writing make you happy and, who knows, some day will make you very rich.'

'Thanks, Peter, for having confidence in me ... It's the next turning on the right'

They had drawn up besides a double-fronted brick bungalow with a wide frontage. An Audi soft top sports car stood in the drive. Peter had not expected to see such an expensive property. Walking up the path, girded by flower beds, leading up to the heavily-ornamented front-door, he thought Heidi's mother is obviously at the top end of the game.

Heidi rang the brass door bell.

A woman wearing an elegant suit opened the door. Her blond, abundant hair was newly coiffeured. She was very pretty, with high cheekbones and an attractive red mouth that Heidi had obviously inherited.

The two women hugged each other. Peter had time to appreciate the chiselled features of this elegant, attractive older woman.

Heidi removed herself from her mother's embrace and said: 'Peter, meet my mum.'

Peter said: 'Hi, Mum'

She replied graciously: 'Please call me Bess. I'm so pleased to meet you. I have had some glowing reports about you.'

She took Peter by the hand and led them through double doors into a spacious living-room filled with Victorian furniture. The only non-matching items were an Art Deco gramophone and the small Chinese laquered cabinet on which it stood.

'Very retro, isn't it Peter' she said, as he looked at it. 'But I shall change it soon. I get bored very rapidly with new toys. This is my chauffeur, Tim,' she said. A lanky Asian youth, clad in a black suit with a button-up white collar, uncoiled from a pink chaise-longue.

He glanced at the visitors and said: 'I'll be off to do some chores, then, Mrs Saunders.'

'Yes, Tim. Off you go.'

Shortly afterwards, Peter saw the rear red lights of the sports car flicker as the car swung out of the drive.

'Bess pointed to some high-back chairs and said. 'Please be seated. Can I get you a drink?'

As they drank tomato juice, Bess said: 'You're in high finance, I believe, Peter.

'Investment banking,' Peter responded, wondering if the very large single, emerald-cut diamond ring on her left hand was real.

'Like you, Peter, I work in percentages. The only difference is that you work on a larger scale.'

Peter nodded, inwardly resenting the comparison she had just made.

Bess went on remorselessly: 'I always get my accountant to calculate the exact percentage I shall be getting on my property investments.. Isn't that in the nature of your business as well. Peter.'

'More or less,' he said, fuming inwardly..

'Well, we won't talk any more about money. It's too vulgar. Have you written any more of your wonderful stories?' Bess asked Heidi.

'I'm writing an historical novel at the moment, Mother.'

'How wonderful, darling. Isn't she a genius, Peter. It was her boss, Mr. Barykov who discovered her. He's a very busy man. Another genius in a way. But he's just interested in making money. People will be reading my daughter's books when we're long since gone from this world. Did you realise that, Peter?'

'Mother will you stop talking tosh ' Heidi responded with an exasperated expression.

'Don't tell me what I can or cannot say, darling. I'm so proud of you and grateful that I gave birth to you. Mr. Barykov told me, after he found out that I was your mother, that you were a natural literary genius. You cannot tell how glad that makes me. It makes up for all these years of worry I suffered after I had given you away. But what could I do in the circumstances? Perhaps one day you'll get your baby back. It would be wonderful to have a boy in the family.'

'I don't want him back, Mother. I have made a new life for myself,' Heidi said with a resentful expression.

'I'm sorry, darling. If that's how you feel, so be it. I'm a fatalist and I accept life as it comes. Isn't that the right way, Peter?

He gave a nod of acknowledgement, wishing to get away as soon as possible.

Bess went on: 'I must tell you this story Heidi told me a couple of years ago – time does fly, doesn't it, dear. It was about two twelve year-old boys who were playing in the woods. They were picking up chestnuts but couldn't find any, or something like that.'

'Mother, you have entirely missed the point.'

'Have I? Oh, I'm useless at telling stories. You tell it dear.'

Heid hesitated, then said: 'These two boys were wandering through the forest, playing games. Suddenly, Alistair said to Tom, give me a piggyback. Tom allowed Alistair to leap onto his back.and staggered for a few moments, until he came to an ancient brick wall covered with ivy It appeared to be the remains of a large building that had fallen into decay. A few feet above his head, Alistair saw a small opening in the wall.

He shouted: Let me stand up on your shoulders. I think I can see something.'

Tom braced himself as Alistair, holding on to the ivy, heaved himself upwards, until he could reach the opening.

He pulled away some of the leaves and gave a whistle of surprise.

'What is it?' Tom shouted up to his friend.

'I can see something.'

'What is it?'

'It's... it's ... I don't know how to describe it.'

His friend, staggering under his weight, said: 'Well, try. What is it?'

'Women and some men.'

'Yes, go on ... '

'The women. And they're naked. Almost naked. They are so beautiful. They're dancing around a huge fire.. Some people are making love, just like in the X-rated movie we saw the other night.'

'Come down. Let me have a look.'

'No, just wait a minute.'

'Fuck! It's my turn.'

'NO!'

Tom moved away trying to dislodge Alistair, who clung desperately to the vegetation. Finally Tom succeeded in throwing him off. He stood back and looked at his friend, frantically clinging on to some ivy. But instead of coming down, Alistair thrust his head and shoulders through the opening. His legs and feet then disappeared through the opening.

'Alistair, come back. Where are you?' Tom shouted in despair.

He looked around for something to help him climb up the wall, but could find nothing suitable. He continued to call out, expecting his friend to emerge. There was no response. At last, in desperation, he followed the line of the wall further into the forest, seeking another entrance, all the while calling his friend's name. Once, he thought he heard a faint echo, but soon afterwards became convinced he had imagined it.

The ancient brick wall ran on for hundreds of yards and ended with the remains of a weathered concrete foundation. Tom walked round and followed the wall back to the point where his friend had disappeared. All he could find were some grassy mounds, tree stumps and fallen masonry.

Heidi gave a self-conscious laugh.

'Is that how it ends?' Peter asked.

'No, he meets Alistair at school the next day, who unaccountably denies the whole episode. Years later, however, when Tom came to his wedding Alistair confessed that the travellers had warned that if he ever spoke of what he had seen he would surely die. The wedding service went ahead. Just as Alistair was about to say to his bride: "I will," he dropped down dead.

Heidi gave them both a mischievous grin.

Peter clapped and said: 'Great! I love horror stories.'

Bess said proudly: 'Didn't I tell you!' and left to make a cup of tea.'

'You friend, Mr. Barykov is a remarkable man,' she remarked, returning with a Royal Doulton teapot and matching cups and saucers on a silver tray. 'It was very clever the way he managed to find me, even though I had changed my name. What made him do it, sugar?

There followed a moment of confusion, because, thinking he was being offered sugar, Peter shook his head. Realizing his mistake, he changed his mind, took a lump of sugar and placed it on his saucer.

Bess, answering her own question, said: 'I suppose he wanted to do us both a good turn,' and then continued: 'I'm told that novelists are always looking for stories. I have a lovely one for you, Heidi. Are you prepared to listen?'

Before she could reply, Bess went on animatedly: 'It happened to one of my girls. She was offered a considerable amount of money by a young couple to become a surrogate mother after becoming depressed by her work. It sometimes happens. Well, what do you know, she was inseminated with the husband's sperm and had a miscarriage. She offered to repeat the procedure, but this time she substituted her boy friend's sperm, thinking there might be something wrong with the husband's. Lo and behold, she finds herself pregnant with triplets. When she told her boy friend, he said: 'Don't hand over all of them. My business has picked up. We'll keep one for ourselves.' She told the couple who had paid for the surrogate pregnancy that she would like to keep one. But they insisted that they were entitled to all the babies. My girl came to me for advice. The dispute had me foxed until I remembered that story of Solomon in the Bible. There was rivalry between two women about who owned a baby. King Solomon offered to cut the baby in two and give them half each. One of the women then told him to give the baby to the other woman. Reckoning that she must therefore be the real mother, King Solomon handed the baby to her. So I instructed my girl to say: 'I'm the one who's suffered the birth pangs, so I have the right to decide how they should be allocated.' They still wouldn't agree to let her keep one. But when she told her boy friend that she had substituted his own sperm for the husband's, he said: 'OK. We'll keep the lot. And she did.'

Bess blew her nose and said: 'I wish I had kept you, pet. But isn't that a nice story. Do you think you could write a novel about it?'

'One day, perhaps, mother.'

Peter, resisting the temptation to ask whether the surrogate mother had returned the money she had been paid, looked at his watch.

'Where do you get your inspiration from, Heidi?' Bess enquired.

'It's just like the automatic writing that mediums employ when they communicate with the spirits of the dead.'

Bess's large, blue eyes opened wide in astonishment.

'I have a friend who does that. It's amazing that my little girl should be so gifted.'

'The stories come from somewhere outside my head. I just write them.'

'She's an extraordinary girl, isn't she Peter.'

He nodded agreement.

Bess went on: 'And I am so pleased Jack Barykov reunited us. How did it happen, pet? Tell me again.'

Heidi said patiently: 'He did an Internet search and traced you through the Deed Poll records.'

'Well, I'm eternally grateful for that. And you should be grateful, too, my girl. Incidentally, when he heard a couple of years ago that I had a little bit of money put by, he asked if I would like to invest in his business. I put in five thousand pounds at ten cent. You're a banker, Peter. Did I do the right thing?'

Peter assured Bess that her investment was sound. He realized that Barykov had been in deep financial trouble at the time. Anyway, it was to his credit that he had united mother and daughter.

'I hope you are going to look after my little girl,' Bess said

'I shall do the best I can. You know she is going to live in Scotland for a while.'

'So I believe. And you'll visit her there?'

'Of course.'

'We must go now, mother,' Heidi said.

'Go with my blessings. You have a very nice, kind banker here.'

Bess kissed them both in turn. A powerful fragrance wafted over Peter as she kissed his face.

Peter said to Heidi as they drove off: 'There's an old saying:: "When you shake hands with a merchant banker, you should count your fingers afterwards." Maybe that's why she kissed me instead of shaking hands.'

They both laughed.

'What do you think of her? Isn't she beautiful?' Heidi said.

'Not as beautiful as you.'

'You're just saying that because of what she does for a living.'

'No. But she has a good business head.'

'She sets her girls up in flats and they pay off the mortgage.'

'Highly illegal.'

'They adore her. They all call her "Mother."'

'She didn't treat you very well.'

'She is desperate to make it up to me.'

'It's a bit late for that.'

'But she is trying.'

Later, studying Heidi's willowy figure, as they took a shower together and the warm water coursed over them, Peter apologised for his expanding waistline. Tentatively exploring it with her index finger, Heidi murmured that she didn't mind.. What turned her on was the love there – tapping the region round his heart – and then gently moved her hand slowly south.

Still wet, they hurled themselves into bed and, made love. She shrieked out! 'Take me over the moon!'

Later, she murmured: 'I went to heaven and I heard the angels applauding. That was a transfiguring experience.'

'My figure needs transfiguring,' he said with a grin. 'I'll have to go on a diet.'

He felt a faint fluttering motion around his heart, during the journey back to London, but decided it was indigestion.

17

How was the reunion?' Rachel Peter asked the following day.

'OK. But everyone looks much older.'

What did you expect? Did you see Jimmy –.what was his name? Your old buddy.'

'Jimmy Hoylake. No he wasn't there.'

Rachel looked quite attractive. Perhaps Heidi had sexually rejuvenated him. He remembered hearing once that sometimes infidelity can liven up a marriage.

'Did you drink a lot?'

'Not really. But I had a slight pain around the heart driving back.'

'You had better get yourself checked out.'

'Yes, dear.'

He grinned at her over his cup of coffee, and said: 'I'm going up to Scotland to check on Barykov's business. His headquarters are near Prestwick airport. I might do some shooting while I'm there.'

'Do you like that sort of thing?'

'I did when I was young. Barykov has some hare-brain plans for expansion. I need to talk him out of it.'

'Can't you do it over the telephone.'

'No, I'll have to go and see him. How are things with you?'

'OK. I've made it up with Vera Green. She's not so bad, really.'

'Good.'

He wiped his mouth on a napkin, kissed Rachel and went to collect his car.

Driving, even in heavy traffic, enabled him to think deeply about his problems. The fact that Heidi would soon accompany Barykov to Scotland suited him, because there would be less likelihood of their affair being discovered. Although satisfied that the business in which he had invested met exactly the same criteria he would require if he were investing the bank's money, he still had a vague sense that something was wrong. The fact that Barykov had borrowed money from a prostitute made him feel slightly uneasy, even though he believed that money, like electricity or water, was neutral. Yet another doubt concerned Barykov's claim to have actually seen people being tortured. And he was uncomfortable with his claim that his telephone line was under surveillance by British intelligence, although, of course, such things did happen. However, he was convinced that Heidi would inform him if she had any suspicions about Barykov.. He decided it might be sensible to keep a log of events. It was important to keep a watchful eye on his investment, possibly the biggest he would ever make. He would keep a diary, until he was sure everything was in order.

He opened a new file on his password-protected personal computer and applied encryption software. Suddenly, on a whim, he changed the name of the file from 'Barykov' to 'Baruch' after Barykov's great-grandfather. If anybody managed to gain access to the file the name would throw them off the scent.

18

PART TWO

Am I paranoid? This question haunts me, as I make my first entry in the Baruch diary. Spying on one's business partner is a sordid practice, but with so much at stake I can't afford to take chances. When NASA prepares a vehicle for a space launch, it goes to unprecedented lengths to check all systems. I must be equally thorough. Launching a new IT stock on the scale that we intend to do is going to create a great deal of excitement in the City. I shall suggest that we bypass the Alternative Investment Market and, float on the London Stock Exchange. I haven't told Barykov this yet. The rapid expansion we are experiencing should make this possible. Sir Michael will almost certainly want a slice of the action when he hears about it, as will many of my City friends and associates. But it is early days. I'm pretty sure my that my reservations concerning about Barykov will soon be forgotten.

To record some thing on a lighter note, my wife astonished me when I arrived home at about eight p.m, after I had taken some of the new members of my staff – three men and two women – to my club for a drink. I used the occasion to familiarise them with our methods and impressed upon them the need for solid team work.

My cheerful frame of mind was destroyed when I arrived home.

'Admit it,' Rachel said, as I took off my coat.

'Admit what?'

I thought she might be referring to Eleanor Aloni, one of the newcomers I had just entertained, whose head-turning beauty I felt sure was going to create havoc in Canary Wharf.

'That woman!' Rachel said.

'Are you talking about someone in my staff?'

'No, of course not.'

'Then who are you talking about?'

'Ursula, you fool. Is there someone else you have been carrying on with?'

'Of course not. What did she tell you?'

'She said she tried to seduce you in a weak moment.'

'She didn't succeed.'

'I know. She told me.'

'Then what are you complaining about?'

'She told me she is conscience-stricken about what happened when you called to collect the portrait. She had been very upset and got thoroughly sloshed. She says she intends to give up drinking.'

'Just as well,' I said, dryly.

'Have you had anything to eat?'

'Just a few canapes.'

'I'll make you an omelette. Why didn't you tell me about it?'

'Because nothing happened.'

'She said she sat on your lap.'

'Only for a second. What was the point in upsetting you? It might have affected our relationship with Gerald.'.

'But you should have told me.'

I shrugged, to indicate that it was of no importance.

We discussed domestic events while I ate the omelette

The Romanian maids have given in their notice. She intends to replace them with a couple of Philipino girls. Winston's grades have improved, but he is very unhappy that Magda is leaving. I remembered how I felt when I was sixteen. One skin gets thicker with the passing years, although I must say Heidi has done her best to intensify and revive my feelings. Ursula has diverted Rachel's attention from something that might genuinely give her cause for concern, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.

Jade and Jake continue to see each other. He hasn't got a university place but is studying journalism at home. He has given up singing and, being reluctant to quit the music scene entirely, intends to work eventually for a music magazine.

Barykov was very impressed when I took him to my club for dinner the other day. He was even more impressed when I told him that I have been proposed for the ****** Club. I didn't mention that I would probably be in my nineties before I gained admission.

He's a great trencherman and enjoyed the food and wine. He gave me the names of some excellent wines. French cuisine, apparently, is much appreciated in Russia, although during the Soviet era it was only available for privileged officials.

I put some questions to him in an effort to allay some of the suspicions which have been preying on my mind.

'Was it usual for an official translator in the KGB to be allowed to witness interrogations?

'Senior officials, like myself were sometimes called in when language problems arose. It was regarded as a test of loyalty to the Party.'

His answer settled my mind.

After he had imbibed several glasses of wine I asked with an innocent air: 'Was it a good idea, do you think, for Heidi to seek out her birth mother?'

'She wanted to,' he said simply and concentrated on his meringue glacé pudding.

'She must have been shocked when she found out that her mother was a prostitute.'

'I had prepared her for that possibility.'

'How did you guess her mother had changed her name?'

'By using my common sense. People often do that when they are having a crisis in their life.'

'Has Heidi changed as a result of meeting her mother?'

'I think on balance she's happier. People like to know where they have sprung from.'

'You don't think her mother will be a corrupting influence on her?'

'Permit me to say, Peter, you are being somewhat naive. She is a finished product. She is more likely to influence her mother than the other way around.'

'When you tracked down Bess, how did you find out that she had some spare money?'

Barykov peered at me from under his heavy eyebrows, took a large spoonful of pudding and said: I knew that already. I had previously done business with her.'

'You mean . ..'

'The faux naivete you Englishmen sometimes display I find astonishing. Yes, I slept with her during my early days in England. A friend of mine who had served in the diplomatic corps recommended her to me. I remembered him telling me that she had a daughter. So when Heidi told me she wished to track down her birth mother in Manchester, I had a suspicion that it might be her. I used the Internet to confirm that Bess was her mother. Please do not tell Heidi I slept with Bess. It would upset her a great deal.'

'Of course I won't. Forgive me for allowing my curiosity to run away with me. You did a good job reuniting them.'

Barykov nodded and concentrated on his food again.

I tried to conceal my distaste. My business partner had just told me without embarrassment that he had borrowed money from a prostitute. And then I told myself, since I'm benefiting from his actions, I shouldn't be censorious. He obviously sees me as a prudish, caste-ridden, middle-aged Englishman, easily shocked by the simple facts of life. To counter this impression, I said: 'I can well understand the situation. You were a normal man with normal appetites separated from your wife by circumstances beyond your control.'

He nodded, with a sad expression.

I then enquired: 'Is Heidi making progress with her novel?'

'I believe so.'

'What encourages you to believe that she will be successful?'

'A friend of mine, a very shrewd literary agent, reported that Heidi is particularly strong on female characterizations, even though her male characters tend to be stereotypical. She doesn't flinch from earthy matters. Her plotting is a bit ragged. What she is very good at is describing how people can influence each other.'

'I'm glad to hear it. I'm very fond of her.'

'So I have noticed.'

Barykov directed a sardonic smile at me, before wiping his mouth with his napkin.

He then leaned forward and whispered with a worried expression: 'Is Heidi displeased with me?'

'Good heavens, no. What on earth gave you that idea?'

'She seems lately to have become somewhat intolerant of my little foibles. It is obvious that she is very fond of you.

'She never says anything against you.'

'I am relieved to hear it. It is essential that we all rub along together. It would be very bad for the business if bad blood developed between us.'

'No fear of that. You don't have to worry about Heidi. She admires you.'

'I'm glad to hear it. I know from personal experience how easy it is to turn one person against another. I saw numerous examples when I was lived in the Soviet Union.'

'Really?'

He leaned towards me said in a low tone: 'One occurred when the Russians were experimenting with telekenesis?'

'Telekineses?' I repeated, asking myself what possible relevance this could have to our conversation, and continued: 'I vaguely remember seeing on television an experiment carried out in the Soviet Union in which psychics moved objects around a table through the power of their minds alone.'

Barykov stared at me from under his bushy black eyebrows and said: 'I can inform you that the whole thing was phoney. The objects did not move. The observers of the experiment had been hypnotised into believing they saw the objects move. They swore afterwards that they had witnessed these people effortlessly sliding objects around the table by sheer mind power. What they didn't realise was that it was only happening inside their own minds.'

'Hey, wait a minute,' I protested. 'The damned objects did move. I saw it on television.'

'They used faked video recordings afterwards to make it appear true. It had a powerful effect on Western opinion, because it looked as if minds in the Soviet Union were open to such controversial subjects as parapsychology, while the decadent West was too narrow-minded to assess such matters objectively. It was a splendid propaganda coup.'

'And what precisely, I asked, 'does this have to do with people turning against each other?'

At that moment my mobile rang. Rachel urged me to come home straight away. She had a domestic crisis on her hands.

I apologised to Jack Barykov, told the maitre'd to put the meal on my bill and left immediately.

The crisis had been settled by the time I arrived home. Apparently one of the maids was pregnant and insisted that Winston was the father. Under persistent questioning, Magda eventually admitted that she had been impregnated by her boy friend. She had been too frightened to tell him the truth and blurted out Winston's name when questioned by Rachel.

Winston was beaming all over his face, when I questioned him in his bedroom afterwards.

'I didn't shag her, Dad. I could have done but I didn't, because I remembered what you said.

I congratulated Rachel on doing such a good job.

Winston was flattered by the accusation made against him and seemed to enjoy the idea of being a father.

19

My suspicions about Barykov having been dispelled, I can now get on with my life. Everything is going well on all fronts. Rachel invited me into her bed last night. Nothing happened. She is not very well. I told her to see a doctor, but she refuses to do so. Nevertheless, we recovered some of our former intimacy and talked about our honeymoon. We agreed it had not been all moonlight and roses. However, we have rubbed along pretty well since then. R.L. Stevenson described marriage as more of a battle than a bed of roses. Which just about sums it up. I get an occasional twinge of guilt about cheating on my wife. But I soothe my conscience with the thought that the sizeable fortune which will come our way will benefit all the members of my family and this most certainly would not have come about had I not had the good fortune to meet Heidi.

I have imposed my authority on my department at work and everything is going smoothly. It is a too early to start any kind of radical overhaul, but I am forming a plan which I believe will increase productivity.

Everything appears to be going well up in Scotland. I shall be going up there soon. I send Heidi billet doux via email, using a simple code we agreed on before she went.

Much as I am looking forward to reaping the rewards from my Dot Com company, I still need to meet the demands of my present job. Networking is not the least important of my activities. I should have liked to have invited a merchant adventurer knight, and a recently ennobled Government official, together with their respective partners, to my home recently but Rachel simply isn't up to it. The new maids are untrained and, according to Rachel, untrainable, so I invited the nabobs to dine at my club instead. Unlike Jack B, they damned the food and the ambience with faint praise. I was more amused than otherwise. I have applied to join several superior clubs, in the hope that vacancies will occur. Very soon I might even be in a position to buy one!

My new P.A. is not up to snuff and will have to go. In spite of automatic spell checkers, she still makes dreadful spelling mistakes. She has had no training on spreadsheets. I have delivered a rocket to our human resources manager for lumbering me with such a pathetic creature.

The financial sector is a cruel master. In show business, you can "pick yourself up, dust yourself down and start all over again." Not so in banking. One serious mistake and you're reputation is gone for ever. Hence the rule of "caution, caution and yet more caution." Obeying it earned derision from my wife but it laid down the foundation of my present success.

It is true, of course, that for once I have thrown caution to the winds. But it will soon pay off and transform my fortunes.

Heidi informed me the other day that my alter ego in her novel, Sir Peter Crawford, has been pardoned for screwing the King's mistress because he has made the King very rich by buccaneering in the Caribbean. I am glad that my punt on the Internet company does not carry such a high element of risk. Talking of luck, I had an extraordinary stroke of luck while playing golf recently. On my third shot on the eighteenth hole my ball struck a tree, bounced onto the green and rolled into the hole, resulting in an "eagle", my first ever. It is the talk of the town – or to be more accurate, the fourteenth floor of Canary Wharf! All of which persuades me that I am "on a roll."

The last time I saw Heidi with a cigarette in her hand, I asked her if she would consider giving it up. She replied: 'Yes, I hope to soon. Jack says he'll hypnotise me.'

Which gives me cause for concern. He knows a lot about people imposing their will on other people. His account of the telekenesis propaganda coup is typical. The episode he told me about is probably fairly typical of the nasty tricks used by the KGB during the Cold War He admitted that he is deeply interested in psychology. He broke off from a business discussion we were having a few weeks ago to discuss solipsist philosophy. He quoted the famous poem about whether an object exists when there is no one around to observe it, which raises the question, if all consciousness in the universe were to be extinguished, would the universe still exist?

Giving a rather poor imitation of an Oxford don, he recited with a Russian accent:

"There was a young man who said: 'God,

Must think it exceedingly odd

If he finds that this tree

Continues to be

When there's no one around in the Quad.

Reply

Dear Sir

Your astonishment's odd

I'm always about in the Quad.

And that's why the tree

Will continue to be,

Observed by

Yours faithfully

God.

Barykov then asked: 'Would you like hear my third verse?'

I replied, a little irritably: 'Go on.'

Dear God,

I may be a bit of a plod.

But if You're about in the Quad.

Why, then, dost Thee

Allow the poor tree,

To be pee-ed on by so many dogs?

He sniggered and then added: 'You see: it brings in the moral element: The question of why does God allow suffering.'

I reminded him that we were supposed to be discussing sales targets.

The conversation, however, disturbed me. Launching a venture like ours demands one-hundred per cent dedication from everyone concerned.

I had a strange dream about smoking. I was standing at the back of a church looking at a well-dressed man sitting on a pew in front of me who was smoking a cigarette. I tapped him on the shoulder and said: 'Would you like me to tell you how to give up smoking?'

He replied: 'Go ahead.'

'Make your living-room a non-smoking area. When you have got used to not smoking there, turn another room into a non-smoking area. Continue this process until there is nowhere in your house where you can smoke. Eventually, rather than go outside in the cold you'll give up smoking.'

He replied: 'Why the hell do you think I am smoking in church? My wife has already made the whole of our house a non-smoking area.

Barykov and I went on to discuss a contentious issue. I have always maintained that we need to underpin our position in the market by advertising in newspapers and magazines. He points out that we are achieving our sales targets without incurring these expenses and that our web sites are gaining as much business as we can handle using email shots and other forms of Internet advertising very successfully.

Ÿ

Heidi and I, when we text each other, substitute the third letter along in the alphabet. It could be decoded by a child. But nobody would be interested in our messages. Barykov knows we are lovers and is much too engrossed in his duties to spy on us. Texting each other brings Heidi and I together in childlike intimacy. I sign myself FKDO, the coded first four letter of King Charles's name, which she finds amusing. And she signs herself QHOO for his paramour, Nell.

I tell her in coded language that she is the ocean in which I long to swim.

She says she will turn into a whale, so that I can imitate Jonah and take refuge inside her.

I reply: Inside your FXQW.

And so on.

I gain relief from the demands of my family and my demanding job when I engage in this correspondence. She is a friend and lover who unconditionally forgives all my shortcomings. She releases me from old hat inhibitions ground into me by a school which had its roots in Empire and Glory. I belong to the latter end of the Boomer generation, but puritanical England still nips at my buttocks. I didn't have fun when I was young because my sights were set on becoming a respectable banker earning lots of money. Now this ambition is becoming realised, my second springtime has also arrived!

I took Rambo for a walk along the Regent's Park canal last night. The trees were bathed in the dying rays of the sun. There was very little wind. Rambo tugged at his lead. I gripped the polythene bag in my other hand ready to scoop up his excrement. As I walked by a painted barge, listening to shouts of merriment coming from a celebration inside, I remembered waiting for Rambo to urinate outside Barykov's house. That was the precise moment when it occurred to me that he might have knowledge of the Caucasus region. A lot has happened since then.

A young cyclist, wearing the Arsenal football team strip, wobbled past me, licking an ice-cream. Barykov still attends Manchester United home games, even though his home is in North London. His loyalty to Manchester United encourages me to believe that he will be totally loyal to the company we are creating.

As I waited for Rambo to do his business, I picked up a stone from the tow path and hurled it into the water. The ripples spreading out reminded me that our actions spread out in similar fashion, forming patterns, which affect our own lives and those of other people.

If Ursula had succeeded in seducing me, I could have become a father again and Gerald would have paid the bill for my fatherhood. Would it matter? Another more serious thought came to me concerning Heidi. What if I made her pregnant? I realised it is very unlikely. She is soon going to give birth to a novel instead! I am convinced that it will be a very good one. It is very flattering, that I walk around in her imaginary world. Jake le Roy is taking a course on journalism, which includes Creative Writing. He seems very fond of my daughter. He has some idea of making a living writing for a music magazine. Kids these days don't seem in a hurry to earn a living. I joined the bank when I was twenty-two and have had a constant stream of pay cheques ever since. I am the only one in the family who appreciates the stability this has given us. However, bigger and better things lie ahead.

I have one caveat concerning the Creative Writing school. If students blindly impersonate literary role models they can easily be led in the wrong direction. Not so in my case. Sir Peter Crawford is exactly the kind of person I have always wanted to be.

. I asked what was wrong when I arrived home and Rachel informed me she had a pain. I suggested calling a doctor and she responded icily: 'You are the pain.'

Seeing my horrified expression, she admitted that a problem had arisen at the office for which she had been unfairly blamed. I couldn't figure exactly what it was all about. I tried to kiss her and was rebuffed. She then changed tack and complained that her clothing allowance was entirely inadequate and this was one of the reasons she was upset.

I responded: 'But we agreed that X amount would be sufficient.'

'No, you insisted that it would be sufficient. What actually happened was that you talked me into it, after I had said it would be insufficient.'

'Well, we won't make a big deal out of it. I'll rustle up the extra cash.'

'Where from?'

'I'll rob a bank.'

'You couldn't rob a sweet shop!'

After she had gone to bed, I tried to recall the exact figure we had agreed Rachel's clothing allowance should be. Whenever there is a dispute, one person wittingly or unwittingly tries to dominate the other one. It happens at home, in business, or in international affairs. Whether the controversy is about spending on clothes, obtaining a share of the market, or fixing international boundaries, the person with the stronger will power always wins. Because of my business training, arguing my case strongly is something I do automatically. Perhaps I should not have used the technique with Rachel.

She was fast asleep when I went up to bed. I intend to apologise tomorrow morning.

As I took off my tie, I remembered Jack Barykov's preoccupation with 'brainwashing.' His offer to cure Heidi of her smoking addiction suggests that he has considerable confidence in his own powers of mind-bending. This is intended as a reminder to me to make sure he doesn't try to use them on me!

*

I gave Rachel an extra clothes allowance, having borrowed it from the Trust Fund, which still retains a small residue. As it happened Sidney forgot to follow up his enquiry about our mother's money when he stayed with us last Christmas. He and his wife, Sylvia, were full of praise for our new house. 'My brother is a financial genius,' I heard him telling Sylvia. I sincerely hope he's right. I shall reimburse the Trust Fund as soon as the Internet business is floated and will be in a position to pay off all my other debts, with plenty of money left over to last for the rest of my life.

A welcome e-mail arrived on my desk this morning. "BKV and I returning to London next weekend to investigate companies. BKV stopping off in Manchester. Recommend you buy Time. Signed Joe Wetherby."

Heidi had, as requested, dressed up her communication as a stock market tip. I looked at my programme. It didn't look promising. Rachel's car was out of order and I would have to help her with the shopping on Saturday morning. We had tickets for the theatre that evening. On Sunday I had promised to attend church with Rachel, because she wished to visit her late father's grave. That evening we had guests. So I asked my PA to check for spare seats at the rugby match at Twickenham on Saturday, telling her to pay over the odds if necessary. In this way I purchased an expensive but perfect alibi for spending the afternoon with Heidi.

When I called her on my mobile to inform her of what I had done, she told me she was nearly fainting with happiness.

I walked down fourteen flights of stairs to dispel my own triumphant burst of energy. On the way down, I remembered that only a few of our staff in New York had managed to get down the stairs on 9/11. A sobering thought, which failed to dampen my delight at the prospect of seeing Heidi.

Time moved with painful slowness. Rachel kissed me before I went left the house on Saturday and told me to enjoy the match. Rather than harming Rachel, I felt that I was just making two other people insanely happy. Pity I had to miss the match. But at least I was soon going to actively participate in another sport! Better than watching from the sidelines!

Heidi arrived in a taxi.ten minutes after I had I parked my car outside Barykov's house.

'Your cases are very heavy, I remarked, as I put them down at the foot of the stairs.

'Jack insisted that I bring copies of our back-up hard disks down here, in case the Manse should go up in flames.'

'Very sensible.'

We embraced.

Disengaging herself from me, she said eagerly, opening a carrier bag. I've bought you a present. Do you think it will fit you?'

She displayed a tartan kilt with a silver sporran, assuring me that the name Hargreaves was associated with a Scottish clan. I suspected she was gulled by a salesman at the airport. Not that it mattered.

I lifted her up and said: 'Time for you to find out what a Scotsman wears under his kilt,'However, when we arrived in her bedroom, she maddeningly insisted on going through the procedure of changing the sheets.

As this was going on I asked her how things were at company headquarters.

'Fine. Jack seems in good humour all the time. He rushes from room to room, when he's not on the telephone, barking instructions to everybody. He's a real ball of fire.'

'Amazing,' I murmured, 'for a man in his sixties. Is he stopping off in Manchester to shag one of Bess's girls?'

'No. He's watching Man United.'

'Of course. I had forgotten.'

'Does he behave himself with you?' I enquired.

Standing with her hands on her waist, she countered: 'And have you been shagging your wife? It won't do either of us any good if we start to get jealous.'

'Point taken. Let's make the most of the little time we have.'

She hurled a pillow at me, catching me full in the face.

I responded with equal force. Feathers flew round the room until, thoroughly roused, I gripped her by the waist and we fell onto the bed.

She started breathing heavily. A little worried, I asked: 'Are you all right, sweetheart?'

For answer, she stroked my face. I sucked each finger on her hand in turn, as she looked up at me thoughtfully and said: 'I have just remembered the text message you sent me. You used a naughty word.'

'FXQW. How is your FXQW?'

'Very good.. And how is your SULFN?'

'Like a guardsman on parade.'

I undressed her, as she gazed up at the ceiling with an abstracted expression.

'What is it, darling?' I enquired.

'I am wondering if Sir Peter would have kissed my oranges?'

'Your what?'

Nell Gwynn once sold oranges for a living. Sir Peter Crawford would be bound to say, I adore your sweet oranges, ma'am.'

I took the hint and then enquired: 'What would Sir Peter Crawford have done next?'

Fact and fiction merged into one from which we emerged, gasping for breath.

'Thank you, dear Nell,' I murmured.

'Thank you, Sir Peter.'

She drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up, I said: 'One of these days, when our ship comes in, we'll take a long holiday together.'

Heidi gave a gasp and said: 'I've just remembered. That's exactly what Sir Peter Crawford told Nell. He was about to go on a long, dangerous voyage to the Caribbean, from which he hoped to return with a vast quantity of gold, which would place him once more in the King's favour. The King was perennially short of money and would forgive anyone who refilled his purse. Once Sir Peter was back in England he and Nell were obliged to hide from Sir Peter's enemies, who wished to establish that Nell Gwynn was being unfaithful to the King. So they hid in the brigantine Sir Peter had brought back from the Caribbean, which was moored at Gravesend.'

As Heidi described the scene, I could almost smell the dark , musty recesses of the ship's interior where Nell and Sir Peter ate, drank and made love.

I pointed at my watch. She emerged from the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. I ran my hand down the ridge of her spine, as she bent forward to put on her slippers. And then she stood up and aroused me again by dancing a jig, opening and closing her dressing-gown in a flagrantly wanton manner. She then fastened her belt and asked with a serious expression: 'Would you undertake a hazardous voyage, in order to recover your worldly fortune?'

'That's exactly what I am doing,' I replied, thinking of my Internet enterprise.

'Good. That proves that you fit the character perfectly.'

'Thank you, kind ma'am. I hope that you won't jettison me, when you start your next novel.'

'No, I assure you that you'll be the hero of that one as well.'

She went downstairs to make some tea. I took a shower and then joined her.

As we ate shortbread, Heidi said: 'Jack and I drove to Turnberry golf course one evening and had a meal there. Perhaps you'll play there when you come up to Scotland.'

'That would be great. A friend of mine says it's a magnificent course.'

'It has lovely views. You can see a tiny island in the Firth of Clyde called Ailsa Craig quite clearly. I wrote a poem about it.'

'Let's hear it.'

I listened as she recited a troubling poem about an island in the sky. Gravestones keep emerging from the clouds. The poetess, hides behind one of the gravestones and watches as inhabitants line up to enter a door leading down to the island's secret interior. The last verse was particularly strange.

The mighty crag took pride of place

And on it she impaled

That part of her which gave her worth,

The part of her she'd failed.

She mourned the bairn who never was,

To whom she'd given birth.

'I think you're better off writing your fascinating stories.'

'It didn't jell?'

'I'm afraid not. My nature is too coarse to appreciate poetry.'

'On the contrary. You have a poetic soul. One of these days I'll tease some poetry out of you.'

'I'd rather play golf any day.'

' Turnberry golf course is quite close to the manse.'

'Was Jack Barykov living in Manchester when you first met him?

'No, he'd already moved to London.'

'Why did he leave Manchester?'

' He thought London was a better place for his business. The British government had set him up in a flat in Manchester as part of a deal they'd made with him. He had to promise to stay there ten years. Don't ask me why.'

' He's certainly led a very colourful life.'

'He says he wasted his life working for a corrupt, evil regime.'

'Perhaps. But I'm personally very glad to have him as a partner.

'And I'm glad you came into the pub that night. My fantasy became real, Sir Peter.'

'I doubt I shall ever be knighted.'

'If you want something enough it will happen.'

'You sound just like one of those self-help books.'

'Jack has assured me that one day I shall succeed as a novelist. And I believe him.'

'But you don't allow him to dominate you.'

'No. But that doesn't change the fact that he's a great man.'

'What's it like living with him in Scotland?'

'I don't see him very much. He's too busy. But we had a drink last week in the local pub. That doesn't make you jealous, does it?'

'No.'

'Sir Peter Crawford was overpoweringly jealous of his monarch.'

'I'll try not to follow his example.'

Heidi put down her cup and saucer, and came and sat on my lap.'

'What can I do to stop my little Peter from being jealous?'

'You can make love,' I said.

And we did.

*

What have I learned? That Heidi's account of Barykov is consistent with everything he has told me. It is much to his credit that he encourages Heidi in her writing. Even more is the fact that he inspires all our staff to work hard. He is soon going to make me a very rich man. My sister and brother will always be unaware of how their share of the family money helped to make my fortune. But I shall be exceptionally generous to them when my ship yields up its store of gold.

I put on the radio to hear the result of the match and reminded myself when I got home to express delight that England had prevailed. Manchester United had also won their home game, so that will put Jack B in a good mood..

Barykov's insistence on keeping our business data disks in a safe place has increased my confidence in him.

*

My old school's maxim was: Laborare est orare – work is prayer. The workers should offer prayers up to bankers. We expand the economy, spreading money around, benefiting everyone else in the process.

I am full of confidence these days. I am proud of the fact that I own part of a business that is prospering and reaching all points of the globe. And I have been informed by a beautiful woman that I am the best lover in the world. All this while I am still capable of enjoying the good things of life.

Mike Mongomery assured me today that the board values my good judgement. The pipeline project has done wonders for my reputation. Mike asked me if I had seen the guy who tipped us off. I said I had bumped into him once or twice. We have been talking about new investments in India and China.

I spoke to Barykov on my mobile today. All is well. The expansion is continuing at an impressive rate. He has read another chapter of Heidi's book, and thinks it's excellent. He asked when I would be coming to inspect our new headquarters. Very soon, I replied.

I try, as far as possible without being intrusive, to keep a watchful eye on my children's lives. Jake le Roy has moved into a tiny flat with Jade near her university. She told Rachel – why doesn't she tell me? – that he is working very hard on his journalism course. He is taking a distant learning course on the Internet. I could have arranged a reduction in the fees if he had told me.

Rachel is unhappy. I am not so arrogant as not to attribute part of the blame for the difficulties in our marriage to myself. To give an example, when Rachel and I went to a labrador breeder to choose our dog, we were offered a sand-coloured or a black one. Rachel preferred black. I preferred sand-coloured. I won the day by suggesting that if our dog ran out into the road a motorist would be more likely to see the sand-coloured puppy. I was using a technique I learned on a management course on how to overcome the opposition. I couldn't see that it mattered – black or white; it was just a dog. The family would, presumably, be perfectly happy whatever colour it was, but I wanted to practise what I had learned on the management course. Rachel has never forgiven me for overruling her. She insists the black puppy we left behind was more intelligent, better bred, less prone to illness. Incidentally, Rambo has hind legs that seem permanently out of kilter and the biggest balls I have ever seen on a dog. Rachel still regrets not having the black puppy. I suspect it is because she resents my having had my own way.

But I did her choose the dog's name.

I paid Rachel's fees to The Law Society – a very substantial sum. She is now a fully-fledged solicitor. Admittedly, she had to work very hard, commuting between home and the Guildford Law School during the past year. But she still objects to the fact that I earn considerably more than she does. In spite of that, when I capitalise on my Scottish investment, I am sure she will enjoy spending the money.

Ÿ

All went well when I returned home. There was one awkward moment when Winston asked me if the referee's decision had been right concerning a penalty kick. I said I had been distracted at the time by someone's catcall. The lad is studying hard for his 'GCE' level exams. He is obviously not going to be a high flyer. The same was said of me when I was the same age. In spite of that I shall soon be flying at an extremely high financial altitudes. Timing is all, as Mike Montgomery is fond of saying. I seem to have got it exactly right this time. Heidi deserves much of the credit, because she is the one who gave me the courage to take a leap into the unknown.

I still have minor reservations about Jack Barykov, perhaps because he defected from the Soviet Union. But then so did Sharanski and thousands of other defectors,who had good and honourable reasons for doing so. As for his consorting with prostitutes, that surely is entirely his own business.

*

Had a head-on with Mike Montgomery today about lending to highly-geared property companies. He insists, however, that prime locations more than made up for their other shortcomings. His instinct in these matters is usually sound. I continue to learn from him. One of these days I might stand in his shoes. Formerly, I would have scoffed at the notion. But I am a very mature and experienced banker now.

Jade and Jake have had another one of their rows. It distresses me. My daughter deserves someone better than a failed rock singer. I am paying for the flat she and Jake are living in, so he is getting free accommodation. I am told that both his parents are doctors. Which makes me feel a little better.

The row apparently came about because Jake bought furniture without asking Jade's opinion. I am surprised that he dares to do battle with my daughter, whose academic record is so much better than his. She told me he is currently writing an essay about Henry Fifth and insists on walking round the flat declaiming Shakespeare. I find this amusing, since he is a thin weedy fellow with a ponytail and a pale, see-through wispy goatee beard. Anybody less like bluff King Hal would be hard to imagine Still, one should not interfere with one's children's choice of lovers. The reverse, of course, should also apply.

20

Peter flew to Prestwick, to spend a weekend with Heidi. He was looking forward to seeing the company headquarters. The real worth of the organization lay somewhere in Cyberspace, the complex system of computer-generated websites which was generating income for the Company at a gratifying rate.

He hired a car at the airport and drove to the headquarters of International Learning Limited, It turned out to be a dark, rather forbidding, three-storey house with a stone gable above the entrance. It was located at the end of a narrow lane in open country twelve miles from the town of Ayre.. He parked the car under an oak tree on a gravelled area.

Heidi ran down the front steps just as rain began to fall from a bank of heavy clouds overhead. She kissed him enthusiastically, as he got out of the car.

He said: 'Hey! The neighbours might be watching!.'

'There's no one around, except Charlie.'

Ignoring his protests, she picked up his suitcase and carried it into the front hall.

Peter followed her into a large wood-panelled hall. One wall, he noted, was decorated with ancient weaponry, the opposite wall with stag heads. They seemed incongruous in a company headquarters. He supposed there had not yet been time to have them removed.

'Is Barykovvhere?' he enquired.

'No, he's in Prague. He's opening up a branch there. He'll be back early tomorrow morning. Charlie is the only one here at the moment. He's the janitor and odd job man. The other members of the staff have gone home.'

'I expected a scene of frantic activity.'

'It all goes on down in the cellars – that's where the computers are. The tuition, as you know, is almost completely automated, which reduces labour costs. That is why it's such a profitable industry. It was the cellars which attracted Jack to this place. He says computers work better in a cool environment. The previous owner was a wine buff. Unfortunately, he didn't leave his wine behind.'

A gigantic, muscular, bearded man wearing blue overalls appeared from a corridor facing the front hall. He was six feet, six inches tall and, Peter reckoned, he weighed weight twenty stone.

'Heidi said: 'This is Charlie. He used to toss the caber in the Highland Games. Right, Charlie.'

'Aye, in my youth. I can just aboot toss a coat hanger now.'

'Don't be so modest, Charlie,' Heidi said. 'Would you please take Mr. Hargreave's luggage up to my room?'

'Aye, Heidi.'

Peter followed Heidi and Charlie up a wide staircase to the next floor and entered a spacious bedroom with two giant-sized wardrobes. Putting down the suitcase, Charlie said: 'I hope you'll enjoy your stay here, Mr. Hargeaves.'

Peter's mobile rang, as Charlie added with a sly grin: 'The Reverend Brown will be watching over you.' He indicated a sepia photograph of a bearded, grim-looking man in clerical garb above the headboard.

When he took out his mobile, Peter was surprised to hear his wife's voice. He said swiftly: 'Can't talk just now, darling. I am being shown to my room in the hotel. Call you later.'

He grimaced and switched off his mobile.

Heidi turned towards Charlie and said with a grin: 'Thanks. We won't let the Reverend gentleman worry us.'

'Why is that horrible picture in your bedroom?' Peter enquired.

Heidi drew the curtains as Charlie left the room and said: There's a local superstition that says if it's removed it will bring bad luck. He is rumoured to have indulged in depraved sexual practices.'

'What did he get up to?'

Heidi said with a saucy smile: 'Let's go to bed and find out.'

The following afternoon, they drove to Turnberry golf course. Tom Kelly, a lean caddy with a deeply furrowed face shouldered Peter's golf bag and described the layout of each hole. He told them that during World War Two the golf course had been turned into an airfield. Pointing towards Ailsa Craig, rising from the slate grey waters in the distance, Tom said: 'Beaufighters of Coastal Command used to take off from where we're standing and fly low over yonder waters to make mock torpedo attacks on ships.'

'Very interesting,' Peter said appreciatively, and as they came to the first tee, enquired: 'What club do you recommend?'

'A number one driver, Sir. There's a helluva head wind blowing.'

At the end of the round, the caddy gave absolution to Peter for his high score on account of the frequent gusts of high winds. Thus mollified, Peter doubled his tip.

Heidi had been quiet during the round. He said: 'It must have been very boring for you.'

'No. I might try it myself one day.'

'You'll need lessons. We'll play together.'

Heidi's face was flushed from the wind. She looked happy and contented.

Peter said: 'There's that island, Ailsa Craig over there. Now you can tell me what inspired the poem.'

'I dreamed about it, just as I dreamed about you before I had ever seen you.'

Peter smiled at her and praised the bread-and butter pudding he was eating. He was recalling the charming tigress who had clambered all over him the night before. Her description, after they had made love, of the Rabelasian antics of the reverend gentleman on the wall behind them had been outrageously funny.

'Do you really believe that nonsense about the Reverend Brown's portrait bringing bad luck? he enquired.

'Why take unnecessary chances? '

'You could throw it away and prove them wrong.'

' We don't want to upset the cleaners. Some of them are very superstitious.'

'How did the superstition arise in the first place?'

'One of the former owners of the manse felt that the Reverend Brown's eyes were following him everywhere. So he threw the portrait out of the window. A few minutes later, he took one of the guns off the wall, unaware that it was loaded, tripped as he walked down the path, and shot himself dead.'

'So they put it back.'

'Exactly.'

'What does Barykov say about it?'

'Jack says you should treat superstitions as you would sleeping dogs and let them lie. Witty, isn't he, don't you think?''

A little put out, he replied: 'Perhaps he's superstitious himself.'

'I doubt it.'

That evening he told Barykov that in his opinion the exceptional progress that had been made justified making a full-blown flotation on the London Stock Exchange. They had previously envisaged a less ambitious flotation on the Alternative Investment Market.

Barykov nodded sagely.

As Heidi placed eggs, sausages and chips in front of them, Peter asked Barykov: 'How did it go in Prague.'

'I interested some Russians there in our plans. Learning through the Internet has great potential in the Soviet Federation, because of its vast distances. I still have some old enemies there, so I shall send Rajiv Patel whom you met this morning to Moscow. He's an excellent negotiator. Unusual for someone who is also a brilliant systems analyst and mathematician.'

They discussed the appointment of another firm of accountants. Barykov then said to Heidi: 'Bring some of that vodka I brought back from Prague yesterday and a bottle of malt whisky.'

As Heidi left her chair he called out: 'We'll make you a director soon, Heidi.'

She called back from the door: 'Not before time.'

'You're a model employee,' Barykov shouted.

'Shall we give her shares in the company?' Peter enquired.

'Certainly. Incidentally,' Barykov foraged between his teeth with a toothpick before continuing, 'Heidi thinks that the young lady who appears on our web sites lacks gravitas. She says you have a pleasant, sonorous voice and would fit the part exactly.'

Peter threw up his hands in mock horror.

Heidi, who had just returned with the drinks, insisted: 'You look exactly right for the part.'

He replied: 'Not in a million years.'

' Are you worried that it would harm your image.'

'Something like that.'

Heidi turned to Barykov and said 'I told you he'd refuse,' and poured out the drinks.

Looking around the shabby canteen, Peter said: 'Is there anywhere else we can sit?'

'I'm afraid not,' Barykov said. 'The other rooms are full of filing cabinets, desks and monitors. The cellars contain the computers. I'll show them to you some time, Peter.

He poured himself out a vodka, slid the whisky bottle to Peter's side of the table and said: 'Do you recall I once told you I had the doubtful privilege of witnessing the KGB torturing their victims?'

'Yes. Did any of them survive?'

'Some did. But it did give me an insight into methods of making people change their entire outlooks. How to reset their minds.'

'An interesting notion,' Peter commented.

'I'm sure you will agree with me, Peter, that we're all dominated by the shallow values impressed on us by the news media.'

'So how do you propose to change that?' Peter enquired.

'We need some angels to take charge,' Barykov said, with a wistful expression.

Peter enquired: 'Are you talking about the people who put up the money to make the programmes?'

.No, I meant it literally. Angels in the old fashioned sense.'.'

Noting Peter's frown, he went on with an ingratiating smile: 'I find the idea of angels rather charming. My own guardian angel has saved me several times from my own folly in the past.'

'What happened?'

'On those occasions I felt that my mind had been suddenly re-jigged. I shall always be grateful that it happened.'

'You don't literally believe in angels!'

'I have an open mind on that subject. We can't prove that angels exist, but equally we can't prove that they don't . I am sometimes convinced that just as we dominate the lives of domestic animals, who are completely unaware of it, we in turn are controlled by angels. There are refernces to angels in all the cultures and countries of the world. So perhaps we should allow for the possibility that they exist in some celestrial realm. Perhaps they occasionally enter our unconscious minds and put us on the right track just as we are about to do something disastrously wrong..'

He gave a mischievous grin, and pointing to Heidi, said: 'Isn't she your guardian angel, Peter?'

'She's a great girl, Jack. And I'm amused by your speculations.'

Barykov poured himself another glass of vodka and said earnestly: 'You must allow for the painful episodes I have suffered in the former Soviet Unon when I talk wildly like this .Incidentally, while I think of it, I bear you no ill will for capturing Heidi's affections.'

Heidi, examining her nails, showed studied indifference to his statement.

Peter assured himself that Barykov's drunken blatherings had little significance. Listenoing to them was the price he had to pay for becoming his business partner. He was prepared to forgive him his eccentricities as long as he ran the enterprise well. He had known business managers with even stranger ideas who had successfully built and controlled vast empires.

He said good-humouredly: 'OK, Jack. I'll listen to you, even though you're talking through your hat.'

Barykov said: 'Heidi, be a good girl us and make us some tea.'

She went behind the counter and plugged in an electric kettle.

Barykov said: 'Now what we were talking about? Ah, yes, angels. It is interesting that during the war against the Nazis that great atheist Stalin used to appeal to superhuman powers to defeat the enemy. Nowadays, of course, it is intellectually respectable to speculate freely about whether intelligent beings from the billions of galaxies in the universe look down at this little fish tank in which we swim. I have come to the conclusion that if they tried to improve my behaviour, they haven't been very successful.'

He grinned at Peter, took another swig of vodka and continued: 'Bookmakers give millions to one against the possibility of finding other intelligent beings in the universe. But the brevity of our lives ensures that they don't have to pay up. But in the longest of run of all – by which of course I mean eternity – pigs will fly, losers will win and winners will lose. That, after all, is what allows Evolution to perform its miracles. With all the time in the world, fish will emerge onto dry land. Reptiles will take to the air. Mankind will gain self-consciousness and examine the world he lives in. For the life of me I fail to see why religious authorities object to evolutionary theory. It is one of the glories of our universe. Logically our progress from amoebas to sentient beings had to happen. Physicists say that there are an infinite number of universes so the most unlikely events unfold time and time again. Everything that can happen eventually will happen.'

He smiled and said: 'Here's a little joke. One snow flake says to another snow flake: "You look just like me. Aren't we all supposed to be different from one another?" The other snow flake responds: "Yes, but we were cloned by a scientist." He roared with laughter and then said: 'But even that joke is based on a misunderstanding, because even twinned snowflakes are different in time and space. The fact is that our earthbound minds simply cannot accept the latest scientific discoveries. They are too bizarre. Anyway, priests have always said there are angels. And so we should believe them, even though, generally speaking, priests are a bunch of killjoys.'

He hiccuped and then called out loudly: 'Where is that damned cup of tea?'

He gulped more vodka, and then declared in a maudlin fashion: 'There is one consolation in all this. Eternity means we all get justice in the end. Even the stillborn eventually enjoy a full life experience. Don't you find that an uplifting thought, Peter?'

'Yes' Peter replied, curtly.

He wasn't worried about Barykov's metaphysical speculations. But he was worried that his excessive drinking might destroy him before he had succeeded in making them both very rich.

21

Peter went straight to the office, after catching an early flight from Prestwick to London,. He spent half an hour at his desk mulling over the gratifying financial figures Barykov had provided. A launch on the Stock Market the following spring seemed likely. As Charles Goldstein had once remarked cheerfully: 'In the spring a young man's fancy turns towards a punt on the Footsie.'

Rachel greeted him with a kiss when he arrived home and asked how he had fared in Scotland.

'Pretty well,' he remarked, taking off his raincoat. 'Sorry I didn't return your call. Barykov kept me very busy. He knows the Internet scene through and through. The bank will do well out of its investment.'

'Couldn't you have invested some of your own money?'

'I thought of it, but caution won the day,' he answered with a straight face, his mind racing ahead to the day when he would announce to his family that he now counted among the super rich.

'And how are things with you, darling?' he enquired.

'There is one interesting piece of news. Ursula Patman is pregnant.'

'Amazing! How has Gerald taken it?'

'Very well, I gather. I've invited them round next week.'

'Great! I shall have great fun pulling his leg.'

He patted Rambo, who was sniffing his trousers and enquired: 'How are the kids?'

'Winston needs a private tutor to help him with his math. Jade is doing well at uni. But she and Jake are arguing again.'

'They should have bedded in after all this time – that's an engineering term by the way. What is the problem this time?'

'It's something to do with this journalism course he is taking.'

'He's probably been smoking too much pot.' Peter said gloomily.

'You used to indulge.'

'No, I preferred cider.'

He added: 'You're looking rather pale.'

'I'm OK. Just a pain in my side.'

'You should see a doctor.'

'I hate doctors.'

'Well, you ought to see one. Shall we go to the Trieste restaurant when I've showered?'

'No, I've brought some work home. I'll knock up an omelette or something.'

During the meal he decided that it was the new glasses Rachel was wearing that made her look pale and gaunt. A sudden flashback of Heidi's droll antics in their bedroom made him smile.

'You look like a cat that has been at the cream,' Rachel said.

'I was thinking about Barykov,' he lied. 'He's a very strange guy. He talks a lot of metaphysical nonsense.'

'What's metaphysics?' Rachel enquired, frowning.'

'It's what you might call fuzzy philosophy. That is to say philosophy that's not based strictly on logic. He sounded like these Russian mystics Ouspensky, Gurdjieff and so on. It's just one of his little foibles. He's a first-rate businessman in every other respect.'

'You said once before that he was very mysterious. Why did you have to go up there?'

'To keep an eye on the bank's investments.'

'Did you have that game of golf?'

'Yes. Turnberry is a great course. It has a wonderful view across the Firth of Clyde. You can see a little island called Ailsa Craig as you play off some of the tees. It's quite exhilarating.'

He suddenly remembered Heidi's poem. It had a strong element of bathos. But he couldn't blame the poor girl. Her strength was in her story-telling. And her sexual prowess was nothing short of genius.

He heaved a pretended sigh: 'So Gerald is going to be a father again. That won't please his other children.'

' Ursula is in a seventh heaven.'

'Well, it shows how wrong she was to believe that incest in her family background made it impossible for her to have children.

'Who is Reverend Brown?' Rachel enquired.

'Who? 'Peter exclaimed, slightly unnerved..

'Reverend Brown When you answered your mobile, someone was saying something about him.'

'Oh, that was the porter showing me to my room in the hotel. He pointed to a picture of someone called The Reverend Brown. He was something of a local celebrity.'

'What was he famous for?'

'I haven't the faintest idea. Shall I make the omelette?'

'No, on second thoughts, I'll unfreeze a lasagne.'

Peter felt uneasy during the meal, when Rachel informed him that Sidney had telephoned to say he wished to borrow from their mother's trust fund,becausde his son, Harry, wanted to invest in a web design business.'

'How much does he want?'

'Forty-thousand Australian dollars.'

'I'm not sure about it. I shall have to ask my sister.'

'Couldn't you lend it to him?'

'He hasn't got a very good track record.'

'You could ask your mother. She would want to give her grandson a helping hand.'

'She's not in a fit condition to make a decision.'

'So what will you tell Sidney?'

Peter did a quick reckoning. In seven or eight month's time the amount asked for would be trifling in relation to his personal fortune.

'OK. I'll guarantee a bank loan for him. That should settle the matter.'

The following morning when he was in his office an e-mail arrived on his desk which declared that the Reverend Brown wished to purchase more of the same stock. Heidi's coded message made him laugh. But fearing, however, she might commit an indiscretion, he e-mailed back: 'Sell do not buy. Desist from further communication until advised.'

The dinner with the Patmans turned to be a jolly affair. He was extravagantly solicitous towards Ursula and this buoyed her confidence.

Gerald commented, as one of the maids served soup: 'You know my dear wife thinks she is the only woman in the world capable of producing a child.'

Urusla intervened: 'Gerald, darling, if I appear a little bit arrogant, it's because this child – she patted her stomach – is so special. I waited a long time for it like Sarah in the Bible.'

'Who's Sarah?' Gerald enquired, wrinkling his nose.

'Abraham's wife bore him a child in her old age. You of all people should know that.You're Jewish, aren't you?'

'So they say.'

'And there's another reason why it's so special,' Ursula went on: 'it will be your only black child.'

'Not necessarily.' He paused and then went on: 'There was a young woman named Parky, who went a married a darkie. She had four children: one white, one black and two khaki."'

Rachel exclaimed.'That's in incredibly bad taste, Gerald.'

'Nonsense.' Ursula interceded. 'We blacks are long past that stage.'

Peter studied Ursula. Her pregnancy was not as yet very obvious. Perhaps because she was very plump. He remembered her opulent body under her gaudy housecoat and remembered that if it had not been for Heidi the child could have been his. Ursula smiled at him as though she was reading his thoughts.

Gerald, referring to a son from his previous marriage, said: 'Frank has been taking a writing course. He was asked to write a story about an arsonist and was instructed to research it thoroughly.'

Rachel declared. 'That sounds logical.'

'Gerald said with a laugh. 'Unfortunately, he went too far and set fire to his lodging. He got away with minor burns. But his landlord and the insurance company are not well pleased.'

'I thought he was in recruitment,' Peter commented.

'Yes, he has a good job, but you know what youngsters are like these days, always changing around. He took this Internet course in Creative Writing and then became fired with too much enthusiasm.'

Gerald grinned in appreciation of his pun.

The following morning that Peter remembered that his daughter's boyfriend, Jake Le Roi, was also involved with a Web writing course

22

It's time to press the button,' Barykov said broodingly. Heidi was sitting on his lap in his office, running her hands through his hair. She liked to tease him in this way.

When are you going to make me a partner in the business?' she enquired.

'Soon. You're not the only one. Rajiv is coming on board and Li Hua and others.'

Well, go ahead. My mother always says you're a tame pussycat.'

'What you can feel under you proves that I'm not,' he retorted. 'If you mean business, come to my bedroom.'

'I didn't mean it,' she said, hastily sliding off his lap. 'What's this button you're talking about?'

'We must get Peter up here again.'

'Why?

'We need some more money.'

'I thought you had plenty until the company is floated on the Stock Exchange.'

'We need some more.'

'What's gone wrong?'

'Nothing. It's all going as planned. You'll have an important role to play when that other scheme of mine comes into play.'

'Are you sure it will work?'

'Of course. I hope you have studied, as you promised you would. '

'It sounds a very big idea. Very idealistic.'

'It is much more than that. I want to get interest Peter involved. Be nice to him.'

'I'm always nice to him. I'm in love with him.'

'Just think of him as a character in one of your novels. From now on I'm going to write the script.'

'What are you're talking about?'

'Remember Raphael, the waiter who fancied you?'

'Yes.'

'.I told you to wrote him out of your script and you were sensible enough to do so.'

'Don't try to prejudice me against Peter. It won't work.'

'I think he's fundamentally miscast, Heidi.'

'He has invested everything he owns in your business.'

'That it isn't enough.'

'You said the company was making profits hand over fist.'

'We have run into problem. I have to press the button.'

'What button?'

'A signal for him to come up here.. If he doesn't respond, I may ask you to fake illness.'

'Damned if I will.'

'You'll be damned if you don't.'

'What will you do?'

'I'll tell him the truth.'

23

Peter's handheld computer vibrated as he sat in an armchair in his club. He immediately went into the corridor, put it to his ear and and enquired testily: 'What's happening?'

'Don't worry, old chap, Barykov replied heartily. 'Our sales have been expanding at such an extraordinary rate that the credit card companies have been unable to keep us with us. A cash injection is required to keep the show on the road. Would you please come up here, so that we can discuss a solution. It will require your financial expertise. When can you get here?'

'I could possibly arrange a short-term loan to tide us over.'

'It could affect our stock market floatation, if word got out that we had put out a call for extra cash. Rajiv has already arranged a deal that can be kept secret. But we need your presence here.'

'I'll be with you tomorrow morning.'

'Good. Heidi will meet you at the airport.'

Peter was extremely disturbed by this unexpected turn of events. He booked his flight to Prestwick and then called Heidi to tell her when he would arrive.

'Is everything all right up there?' he enquired.

She replied: 'Of course. Why do you ask?'

It's OK. See you tomorrow.'

On the way home, still vaguely worried, he pulled into a side street and telephoned Jade.

'Dad here, darling. Everything OK?'

'Yes. Why shouldn't it be.'

'I just wondered how Jake is getting along with his journalism course.'

'He's doing fine.'

'Can I speak to him for a moment.'

'What's happened? You don't normally give him the time of day.'

'That's all in the past. I'm, glad he's settled down to doing something sensible.'

There was a prolonged pause and then: 'Jake, my dad wants to speak to you.'

A muted "Fucking hell" was followed by a cheerful: 'Hi, there. What can I do for you?'

'I want to find out more about distant learning schools. Are you getting any benefit from your course?'

'Sure. It's better than the psychology course I flunked out of. You learn how to write feature articles and reportage and write fiction.'

'Do they tell you how to create fictional characters?'

'Yes, sometimes I get carried away. Right, honey,' he said in an aside to Jade and then continued. 'It's great. They help you to get a job when you've finished the course.'

Peter enquired: 'What's the name of the school?'

He drove home, feeling reassured. Jake was taking a course with the company he was financing and seemed pleased with it. He also felt pleasure at being reconciled with his daughter and her wayward boy friend.

*

Heidi met him at the airport he following day. During their journey to the headquarters Peter enquired cautiously: 'Has Jack Barykov said anything to you about an injection of capital?'

'He said something about Rajiv negotiating a short term loan?'

'You look pale and worried.'

'I'm having my period.'

How's your mother? Have you seen her lately?'

'No. But she rings Jack occasionally. I guess they talk about old times.'

'Does your wife know you're here?'

'No. I told her I was going to Edinburgh on business.'

'Does she know about me?'

'Not yet, She does know that I am doing business with Barykov. Incidentally, when you approached me in the pub that time I never dreamed that I would fall in love with you.'

'Not so with me. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were the man of my dreams.'

'Is Jack Barykov jealous of me?'

'No, of course not.'

'It's OK. I'm a bit worried about being called here at such short notice.'

' Jack says it's just a financial glitch. He says we have a knight in shining armour looking after the situation.'

'I'll need to take a careful look at what he's offering. How have you been?'

'I've missed you terribly.'

'Likewise. How is the writing going?'

'Not very well. I could write all day if you were here with me. Jack is very demanding.'

'It's not easy running a rapidly expanding business. He has to convince investment institutions and potential shareholders that we have a profitable future.'

'He's confident that everything will turn out well.'

'I'm sure he's right.'

'When are you going back to London?'

'I'm booked on a flight tomorrow evening.'

Heidi drove into the gravelled courtyard in front of the manse. He noticed uniformed security men standing around and enquired the reason for their presence..

Heidi replied: 'There have been a number of break-ins around here. Jack is worried that they might steal our computers, which could fuck up the whole system.'

'Sounds sensible.'

He put his arms around her as they went into the house and whispered: 'Darling, I'll arrange for us to have a full weekend together very soon.'

As they entered Heidi's bedroom, he observed the empty rectangle on the wall where the portrait had been, and enquired: 'What's happened to the Reverend Timothy Brown?'

Jack decided that we should get rid of him after he saw a TV programme about pornography.

'I didn't think he cared very much about such matters,' Peter remarked.

'Jack Baryov is a man of very high principles.'

'Good. Give me a kiss.'

Later, they went dowstairs and found Jack Barykov in his office. The two men shook hands and Barykov said cordially: 'Good to see you, Peter. Sorry I had to bring you all this way. But I need your approval for the deal I've made.'

Barykov fiddled with some papers on his desk and then, looking slightly embarrassed, enquired: 'Were you bothered when you learned of my relationship with Heidi's mother?'

Peter shook his head.

He went on: ' I took up with Bess when I first came to England. She was very beautiful and I was very lonely. We had one thing in common: a determination to make money. I advised her to set up girls in their own flats, because otherwise they would become helpless victims of pimps. It seemed at the time to be no more than a franchise operation. It gave the girls a better life and reduced the incidence of sexually-transmitted disease. It seemed to me, and still seems to me, a perfect example of the ends justifying the means. I'm not ashamed of what I did. I can honestly say that not one sexual act has taken place as a result of my cooperation with Bess that would not otherwise have happened but in incomparably worse conditions.'

Peter enquired poltely: 'Why are you telling me all this?'

'Because I am anxious to show you that I am a man with a conscience. The greatest good for the greatest number is the true measure of a man's achievement.. Judged by that standard I cannot be accused of wrongdoing in respect of my association with Heidi's mother.'

'I'm here to discuss short-term finance. Not make a judgement on your past life.'

Barykov nodded.

'Rajiv will be here soon. He'll explain the terms his Indian friend will offer. I just felt the need to make one or two things clear to you.'

'Why not tell your Indian financier that money is available from another source. It will put the squeeze on him to offer us better terms.'

'He knows that a leakage could prejudice our stock market float next year.'

'You haven't mentioned figures,' Pete reminded him. What kind of deficit are we talking about?'

Heidi appeared at that moment and placed a tray of coffee and sandwiches on the desk.

'We'll go into that when Rajiv arrives. In the meantime there are certain ethical matters I should like to discuss.'

'I'm not here to discuss ethics,' Peter said in an exasperated tone.'

'Every business has to have a regard for ethics.

' It is perfectly ethical to use a bargaining counter.'

Barykov said, his eyes narrowing. 'My India friend would certainly see through your bluff and we would be in a worst bargaining position. He's no fool. Leaving that aside, I should like to emphasize that whatever one does in life it is foolish to disregard ethics.'

Why did he keep labouring the point, Peter wondered. He said in an even voice: 'I cannot see how our company has violated business ethics and added sarcastically: 'Mind you, I can think of one violation. I heard of one a student taking one of our Creative Writing courses who set fire to his lodgings, having apparently, been advised to enter the mind of an arsonist.'

'Well, that is unfortunate. I'll look into the matter. But you must try to understand why we recommend this technique. We demonstrate how readers' minds can be subtly changed by the power of the written word. Incidentally, the course always emphasizes that any change must always be for the good.

'Who decides that?

'The students themselves.'

'Look, I don't know why we are having this conversation. We should be talking about the gap in our cash flow.'

'The Creative Writing school is not unimportant, even though it is only a small part of the organization.'

It seemed to Peter that Barykov was losing his grip. He was anxious to examine the terms offered by this mysterious Indian financier.

He said, shaking his head: 'Why don't we get down to brass tacks and discuss the alleged shortfall?'

'We shall. As soon as Rajiv arrives.'

. 'What time are you expecting him?'

'About three o'clock. But before we meet him, I'm going to put a hypothetical question to you. If you could save the world from a catastrophic collision with a meteorite by yielding up all your worldly possessions, would you do so?'

'I doubt it,' Peter replied, studying Barykov's face, trying to determine why he asked such a ridiculous question.

'In a real situation I think you might change your mind. In the meantime I should like to show you to accompany me. I wish to show you something. The Reverend Brown, whose picture formerly hung in Heidi's bedroom left some erotic photographs in the cellar, which you might find interesting. You may like to see them before I have them removed. '

'I would be more interested in seeing the correspondence that has passed between you and our so-called white knight.'

'I'll run off the exchange of letters on a printer while we're down there, and while I'm doing that, you can look at some of the Reverend Brown's photographs.'

Smiling, he took hold of Peter's arm and led him out into the corridor.

24

Peter felt as if been engulfed for all eternity in the very bowels of the universe. He felt stiff. His head hurt. Whitewashed walls met his eyes as they became fully focused. An overhead bulb above his head cast an unfriendly yellow glow. Turning his head away, he became aware that he was clad in boxer shorts and was lying on an extremely lumpy mattress. His ankles and feet were chained with plastic cuffs to a heavy iron bedstead.

What had happened?

He dimly recalled walking down badly-eroded stone steps to the cellars, where Barykov had promised to show him correspondence relating to a short-term loan. At the bottom of the steps, as they entered a dark corridor, Barykov drew his attention to some shelving, left by the previous owner of the manse, and told him it had once contained an extensive wine collection. His eyes lighted on a single dusty bottle, he gave a muffled exclamation, shook off the dust, and declared that it was a very rare Crimean wine, dating back to Victorian times, adding that the previous owner must have overlooked it when he moved.

Holding the bottle, he led Peter into another cellar containing an array of computers which and said: 'This is a lucky find.. Let's sample it to celebrate the modest loan that will remove the last obstacle to our Stock Market launch.'

'I don't remember having drunk Crimean wine before,' Peter commented.

'It should be good. The soil and climate there is perfect. The Russian aristocracy employed French viniculturists in the Crimean vinyards. They appreciated everything French.'

'So where's the Reverend Brown's erotica?' Peter enquired curiously, as Barykov uncorked the bottle and poured a small quantity of wine into plastic coffee cups. The fact that the cork separated so easily from the ancient bottle failed to awaken his suspicion.

'Look all around you.'

Peter peered at the walls in the semi-darkness and for the first time noticed photographs of nude women in a variety of coy, inviting poses.

Barykv went on: 'The reverend gentleman used to tell his maids that as a minister of God he had undisputed rights over their bodies..'

'What a disgusting old humbug!'

'The pictures were intended to desensitize the girls. "Grooming" they call it these days. The photographer who took the portrait of him, which incidentally, I threw away the other day, also took these pictures. ' Barykov added with a laugh: 'If the Reverend Brown were alive today, he would no doubt be in the Internet pornography business.

I guess so,' Peter replied and looked at his watch. It was two-thirty. Rajiv would soon be here, accompanied by the Indian financier. A picture formed in his mind of a white knight wearing a turban, his charger emblazoned with the emblems of the Euro, the Yen and the United States dollar.

Barykov handed him the plastic cup and said: 'Slainte!'

That was the last thing he remembered.

Lying still on the heavy Victorian bedstead, he considered his situation. He had been drugged. Barykov, presumably with help from accomplices, had then carried him into this cellar and tied him up. But to what purpose? He could not hold him there for long. If he did not return to London at the planned time, Rachel would inform the police and they would come and rescue him. But first she would try to ring his Blackberry cell phone, which of course, by now his captors would have switched it off.

So was the white knight a figment of Barykov's imagination. The might also be the case with the alleged deficit in the accounts, All previous signs had shown a healthy cash flow. Overheads were in the Internet business were low, as was the wages bill. Many of the tutors lived in India. Advertising expenses had come in below budget, because, as Barykov had repeatedly pointed out, that most benign and cheapest form of advertising – word of mouth – had been working its magic for them. Barykov must then have something in mind other the injection of extra funds. But what was it?

He tried to persuade himself that Heidi was not involved but found it difficult to do so. He had fallen for that oldest of tricks: the traditional honey trap.Vananu, the Israei who blew the gaffe on the Israeli nuclear installation, had been caught in a similar fashion, falling like Sampson in the biblical story for a woman's charms. It was no consolation that there were countless other examples.

He struggled against his fetters, but only succeeded in hurting his ankles and wrists.

Soon, overcome by an oppressive headache, he turned his head away from the unblinking overhead bulb and tried to sleep. The headache had gone when he woke up. But he felt extremely cold. He struggled once again, in order to generate heat, but gave up when the manacles began to hurt.

What was Barykov's motive? He decided that the likeliest explanation was that he was trying to force him to sign them over his shares, after which he would kill him, leaving himself in sole ownership of the copany. The longer he resisted, therefore, the greater his chances of staying alive.

It was unfortunate, that he had told Rachel that Edinburgh was his destination. He had wanted to hide from her the fact that he was making yet another visit to the manse. Nevertheless, she would soon raise the alarm whereupon his airline ticket records would reveal his real destination. The police would then come and free him. If Barykov killed him in the meantime, there would be plenty of evidence to bring about his prosecution. By then, of course, he might have fled to Russia.

He glanced down at his wristwatch. It was six-thirty pm. The thought that he might die slowly from hunger and thirst made him deeply depressed.

How could Heidi do this to him, he asked himself She was responsible for getting him into Barykov's clutches in the first place..He could only speculate about her motives Perhaps Barykov had offered to give her some of his shares.

Nevertheless, he resolved to prove that he was as tough as his fictional counterpart, Sir Peter Crawford. His own ancestors had survived through plague, famine and Civil War in the county of Somerset? And he had called his son after the indomitable Winston Churchill. He would defeat the insolent Russian bastard. He should have known all along that he was untrustworthy. His transactions with prostitutes should have tld him that. But by the time this had ome t his notice he had already committed himself.

Why now was he in this dire situation? He thrashed around wildly and began to yell and scream, but no one came.

His wrists hurt.. He ceased struggling and looked around the walls, trying to find something to take his mind off his plight.. He examined every square inch of the grimy, whitewashed walls and the ceiling, but could find nothing to break the monotony.

He decided to calculate the area of the room in metres and afterwards its cubic capacity. He then went on to estimate the proportion of the room taken up by his own six feet, two-inch body. This involved converting inches to centimetres, stretching his capacity for mental arithmetic to its limits. Finally, he was finally left with a number that was completely meaningless. Nevertheless, he felt he had accomplished something and his spirits rose.

He badly needed to urinate. Twisting and turning, he tried to contain himself. But eventually watched with revulsion a damp patch spreading on his underpants.

It was clear that his life had never been of any importance. Even had he achieved the wealth and possessions for which he had yearned, his life would have no more significance than that of a gnat or a fly.

He raged again against Heidi's treachery. She was obviously under Barykov's evil influence. This might be his revenge for taking Heidi away from him. Although on second thoughts, since Barykov had encouraged their love affair in the first place, this did not seem likely. But her treachery made him hate her more than he hated Barykov.

What had he done to deserve this fate, he asked himself. He was from an average middle-class family. Nothing spectacular in the way of academic achievements. Rachel's external law degree could be accounted a greater success. He and his wife had given their children as much love as they needed without suffocating them. So why on earth had he fallen in love with the daughter of a prostitute and got himself into this scrape? In part, he supposed, because Rachel belittled his professional achievements and had lost interest in sex. Heidi was passionate and constantly praised him. Moreover, she had this extraordinary talent for creating fictional characters. And that was partly the reason for his being in this situation. Persuading him that he was made of the same stuff as her hero had led him to wager his family money on a scheme that had seemed perfectly safe and was going to make his fortune. All that was now in jeopardy.

Peter sighed. Even while hating Heidi for her lack of support, the mental image of her winding her naked body round him had the power to excite him.

He tried to explore Barykov's mind. He had claimed that his social conscience had let to him quarrelling with his former masters in the Soviet Union. That should have been a warning. His own daughter could have told him that a man who claimed to have such elevated ideals would not be a suitable partner in business. His relationship with Heidi's mother was yet another example of how he was prepared to compromise his principles. He was certainly a slippery customer. But even so, that didn't explain why, when they were on the verge of success, he should have decided to put him through this cruel and inhumane ordeal.

Another idea then entered Peter's mind. Perhaps Barykov remained a member of the Russian secret service and was trying ingratiate himself with his masters in the Kremlin. It wasn't a very convincing notion. He would have to wait until Barykov showed his hand.

He fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of a summer holiday on a local farm.. At the age of eleven, he had asked Mabel, a fourteen-year old fellow guest, if he could see her breasts. She had refused, telling him: "There are plenty of boobs to look at on television. " He stammered: 'They're not the same as seeing the real thing.' Afterwards, he consoled himself by studying an image of the Venus de Milo in an encyclopaedia. But stone breasts were not as interesting as the "coral-tipped mounds of blancmange," which was how a school friend had described the attributes of topless sunbathers he had seen while on holiday in the South of France.

As the result of his request Mabel refused to speak to him, so he ran ouitside the farmhouse and decided to explore the local countryside. Coming across a steep chalk quarry and told himself that if he climbed to the top, he would boast of it to Mabel and she would talk to him again.

Inch-by-inch, he clambered up the vertical chalk face, hanging precariously onto jagged outcrops and clutching embedded clumps of grass. But when he had nearly reached the summit he was defeated by a dense, overhanging fringe of vegetation. Climbing over it would put him at imminent risk of falling onto the rock-strewn ground two-hundred feet below. That was too high a price, he reckoned, for renewing his friendship with Mabel, so he started to descent. The descvent proved a lot harder than the climb. By the time he was on level ground his interest in exploration had gone. So, coincidentally, had his interest in breasts. It would be another three years before his interest returned, but this time with renewed vigour.

Trying to interpret his dream, he came to the conclusion that 'climbing down' was a metaphor for making a retreat from an established position. In his present situation he might have to do that to save his life. Falling asleep again, he dreamed again of breasts; this time they were Heidi's. He cursed once again for going over to the enemy.

When he awoke, hungry and cold, he remembered with horror that Barykov was a past-master of torture. He would know every ghastly trick in the game. Playing for time was his best hope. If he could hold out long enough, the police would come to his rescue. But for how long could he hold out?

What an idiot he had been to get involved with such a treacherous business partner. He had been outsmarted, which implied that he himself must be very stupid. Whatever success in life he had achieved he owed to a good education and a capacity for hard work. If Charles Goldstein hadn't died, and the next in line for promotion had not been head-hunted by a Dutch bank, he would not be in this dreadful situation. Peter Hargreaves, he told himself, you are a perfect example of the Peter principle in operation; it seems to have been named after you. Your ambition allowed you to accept a job far beyond your natural ability and has led you into this trap.

He mentally practisd what he would say when Barykov came into the cellar. "You fucking Russian whore-monger. You are a fucking disgrace to the human race. Comrade Stalin was a gentleman compared to you, you treacherous bastard." He then spent several minutes envisaging the physical torments he would inflict on Barykov, before mercifully falling sleep again.

25

He woke up the following morning, tired and hungry. His limbs felt cold and stiff. Knowing that Barykov intended to break his spirit, he vowed to be icily composed when he next saw him. He would act the proud Englishman and prevail over him by sheer strength of character. Heidi always insisted that he possessed the virtues of fortitude and courage he was now trying so desperately to summon up. Her lack of concern for him brought tears to his eyes. He hoped and prayed that she was acting under duress. It would be impossible to forgive her otherwise.

He listened intently for any sounds.But everything was silent. His deepest fear was that someone would one day find his skeleton tied to the metal bed. He vowed in the last resort to hack off his own limbs, using the plastic cuffs to cut through flesh and bone rather than suffer such a fate.

Was there any consolation in the consition he found himself in? Only that for once in his life he had gambled on a heroic scale. His only hope would be be to get Heidi back on his side and persuade her to help him defeat Barykov. He imagined himself, after such a change of fortunes, resting one elegantly-booted foot on Barykov's prostrate body and saying loftily: 'If you will make amends, I will let you off with some light torture. After which you will be despatched on the first plane to Sheremtyvo airport in Moscow, where you can take your chances with the FSB, the new Russian secret service that has replaced the KGB.

. Numerous plans for survival passed through his mind, the best of which was a claim that he had left instructions for a private detective to come to the manse if he did not make contact within twenty-four hours. Rejecting that, because Barykov was already aware that he had given a false destination to Rachel, he decided as a last desperate measure to challenge Barykov to a drinking contest. The idea of that he might be able to drink his hard-drinking former partner under the table was palpably so absurd that it made him laugh. He stopped suddenly when the involuntary movement it entailed caused an excruciating pain in his chafed wrists.

He tried to pray. "Give us this day our daily bread," seemed inappropriate in circumstances when he was being denied food. His next attempt at prayer was equallly unsuccessful. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." sounded old-fashioned. The Lord is my television presenter, is more like it, he told himself. "He laith me down in still waters." And then he gave up, telling himself that if God was omniscient, he would know in advance exactly what prayer he would utter, so what would be the point?

He had once tried Transcendental Meditation but had never been able to calm the torrents of economic and financial considerations that flooded his mind. He would try it again. He imagined that he was merging with the white cellar walls and the bedstead on which he was lying. A feeling of serenity stole over him. Time slowed down. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes passed. Suddenly an explosive surge of wind from his empty digestive system caused him to lose concentration. He would try again later he told himself. Meanwhile, he would pray again for strength to whatever supreme power existed in the universe.

A succession of eyes and their owners passed through his mind. Rachel's – dark blue, thoughtful, defensive, vulnerable. She wanted me to be adventurous and by God, I have been! Heidi's eyes– pale blue, imaginative, baffled, probing. What dreadful harm she has inflicted on me! Sir Charles Goldstein's eyes, dark brown with a glint of humour. "Timing," he used to say, "is at the heart of every activity known to man. "What a pity he died, because if he had lived, I would not be imprisoned in this ghastly cellar. The Reverend Brown's eyes in the photograph looked pretty cruel. As for Barykov's eyes, they were hazel speckled with question marks. Impossible to fathom. Neither cruel nor kind, they expressed the absolute neutrality of pure reason. The bastard has outwitted me. But I shall trip him up, turning deceit against him the way wrestlers turn the superior strength of their opponents against themselves. He must surely come and interrogate me soon. There must be some purpose in doling out this degrading treatment. He could have killed me already if he had so wanted. It's the soul behind the eyes I must deal with. I shall defeat him, in the same way as Wellington defeated Napoleon. Character always triumphs over intellect.

An idea then occurred to him. The steps leading up to the front-door of the manse suggestted that the building was semi-basement. That did not necessarily explain how a faint ray of light could penetrate a concrete ceiling. But it pointed to the possibility that he was lying in a former coal cellar, which would have had a hatch for delivery of household coal. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Perhaps because only for a very short period at dawn would a tiny crack around one side of the hatch cover be illuminated by the rising sun. If his theory was correct, by standing on the bed and forcing up the hatch-cover, he could escape. But first he would have to release himself from his bonds. And that was clearly impossible.

26

Two hours later the cellar door opened, accompanied by a squeal of rusty hinges and an overpowering smell of coffee that made Peter's stomach lurch. Heidi came in with a breakfast tray,. followed by Barykov, wearing a smart charcoal-grey suit. Charlie brought in two wooden chairs and a small table and placed them by the bed. Barykov said with an air of great sympathy: 'I have come to make amends for putting you through this experience. How are you?'

The contrast between Barykov's sartorial perfection and his own semi-naked condition drove Peter into almost apoplectic fury. But making a huge effort at self-control, he replied with dignity: 'Bloody awful. What else would you expect!'

'I'm very sorry to have inflicted this on you. But it's all over now. You have come through with flying colours.'

Peter watched as Charlie removed his plastic cuffs and Heidi deposited the tray of food on the table.

Barykov, dismissed Charlie, gave a sympathetic sigh as he noticed the raw marks around Peter's wrists and ankles and instructed Heidi to fetch some ointment. He added: 'Bring fresh underwear and the rest of his clothes,'

Heidi paused momentarily by the door before leaving. Peter interpreted it as a sign that she was sympathetic to his plight. Subduing an overpowering impulse to attack him, Peter accepted the cup of coffee he was offered. His trembling hands made the cup rattle in its saucer. He drank it it quickly and requested more. After gulping down the food on the tray, he looked at Barkov and whispered hoarsely: 'Do you really think you can get away with this?'

'You can take out charges against me for false imprisonment. The only condition is that you must first allow me to give my reasons for doing this.'

'Behaving like a KGB shit must come naturally to you.'

'You're quite wrong. I have always hated inflicting pain. You will find out in due course that I have put you through this unpleasant experience from the highest of motives.'

'Your former boss, Joe Stalin starved millions of people to death from the highest of motives.'

'You have starved for only twenty-four hours. I admire your fortitude. It is just what I would expect of a man of your calibre. You have passed your first test. Heidi's estimate of you was absolutely correct. I chose you to be my business partner precisely because I perceived you had the right qualities of fortitude and patience.'

'Tell me what you want.'

'I shall in due course.'

Heidi returned with his underwear, shirt, socks and his suit. Without expression, she gently rubbed ointment into his wrists and ankles.

When she had gone, Peter enquired: 'Are you fucking her?'

'No. She is still in love with you.'

'Then why did she let you torture me?'

'I persuaded her that putting you through this ordeal was in your long- term interests.

'Bullshit! What is all this about?'

'I shall explain in due course. I am going to leave you now, so that you can get dressed.'

'How very kind of you,' Peter remarked, sarcastically.

Putting on fresh underwear, he looked up at the ceiling and tried without success to see the faint crack in the ceiling on which he had rested his hopes.

He then ran round the cellar and did some press-ups, in an effort to restore his circulation.

When Barykov returned, he asked: 'What did you put in the wine?'

Barykov said with an airy gesture: 'Just an opiate. It won't do you any permanent harm.'

'You cunning bastard, Peter thought. He could see obvious traces of the former Soviet brutality in Barykov's attitudes. But he would outwit this wily old Russian bear . He was more than ever convinced that Barykov had put him through this ordeal because he coveted his share of the business.

'So what now?'Peter enquired.

'We'll go up to my office and have a chat over a bottle of wine.

'How do I know you won't poison me again?'

'You're too important for that.'

He motioned to Peter to accompany him.

The huge figure of Charlie, who had been standing guard outside the door, followed them as they walked through a dimly-lit corridor to the stairs leading up to the ground floor.

Rajiv was staring into a monitor when they entered Barykov's office,. He nodded to them both and left without saying word. Barykov occupied the chair Rajiv had vacated and motioned Peter to sit facing him at his desk.

'So how are you feeling?' he enquired solicitously.

'Shattered. What else would you expect?'

'Let us hope that nothing so unpleasant ever happens to you again,' Barykov remarked, with an unctuous smirk.

Peter thought he obviously plans kill me as soon as I sign over my shares, so I must keep him talking.

The sound of dogs barking startled him.

'Vagrants have been trespassing on our land,' Barykov explained. 'I called in a security firm with dog handlers and German shepherd dogs.

Peter feeling for his mobile in his jacket pocket discovered it was missing.

'Can I make a telephone call to my wife?' he asked.

'Later, when we have discussed my project.'

'Do you mean our project?'

'No, I am talking about something different.. An entirely new scheme in which I hope you will join me.'

'Supposing I don't wish to?'

'In that case I shall have seriously underestimated you.'

'If you don't let me phone my wife I have nothing further to say.'

'You may send your wife an e-mail, which I shall oversee.'

He brought up a screen on the computer monitor, asked Peter for Rachel's email address and instructed him to dictate his message. The message read: 'Detained in Edinburgh because of a dodgy balance sheet. Very busy. Will bell you in a couple of days. Love Pete.'

Peter had deliberately used the word 'bell,' in place of 'phone' or 'ring,'which he normally used , hoping that the use of this unfamiliar word would arouse Rachel's suspicions. Nor did he normally sign himself Pete. Barykov studied the text thoughtfully, added the letter 'r' to Pete and sent off the message. Peter felt sure he had outwitted Barykov. "WhoWill Bell the Cat?" was a fable Rachel often told the kids when they were small. When she came across the word "bell" she would guess that something was amiss.

Barykov said: 'There is another incentive for you to be cooperative. I am referring to your love affair with Heidi. As long as we are on good terms, there will be no objection to your resuming your relationship with her. And, what's more, I'll help you keep it a secret from your wife.'

'You're great at dissembling and conniving, Barykov.'

'I do what has to be done,' Barykov replied coldly.

'How did you manage to turn Heidi against me?' Peter enquired.

'Don't worry. Heidi has your best interests at heart. Now follow me to the canteen.'

Peter accompanied Barykov along the corridor to the canteen. Charlie followed and stood on guard at the door. Rajiv appeared shortly afterwards, carrying two bottles of wine. He placed them on the table in front of them. A young Chinese woman then entered with some wine glasses.

'This is Li Hua, Barykov said. 'She showed such outstanding promise while taking one of our courses that we recruited her into our organization.'

Li Hua beamed at Peter, before leaving the room.

Barykov said: 'Let's have a glass of wine. Heidi will make us something to eat. The rest of the staff have been sent home.'

'Isn't that bad for business?'

'No, they're just gardeners and cleaners. Most of our courses on the Internet are fully automated. We have important things to discuss. Drink up.'

Peter pushed aside the glass of red wine Barykov offered him.

'Come on,' Barykov said, in a wheedling voice and threw back his own glass of wine in one gulp.

Peter was painfully aware that there was little chance that the wine, or anything else, would deflect him from his purpose. He fought hard against his anger and gazed at Barykov disdainfully..

Heidi placed cottage pie and in front of them.. He looked into her eyes. They seemed remote and cold. It was hard to believe that she had colluded with Barykov in imprisoning him. She was obviously completely under his control. So why was he talking with the cold-blooded monster. There is no alternative he kept telling himself. I must disguise my feelings, talk, negotiate and bide my time. But if any weapon comes tohand, I'll kill him.

Barykov continued to smile good-humouredly at Peter. When he had finished the bottle of wine, he said: 'We are still partners, Peter. Nothing has changed, except for the justifiable rancour you no doubt feel towards me. But that will pass. Believe me, I have suffered, too, in the past. I intended to revenge myself on my colleagues. But I am glad I didn't. I have now forgiven them, as I hope you will forgive me. I am sorry you won't drink with me.'

He opened the other bottle and said: 'Come on. One little glass won't harm. You deserve it after all you have been through.'

Peter shook his head.

Heidi disappeared behind the partition that separated the cooking area from the canteen and returned shortly with bowls containing bread-and-butter pudding. This encouraged Peter to think that this might be a signal that he was still in favour with her.

'So why are you behaving towards me in this intolerable manner?' he demanded.

Barykov stared at him intently and enquired: 'What do people normally fight over?'

'Money and sex,' Peter replied.

'What else?'

Peter was thinking about the security measures that appeared to have been put in place. He warned himself. Don't make a bolt for it until there's a decent chance of getting away.

In the absence of an answer from him Barykov said: 'This is about something else entirely. Something that rises above money and sex and other mundane considerations. It's about a new Movement that will bring peace to the world.'

'Sounds very grandiose. But what does it have to do with me?'

'I want you to become my partner in a project that will turn everyone on earth into model citizens '

Peter gave a contemptuous laugh. It was obvious that Barykov was suffering from delusions of grandeur. But he decided to pander to his madness and said solemnly: 'Of course, there is more to life than making money. Tell me about this plan of yours.'

But even as he spoke he could not help asking himself: why, since bankers were the last people in the world to be led astray by impractical, quixotic schemes, had Barykov chosen him to be his business partner? It didn't make sense.. But for the moment he would pretend to be in sympathy with the idea.

He nodded solemnly and then concentrated on the dessert, his favourite since he at boarding school..

Barykov then enquired with a sly smile: 'Do you think God has a sense of humour?'

'How the hell should I know,' Peter replied absently, as he took another spoonful..

'I ask the question because Christianity alleges that we are made in God's image? Human beings have a sense of humour, from which it follows that God must have one as well. '

'What the hell has this to do with this crazy scheme you're trying to promote?'

The fierce look in Barykov's eyes confirmed Peter's opinion that he was mad. But such was his feeling of disgust that he could not refrain from saying: 'God gives us earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. They don't inspire much laughter. Who laughs when he is being burnt alive by volcanic lava, or is being swept away to certain death by a Tsunami?'

Barykov gave a ringing laugh and said: 'The initial Big Bang was the biggest joke of all. Just think of it: from nothing springs something. The greatest bargain since the January sales. From which it follows that we must all of us augh whenever we can.'

Barykov appeared to find what he had said immensely entertaining and his laughter continued until it ended with a series of ugly snorts.

Peter realized that Barykov was very drunk. But he could not resist saying: 'You're not making me laugh, I assure you, Barykov. And don't give me any more Creationist crap. Anyway, what has all this to do with this scheme of yours.'

'I was testing your religious beliefs.'

'Why?'

'Because we don't admit religious fanatics into our organization.'

'I'm sure you don't,' Peter said sarcastically. 'You just want people who will blindly believe everything you believe. Incidentally, I intend, as soon as I can get out of here, to make an application for our partnership to be dissolved. Imprisoning me in the way that you have done was unlawful as well as being cruel.'

'Just because you spent an uncomfortable twenty-four hours you should not close your mind to what I have to say.'

'It was a rotten thing to do to a fellow human being.'

'Communing in silence can create a great sense of spiritual awareness. Many religious organisations use the same method. '

'Monks and nuns do it voluntarily. All you have succeeded in doing is to make me fucking angry. What is this all about, anyway?'

'The organization that I hope you will shortly join will elevate the consciouness of humanity over a period some years. After centuries of bloodshed and unhappiness we intend to bring peace on earth.'

'Our business was not set up with this in mind.'

'The new movement I am speaking of will be completely autonomous and independent of our company.'

'Have you been milking the company in order to support your mad idea?'

'No. I am asking you to become an active partner in the most sane and sensible movement the world has ever seen. Both Heidi and myself, having formed an estimate of your character, are convinced that you will eventually embrace it with open arms. Our other partners, too, are convinced that it is the only way to bring peace to this dangerous world.'

'That doesn't give you the right to put me through hell for twenty-four hours?'

'It is a pre-condition of joining.'

'It all sounds very childish.'

'It is no better and no worse than a university initiation ceremony. Cleansing the mind in preparation for a new life is a well-established procedure. Everyone involved in our movement so far has gone through this test and they all agree that it helped to them to understand it. I am sure that when I have outlined its principles you also will appreciate its benefits and act accordingly.'

'Has Heidi been given the treatment?'

'Yes, and she has declared that it was good for her soul.'

'Supposing I refuse to cooperate?'

'We shall try again. And, if necessary, again. We know everything about you. We can't let you go. You are just the kind of person we need. You are honest and hardworking, you are kind to your fellow human beings. We don't put anybody through the ordeal unless we are absolutely convinced that he or she will be suitable to take office in the organisation.'

Barykov beamed as though Peter was a star pupil who had just passed his exams.

'How many people do you expect to recruit?'

'During the first two years one-per-cent of the world's population.'

'What about the other nine-nine per cent?'

'They will follow in due course. You are about to become one of the elite, pioneering Centurions.'

'Is that what you call them? I suppose you got this idea from the Cathars – the Albigenses in the thirteenth century – didn't they have examplars, so called perfect people who acted as priests?'

'Yes, indeed. We studied their lives and saw merit in what they tried to achieve.'

'And they ended up being persecuted to death. You will suffer the same fate. Every religious and political organisation in the world will turn on you and tear you to ribbons.'

'These are different times and we propose to use different methods.'

'Aren't you a Free Mason?' Peter demanded.

'Yes. I joined because I wanted to investigate the basic psychology behind the movement and test their methodology'

'And what did you learn?'

'A great deal. But I also took note of its limitations. Our movement is very different. It will draw into itself all the basic beliefs and aspirations of humanity and use modern methods to bring about the perfect world that God intended us to create.'

Peter laughed.

'So you do believe in God after all! Let me tell you that any idea you may have of converting people to religious beliefs in the twenty-first century is doomed to failure.'

. Barykov stared hard at Peter. And he wondered if he had been wise to engage in polemics.He was relieved when Barykov gave an amused chuckle and said: 'Peter, my son, you are very naive if you think I'm old-fashioned Creationist. A leader of men, like a builder or a sculptor, can only work with the materials he has. Two-thirds of the world still believes in myths and legends. The other third has been weaned from old-fashioned religion by a concept called Evolution, which has been erroneously described as a science. Our new scheme has no dogma, no articles of faith, no system of thought. All we believe in is complete and absolute devotion to the truth.'

Peter gave an impatient snort and said: 'The truth is the most elusive thing in the world o find. Ludvig Wittgenstein proved that it is impossible to achieve using all the available weapons of logic.'

'Good,' Barykov said approvingly. 'I knew that when Heidi and I chose you to join us we had struck on the right man. An open mind is the first quality required of a Centurion and that is exactly what you possess. But we are not interested in abstract notions. We are solely concerned with ensuring our species will survive the grave dangers it faces. Our experiments so far have decisively proved that we are moving in the right direction.'

'Would you like to provide more details?'

'Later. That will come after you have sworn the oath of allegiance.'

'Why should I swear allegiance to I know nothing about?

'When we have imparted some of our knowledge to you, you will demand to be allowed to join.'

'OK. What is all about?'

Barykov sighed, as though he was dealing with a delinquent child.

'Peter, you cannot learn all the mysteries at once. Centurions accept that certain mysteries must remain beyond them until their minds have been made ready. Birds do not leave their nests until their feathers are fully fledged. So must it be with novitiates. There is a gradual process of enlightenment. You will be highly gratified and elated when you are admitted to each successive stage in the process.'

'Great. I will now go home and think about what you have told me so far.'

'That is not possible. But when you have pledged total cooperation, you will be free to go.'

Peter had a sudden thought.

'By co-operation do you mean money.'

'Yes

'How much?'

'I don't have all the figures yet.'

'Then get your accountant to tell you.'

Barykov's true motives having been exposed, Peter's hopes rose. Now they were talking the same language. Perhaps he could buy him off. But his optimism dispelled when Barykov responded: 'I regret to tell you that you are not in a position to stipulate conditions. The Movement is not going to be put at risk by one man's foolish obstinacy. Much as I like and admire you, Peter, you must submit to the requirements of a much higher power. If you will give me some sign that you are interested in the movement, and are willing to learn about it, I will suspend the methods I plan to use to re-train your mind, which, incidentally, no one so far has ever succeeded in resisting. I can see no reason why you should be any different. Let us come to an amicable agreement to co-operate.'

' Barykov, I'm ready for a fight if you want one. My wife knows I am here. She'll have called the police by now.'

Barykov shook his head.

'You have forgotten you're supposed to be in Edinburgh, examining a balance sheet.'

'I put a hidden word into that e-mail message – a method we agreed to use this if I was in danger.'

'I doubt if she would notice it. And if she did, we have taken ample precautions to ensure that your presence here would be hidden.'

'Look, we don't seem to be getting anywhere. Let me talk to Heidi about this scheme of yours. It's possible that she may be able to talk me into accepting it.'

'Very well. I'll call her in.'

'In private. She should be allowed to give her honest opinion away from your influence.'

Barykov looked grim. but suddenly said: 'OK, Peter. I'll let you have a word with her. Go in there . He pointed to a door. 'Heidi will join you shortly.'

The room which Pete entered, a large pantry, was littered with discarded computer equipment.

Heidi came in shortly afterwards.. She closed the door behind her. Wearing an uneasy expression, she put her hand to her lips.

She stepped forward and embraced her.

'Darling, are you all right?' he enquired, anxiously

.Of course,' she replied.

He said in a low voice: 'I was thinking about you all the time while I was tied to that filthy bed. Why have you allowed Barykov to treat me like this?'

'He says you sometimes have to be cruel to be kind.'

'How could you believe that!'

'Jack says you are going through the awakening process. He says it will heighten your spiritual sensitivity'

'Bullshit. It has made me hate him. And I hated you for letting it happen.'

'They will convince you eventually that what we are doing is right. When that happens we can become lovers again. Don't you want that?'

'Of course. I'm still in love with you. Incidentally, the bread-and-butter pudding was delicious.'

She nodded furiously, which satisfied him that she had intended it to be a secret sign that she was on his side.

'So, are you now one of Jack Barykov's Centurions?'

'Not completely. One has to go through six degrees of enlightenment to become a Centurion. I'm only on the second degree.'

'How do you progress from there?'

'By study and application.'

'So what should I do?'

'Listen carefully to what Jack says and he will lead you into the world of higher powers.'

'What is that supposed to mean?'

'Jack says our minds will eventually reshape the Universe. If you follow him, all the delights of Eternity will be laid before you.'

'Heidi, you've been brain-washed.'

She shook her head.

'No, he is a great man with an important mission. You only have to listen to what he says to be convinced.'

'Am I supposed to swallow all that nonsense?'

'It isn't nonsense. I have seen proof that it isn't.'

'What proof?'

'I can give an example. Jack went out walking one morning and found an old cricket ball in one of the fields. Later that morning, he conducted a meeting in the hall of a number of local people who were interested in the New Enlightenment Movement. It was fascinating to watch him. He said: "All the chaos and anarchy in this world is the result of striving and self gratification. But there is nothing wrong with that, because it keeps the human race striving to reach the stars. But it shouldn't be allowed to destroy happiness, because happiness is the ultimate purpose of our lives.

"How do we achieve happiness?" someone asked.

'Jack replied: "Artists and musicians of all kinds continually strive to achieve unity in their works. There is an ultimate unity in the Universe and we human beings must try to achieve it by making our lives works of art. He started tossing the old cricket ball he had found from one hand to the other. And then he said: "All the molecules in this ball can instantly harmonise with all the other molecules in the entire Universe. Let us the peace of ultimateUnity!"

'And that cricket ball,' Heidi said in an awed voice, glowed as though it was phosphorescent. For a few minutes an immense peace descended on everyone in the hall. Everyone smiled at each other, until Jack suddenly broke the spell by bending down and rolling the ball across the parquet flooring towards the front-door.'

'Do you really believe that? Peter enquired in a sceptical voice.

'Yes,' Heidi said emphatically. 'I saw it with my own eyes. Jack Barykov speaks only the truth. The interests of mankind are foremost in his heart and mind. We had better get back '

With a pained expression on her face, she ushered him towards the door.

He knew now that he could no longer rely on her for help in making his escape. What had happened was clear. Barykov had taken him on as his business partner with the idea of recruiting him into his weird cult and, although he denied it, had been using the company's funds to achieve his ends. As for Heidi, it was obvious from the story she had just told him that she been hypnotised into becoming Barykov's docile, uncritical accomplice.

He needed to escape as soon as possible, and report to the authorities what was happening.

27

Barykov said 'An eighteenth-century aristocrat once remarked on returning from the Middle East: "Travel may broaden the mind but travelling on a camel's back certainly broadens the buttocks."'

He then directed a smile towards Peter, Li Hua and Rajiv, who were sitting round his desk. On it a bottle of vodka lay unopened. It was very clear to Peter that Barykov was in deadly earnest about recruiting him into the cult. He resolved to resist it, even if it meant being thrown into the cellar again.

'We have neglected history,' Barykov went on, 'and now it is biting back at us. Civilization is about to crumble. One day, Peter, you will realise how fortunate you have been in joining our New Enlightenment Movement. You will have earned a place in history by being among the first hundred to do so.'

'What exactly am I supposed to be joining?' Peter enquired.

'The only movement,' replied Barykov, 'which acknowledges that mankind can only survive by eliminating his aggressive impulses.'

'That is clearly impossible,'Peter replied, with a grimace.

'It may have been true in the past. But fortunately chemistry has come to our aid.'

'Chemistry?'

'Yes. Some chemists have developed a miracle drug in Rajiv's father's laboratory in India which removes aggression and will ensure that every one of us will behave courteously at all times towards hisfellow human beings. It requires only one dose and relieves the individual permanently thereafter of anger and hatred.'

'Are you talking about castration.'

'No, it does not affect the libido in the slightest. If anything, it enhances it.'

'I suppose you have all taken a dose?' Peter said with a sneer.

'Of course.' Barykov looked round at his fellow disciples and said: 'And we have all taken the solemn oath of Centurions.'

'Does that mean that it is impossible for me to make you angry?'

'Certainly.'

'Then you are all stupid, self-deluded lunatics.'

The inane series of titters that followed infuriated Peter. He controlled himself, even though he was now more than ever convinced that he was in a madhouse.

'Has this drug been scientifically tested?'

Rajiv's dark eyes lit up.

'Yes,' he said emphatically. 'It has been tested extensively, over a period of two years – on several hundred human beings, as well as on dogs, rats, birds, even fish. There have been no side effects.. My father, who owns one of the biggest pharmaceutical factories in India, is much impressed.'

'Why do you specifically want to recruit me?' Peter enquired.

'Because you area man of sterling qualities,' Barykov said solemnly. 'And you also have the key to something we require.'

Peter said emphatically. 'I will not under any circumstances sign over my shares in the Company.'

'We are not asking you to do that,' Barykov said mildly.

'What is it you do want?'

'We want you to become a member of The New Enlightenment Movement.'

'I'll go home and think about it?'

'There is not enough time for that.'

'Who says so! I don't give a fuck for your time.'

'Then you may have to return to the cellar for a further period of contemplation.'

'What you are doing to me is both immoral and illegal.'

'It is merely a form of baptism. Every movement uses some kind of initiation.'

'You are in breach of the Human Rights Act.'

'You must accept that what we are doing is right. You will be glad later on that you did.'

Barykov reached for the bottle of vodka, changed his mind and said with an ingratiating smile: 'Peter, let me ask you a question: How long will it be before a rogue state, or a terrorist, lets loose a nuclear weapon on a big city? Five years? Ten years? The experts figure ten at the outside. We are desperately short of time. The gun lobby in America argue correctly that it is not guns that kill people, but people. Nuclear missiles would be harmless if people lacked the will to use them. But at this very moment there are hundreds of people plotting to use them. The new drug, plus indoctrination, will disarm them by eliminating their feelings of aggression. We must do that as soon as possible. I appeal to your better nature to help us in our vital mission to bring about a peaceful world.'

'How do you propose to change the mindset of billions of people in a few short years? It took Christianity hundreds of years to have any influence in the world.. And it has taken a further two-hundred and fifty-years for the Enlightenment to spread ideals of liberty and democracy.'

Barykov looked at him with an intense gaze and said: 'We don't have much time left. The situation is urgent. We intend to employ the massive power of the media and the Internet to bring the entire world into our movement. Each of the thousands of Centurions who go through our conversion course will be given two years in which to persuade ninety-nine other people to enroll. That will leave eight years in which to recruit the rest of the world. We intend to enlist television stations, radio stations, Rock bands, football clubs and the entire movie industry. The websites that we already control will be mobilised in the service of our cause. Google and Lycos and the other search engines will help to speed up the process.'

Barykov's eyes were afire with enthusiasm.

'What about the websites belonging to our company.'

'Our company no longer requires them.'

'Why?' Peter enquired, genuinely alarmed.

'I'll explain later. In the meantime I am going to suggest that you have a little chat with Li Hua. She was until recently an associate Professor of Psychology at Harvard University.

Li Hua flashed a quick smile at Peter.

Barykov and Rajiv looked at each other and then left the room. A moment later Barykov returned for the bottle of vodka. It gave Peter a gleam of hope. It must surely be possible to defeat an arch opponent who abused his brain and liver with alcohol.'

Peter said to Li Hua, when they were alone: 'Doesn't alcohol affect this drug, Pacem?'

She replied in a lilting voice: 'No. We tried it out on young men who normally created disturbances when they had taken alcohol and they immediately became sociable, amicable and pleasant. Once you have taken it, you will find that whatever happens you cannot be roused to anger.'

Li Hua had a charming fragile face, framed by luxuriant, wavy black hair. She wore calf-length white trousers and an embroidered shirt Glancing down, he noted that her neat ankles. She took off her glasses in order to rub her right eyebrow and looked even prettier without them. He would have liked to slap her complacent, smiling face as a practical test of this much vaunted drug.

'Peter,' Li Hua coo-ed at him: 'I can see why Heidi fell for you. You're a very good-looking man. She is very keen for you to join us. Jack has asked me to deal with any reservations you may have about becoming a Centurion.'

'I won't change my mind while I am being held prisoner against my will.'

'That feeling will soon pass and you will feel at peace with yourself. Please try to help us. I have been given the duty of changing your opinion.'

'Freedom is my natural born right.'

'Of course it is. But what freedom would you have if you were burnt to a cinder by an atomic bomb. Look objectively at the world around us and admit that nuclear devastation is looking increasingly inevitable. Ask yourself, as a responsible individual, how can I avert the catastrophe? There is only one answer and that is is to join us. Barykov is taking active steps to ensure that something positive is done. Let us all follow his lead and get on with the job. That is why we are offering you this priceless opportunity to become a senior Centurion.'

'Barykov is a drunken charlatan who deserves to be in jail.'

'Then why did you choose him as a business partner?'

'I didn't know the full extent of his villainy then.'

'What villainy?'

Peter had intended to mention his involvement with prostitution but he changed his mind. Instead, he said: 'He's a drunkard and he is using his powerful personality to dominate you all. I am not surprised that he was thrown out of the Soviet Union. Apart from everything else, he has acted unlawfully in relation to our partnership.'

'Why don't you focus your attention on the much more important issue of world peace. Think how great your status will be if you became a founding member and bring about peace in the world. Think how bitterly you will regret it if you throw away such an opportunity.'

'Li Hua, I'm pragmatist. My training as a banker tells me that changes are not brought about by wonder drugs. They come about gradually. Trial and error is what life is about. We British believe in evolution not revolution. . If events often turn out in our favor, it is because we don't make sudden, reckless, unnecessary changes.'

' Li Hua said sadly. 'I would agree with what you have said. But events are moving much faster now. There is no time to waste. Politicians are powerless to deal with the situation. Many of them whom we have approached secretly approve of the action we are taking, even though impossible for them to support us openly. It is up to people like you with strong convictions to move things forward.'

'Chemicals won't change the world,' Peter said flatly.

Li Hia replied in a silky voice. 'A chemical known as the contraceptive pill brought about a very considerable change in a few short years.'

'The Pill changes a woman's body. We're talking about people's minds They cannot be changed overnight.. Mao Tse Tung and Lenin tried to turn their populations into communists but they reverted to capitalism. That alone illustrates how unchangeable human nature is.'

'But it is possible for human beings to change their nature. You are respectful of my womanhood. That wouldn't have been the case a few thousand years ago.'

'Exactly. It has taken thousands of years. And if I am treating you with respect, may I assure you it is not because I find you unattractive.'

Li Hua said, looking slightly shocked and appeared to have taken him literally. She said primly: 'We do not approve of sexual relations being formed between members of our Movement.'

'Of course,' Peter agreed. 'But if I raped you, wouldn't you become angry.'

'No. I would be distressed beyond measure. But having taken Pacem I would not lose my temper.'

'You would be entitled to be angry.'

'Can tell me of any occasion when things were improved by people becoming angry?'

'Yes,' he said defiantly. 'My wife and I sometimes lose our tempers. Our marriage improves when we make up our differences.'

'We are not talking of minor quarrels; we are discussing monstrous tidal waves of anger that sweep away people's reason and allow them to commit carnage on a grand scale. You must surely see that Pacem will eliminate the probability that someone in a fit of rage will one day destroy our world with nuclear missiles.'

Small pink spots appeared on Li Hua's flawless cheeks.

'It is obvious that this drug allows you to become excited, if not angry.'

'Of course. Pacem merely modifies human nature's more unpleasant aspects.'

'Instead of a chemical, why not simply use persuasion and indoctrination.'

'There just isn't enough time. You yourself pointed out that even employing the full force of the State communist dictators were unable to change human nature. That is why we decided to use drugs.'

'What about things like hypnotism and auto-suggestion. Wouldn't they work equally well?'

'That was Jack Barykov's original idea. We shall use psychological conditioning as well. At one stage we even became interested in the idea of using role models to improve human nature. We have, as you know, experimented with creative writing courses, in getting people to change their personalities. But the effects lasted only a short time. You took part in the experiment yourself. Heidi placed certain ideas in your mind and Jack Barykov studied the way you responded to them.'

Peter was outraged. He felt an urge to overturn the desk at which they were sitting. But the heavy presence of Charlie and other guards standing outside deterred him. He swallowed his anger, and enquired: 'What about peer pressure. Can that be used to modify behavior?'

'Oh, yes, Li Hua agreed. 'Particularly when people are young. But as they get older, their home background takes over and they become modified versions of their parents. Not necessarily improved versions, I should add.'

'Would this drug have been useful in combatting the mass Nazi hysteria in 1939 which persuaded the Germans that war was their glorious destiny?'

'Yes, it would defiinitely have saved us from the horrors of World War Two. Much of Goebels propaganda was intended to make the German people angry with their neighbours. And this could not have happened, if they had all taken Pacem.'

'How does it work?'

'It isolates genes asociated with anger and aggression and removes them over a period of three days.'

'Isn't that angerous? Anger is an essential part of our nature. Is helps us to survive.'

'Like that otiose organ the appendix, it is no longer necessary. Becoming angry is no longer a genetic advantage. It is almost certain to kill us all.'

'But how does this chemical locate and isolate this "anger" gene?'

'That is a technical question I am not qualified to answer.'

'What exactly is a gene?'

'Genes pass on characteristics from generation to generation. If, for example, every time you came to the end of a bar of soap and pressed the remaining sliver into a new bar, no matter how may bars of soap you used there would be a memory of the very first bar of soap you used. Our genetic heritage includes a basic 'anger' gene, which has served as a survival mechanism in the past. Pacem finds all the traces of this gene in the human body and eliminates it over a period of about three days. The rate of metabolism varies in human beings, but the average time is three days. The end result is that 'bad' patterns of behaviour are eliminated and only good, co-operative instincts survive.'

'Will the effects be passed onto succeeding generations?' Peter enquired.

'We believe so, but haven't completed our experiments yet.'

'Do you have any children?'

'Yes, a girl of fifteen. She is with my former husband in Singapore.'

'And will she take the Pill?'

Li Hua said laughing: 'You make a pun, yes?'

'Sorry. I mean, will she take Pacem?'

'Yes, when she has been converted by a Centurion. But,' Li Hua added with a sad expression, 'it will not be me. Because we do not, as you say, hit it off anymore.'

With the deliberate intention of provoking her, Peter said: 'So, in spite of your profound knowledge of psychology, you are still unable to maintain good relations with your own child.'

Li Hua said, looking distinctly uncomfortable: 'We are not here to discuss personal matters.

'You would hardly win an award for being an exemplary mother.'

'That may well be true. But you are not fully conversant with all the facts. You have tried to make my angry, and now I feel entitled to do the same to you. Why did you, a married man, enter into a sordid affair with the daughter of a prostitute?'

Instead of flaring up, which would have been his normal reaction, Peter felt unnaturally calm. He asked himself was it the strong sexual attraction he felt towards Li Hua that was modifying his anger, or was it something altogether more sinister?

He said stiffly: 'You say it takes three days for this drug to take effect? Have I been given it?'

Li Hia nodded and replied: 'Yes, you are well on the way towards becoming a superior being.'

'Then you have been using me as a pawn in your wicked game. I am very angry. The whole dreadful scheme is a sham and, what's more, I guarantee it won't work.'

'You would feel much angrier, if you had not been dosed with Pacem. But only thirty-six hours have passed, so you are not yet experiencing its full effect. I must ask you to try and take a larger view of this whole matter. Yes, you have been used as a pawn. But if during the last century you were undernourished, or maimed in a world war, you would count yourself an innocent victim of historical processes. It is the same now. Regard the drug as part of an historical process. No harm at all has come to you. Your nature has been improved. Even if you refuse to assist our movement, you will still benefit, because you will be unlikely ever to be killed in a brawl, or suffer injury through a road rage incident. The desire for revenge only harms people. You will soon be entirely without it.'

'Thank you very much,' Peter replied, with deep sarcasm. 'And now tell me this: Why, if this drug is supposed to make people superior human beings, is your boss, Barykov, a drunkard?'

'He has suffered a great deal from the KGB. Its successor, the FBS, in Russia have failed to compensate him for the injustice inflicted on him.'

'He obviously still feels anger.'

'No, he drinks now because that is what his system has become accustomed to. Later, as his plans mature, his has assured us his drinking will lessen and will eventually stop altogether.'

In spite of Li Hua's reasonable tone, Peter suddenly became consumed with the idea that the drug was taking total command of his senses. The light streaming in through the tired-looking curtains, made a strange patterns on Barykov's desk. He could see whorls , shapes and patterns he had never seen before. An oval shape formed into a naked woman, who danced in front of him, swaying her hips in a tantalising fashion. He experienced an intense desire to make Li Hua angry by forcing himself on her, thus demonstrating that their vile scheme would not work. According to Li Hua he had been deprived of half his anger already, because it took three days for the drug to achieve its full effect. It followed that his desire must consist of half lust and half anger. By tearing off Li Hia's clothes and raping her, he would prove conclusively that Pacem was incapable of curbing aggression. However, they would then do doubt claim that the drug had not been given enough time to achieve its full effect. Nevertheless, it would test whether Li Hua was correct when she claimed that if he raped her she would be "distressed" rather than angry.

As his expression changed, Li Hiua placed her tiny hands on top of his and said: 'I know what thoughts are racing through your mind. But you must not give way to them. You must see yourself as a superior being determined to make the world a better place and willing to sacrifice your most profound desires to achieve that end.'

28

Peter guessed. when Rajiv entered the room, that he had been listening in to the conversation. It occurred to him that had he assaulted the Chinese girl he might have created a chance to get away in the confusion that would have followed. But it was too late now. He would have to listen to whatever Rajiv had to say. The only statement so far that had been convincing was that the world was in danger of destroying itself. The prospect of Mutual Assured Destruction had saved the world during the Cold War. It worked for exactly the same reason that keeps motorists driving on the correct side of the road, an instinct for self-preservation. But now in these days of the suicide bomber, the deterrent might not work. It was clear that Barykov was right when he said: the whole world was in deadly danger.

His idea, however, was totally unworkable. It would be impossible to inoculate everyone in the whole world with Pacem, even supposing it possessed the miraculous properties he claimed for it. The scientific testing had been exiguous, to say the least. It would be necessary to test the entire population of a small country to get anything like an accurate and dependable result. And who would pay for it? The world still suffered from malaria and Aids through lack of funds. Corruption would inevitably enter the scene – it always did. He was thinking like a banker, but wasn't that precisely why his opinion was correct? Bankers were practical men. The problem now was how to persuade Barkov, now permanently entrenched in an alcoholic haze, to abandon his mad scheme. For the moment he would listen carefully to Rajiv. He had a shrewd suspicion that his father was a certain M.K. Patel, a pharmceutical manufacturer with whom the bank had done business. If that were the case, and he was genuinely involved, it gave the scheme a certain degree of credibility. But if he was the person concerned, Peter suspected he would look primarily on the Movement as a money-making operation.

Rajiv ushered Li Hua out of the room, sat opposite him and said in a friendly manner: 'How are you?'

'Fucking awful,' Peter replied, resentfully.

'I am sorry,' Rajiv replied, scratching his ear. 'You'll feel better soon. All the people who have passed the initial test have subsequently accepted with enthusiasm their responsibility for making this planet a safe place to live in.'

'I would rather die than live in a world where people torture is considered acceptable.'

'I don't doubt you will see things differently when Pacem has taken full control of your anger. In the meantime I should like to explain why we have had to take such drastic steps.'

'I'm not in the least interested in your explanation. What you are doing is immoral and criminal. I entered into a legally constituted partnership with Barykov. He has no right to use my money to fund a religious cult. In fact, he is specifically forbidden by the terms of our partnership from doing so.'

'You were forbidden by your bank from taking on other directorships, were you not,' Rajov enquired, smiling. Nevertheless, you did so.'

Peter glared at him.

'So that settles that argument,' Rajiv said dismissively. 'But I'm here to try to get you into a more reasonable frame of mind. Barykov is aware that you profoundly object to having been dosed with Pacem without granting your permisssion. I would agree that you have cause for complaint in that regard. But it is not as bad as it seems. The effects on the human body are reversible. When my father first considered the idea, he insisted that an antidote should be developed at the same time as the drug itself, in the way computer applications can be uninstalled. So any harmful consequences can be undone My father is a very wise old bird,'

Rajiv smiled benignly at Peter..

'Is he the M.K.Patel, who was asked to underpin our finances with a short term loan?' Peter enquired.

'Yes. But his overriding interest is in our New Enlightenment Movement and he is giving it every priority.'

'How is our International Learning Institute progressing?'

'Pretty much as planned,' Rajiv said and refused to be drawn any further.

'Have you experienced any side effects from taking Pacem?'' Peter enquired.

'None whatever.'

'Are you sure it stops you from getting angry?'

'Quite sure.'

'Would you agree with my statement that the conquest and subsequent rule of India by the British was a good thing

'You learned from us. We learned from you,' Rajiv responded good-humouredly

Peter's assumed from Rajiv's tolerant answer that in his case the drug did work, although, if anything, it made him personally feel vaguely misanthropic.

He said grumpily: 'The worst world I can imagine is one where everyone smiles benignly at everyone else. We would all be like insects, buzzing around in a cooperative haze. That alone is enough to make me despise your evil project.'

'Don't worry. Our experiments show that Pacem leaves everyone with sufficient motivation to get on with their jobs, to continue craving for earthly possessions and, to harbour normal resentments. The essential thing, though, is that it kills murderous instincts and nobody will in future wish to kill his fellow human beings. You could hardly describe that as evil.'

'No,' Peter admitted. 'But it still won't stop politicians from finding logical excuses to exterminate millions of other people?'

Rajiv tugged with long, slim fingers at the collar of his gold-striped designer shirt, and said, after pausing for reflection, 'We are not relying entirelyon the calming effect of the drug. Centurions will have the task of indoctrinating their fellow citizens against racial or religious or political hatred of any kind. Li Hua, incidentally, has cleverly designed a series of catechisms which will test for any residual anti-social instincts.'

'So what will you do with those who don't respond in the desired manner?' Peter asked dryly.

'It will still be necessary to lock up some psychotic people and persistent criminals.'

Which probably includes me, Peter thought cynically.

He studied Rajiv's black glossy hair and his aristocratic features. It struck him that he was talking to a well-educated, well-intentioned idealist who had never known the poverty which afflicted India's population. With an enormously rich father he obviously had no need to earn a living. Immersing himself in this wildly impractical scheme of Barykov's had much greater appeal for him than expanding the International Learning Insitute. A aupposed pause in the cash flow had been Barykov's excuse for recalling him to the Company headquarters. But his real motive it was now clear had been to recruit him into their mad scheme. M.K.Patel, the chief executive of the pharmaceutical company that manufactured the drug, was apparently financing the Movement. which he personally felt might well be a cleverly-devised money-making operation. The founders of The New Enlightenment Movement would be no exception to the rule that self-interest was what motivated most people. He would have to find some way of frustrating their plans.

'How did you come to meet Jack Barykov?' he asked.

'I first met him at our Masonic Lodge. When he learned of my qualifications, he offered me a job with his Internet learning company.'

'And how did you get involved in his Movement?'

'I have been worried for a long time about a possible nuclear confrontation between Pakistan and India. We discussed this and other questions. When he talked about the need to reduce what he called the "aggression quotient," I became very interested. He suggested a chemical solution to the problem. I spoke to my father about it and he got his chemists to start their research.'

'It seems to have happened with extraordinary rapidity,' Peter commented.

'Because of the delicate political situation in the sub-Indian continent my father demanded a rapid result. He locked up four geneticists and four chemists in a laboratory, offered them huge bonuses and swore they would never see their wives and children until their work was successful. We all agreed that it would be fatal if the news were to be leaked to the media and he took extraordinary steps to ensure secrecy.'

'If that is that case, why I am not allowed to go home?'

Rajiv looked embarrassed.

'When we are totally convinced of your whole-hearted conversion you will be allowed to move about freely.. JackBarykov has a very high opinion of you and believes that your whole-hearted cooperation will be invaluable.'

'Rajiv. Let me ask you this: How can you possibly persuade ordinary, sane, healthy human beings to take a drug that will turn them into passive zombies. You have not succeeded in persuading me, so how the hell are you going to convert billions of other people?'

'Offered the choice between being fried in an atomic explosion or taking a harmless pill, most sensible people will choose the latter.'

' hey will laugh at you. They'll take the view that such a situation is never likely to arise and would prefer to remain as they are.'

'People are much better informed than you think. Li Hua has done a survey. Most people do understand that we re in deadly danger. We are convinced that our target of getting everyone in the world innoculated in ten years is a realistic one.'

'I don't intend to have any part of it.'

'In that case,' Rajv said, folding his arms, ' we are going to overcome your psychological resistance.'

Peter suddenly thought: I should be extremely angry at what he just said, but I'm not. The damned drug seems to be getting at me. However, it hasn't stopped my brain working. My best plan is to try and turn these crazy idiots against each other.

He said: 'It amazes me that Jack Barykov was able to interest your father in his mad scheme.'

'He has exceptional power of persuasion,' Rajiv replied enthusiastically. 'Altogether a remarkable man. But he is not entirely without a sense of humour. My father once said when they were discussing Mrs. Thatcher, "Did you know that Betty Boothroyd, the former Speaker of the House of Commons, was once a Tiller girl. Mr Barykov then said: "There is another lady who is also a Tiller girl – Mrs Thatcher. She certainly keeps a firm hand on the tiller"'

'Is your father's interest in the Movement purely commercial?'

'Far from it. My father is very religious but he is also intensely practical. If the Movement achieves sufficient momentum he will sell vast quantities of Pacem. Should the experiment fail, he will be able to sell enough of the antidote to cover all his outlay. He is covered both ways.'

'And you yourself have an invincible faith that it will work.'

'Undoubtedly. That is why I became a Centurion. Pulling back his shirt sleeve, he showed Peter a tiny letter C tattooed on his upper arm.

'When you are consecrated as a true Centurion you are entitled to wear that badge. The notion of the Centurion is crucial to our Movement. We are a brotherhood of like-minded people intent on preserving the world from danger. I hope you will soon join our ranks and earn the same right.'

'Thank you. I think I can manage nicely without a tattoo.'

Rajiv looked disappointed. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and then said: 'I think it is time to let you see the boss again,' and left the room.

29

Barykov sat in the chair Rajiv had just vacated.

'Nice fellow, Rajiv,' he said cheerfully. 'Very idealistic.'

Peter didn't answer. The fact that the drug had not stifled his desire for freedom gave him a sense of relief. He was still convinced that he was dealing with madmen. But the proliferation of nuclear weapons that was going on also stronglysuggested that the whole world was mad. Who was suffering from the greater madness it was impossible to say. He tried to concentrate his mind on how to deal with his own situation.

Barykov said sternly: 'The time has come for you to make a choice. Are you going to cooperate with us?'

'Your drug doesn't work and that means your scheme is kaput. I'm angry enough to want to kill you, 'Peter responded coolly.

'The guards will stop you from doing that. Why are you showing such signs of moral degeneracy?'

'Don't talk to me about morals, you hypocritical bastard. You have no right to treat me in this way.'

'Try to get a sense of balance, Barykov pleaded. 'Anybody who deliberately refuses to lift the threat of nuclear annihilation can only be described as a criminal. Can't you see that our organisation is trying to save billions of lives.'

'Drugging people is the wrong way. Plain wrong.. You are interfering with nature and depriving everyone of their Free Will.'

'If we don't interfere with nature, nature will kill us all. As for Free will, nobody has yet proved that it exists. But there is no time to deal with such abstract questions. We have to conclude our business soon – tonight, if possible.'

'What's the hurry?'

'Nuclear proliferation is accelerating by the day. The situation is much worse than the politicians will admit. It would be no exaggeration to say that the whole burden of saving the world rests at this moment on your shoulders.'

'Why am I so important?'

'Because you are holding us up.'

'Why not get the matter debated in the United Nations.'

'The U.N. is just a talking shop. Urgent action is required.'

'Get the subject raised in the House of Commons?'

'My MP laughed when I mentioned the idea. She was quite right. MPs would tear the whole idea to pieces.'

'That should prove to you that your scheme is hopeless. Concentrate instead on our commercial venture. Our shares will soon be worth several hundred millions of pounds.'

'I have no interest in earthly possessions. I have sworn to devote the rest of my life to preventing nuclear annihilation. There is no way of achieving that other than by the method I have outlined to you.'

'If I could hurl an atom bomb at you at this very moment, I would do so. That drug you put

in my drink doesn't work. Give up the whole stupid idea, Barykov, and let me go home.'

Peter felt faint. His experience the previous night, and the series of frustrating arguments had weakened him. He closed his eyes. When he opened them Barykov was consulting his wristwatch.

'My fellow Centurions and I admire your spirit,' Barykov declared with an engaging smile. 'Pacem is taking longer to take effect because you have a slow metabolic rate. Rest assured in a few hours time you will feel very different. Those who take the longest time are the ones who eventually become most zealous. That is why I will not give up on you. Just try to imagine a nuclear holocaust. Hundreds of Chernobyls and Hiroshimas. Billions of starving, deformed people competing with rats for food across a totally ruined landscape littered with millions of corpses. Now imagine a world in which a cleaner, happier, enlightened human race is engaged in peaceful pursuits, cultivating the arts, engaging in advanced sciences, perhaps even colonising other planets. Which of those scenarios appeals to you?'

'The answer is obvious. But it begs the question of how do we keep our freedom if we are compulsorily dosed with chemicals.'

'Man was never free – he has always had to suffer the tyranny of his genetic inheritance in addition to the burdens that society imposes on him. It is not a choice between liberty or death. Liberty in our brave new world is death. A suicide bomber with a nuclear weapon doesn't give a jot for liberty. He will kill you and millions of others, inevitably inviting retaliatory nuclear strikes. The time has arrived when we have to take away a very small fraction of the liberty to which we are all entitled in order to continue to live.'

He looked pleadingly at Peter.

'Dictators always use those specious arguments.'

He wondered why Barykov was wasting his time trying to convert him. Why was he personally so important? There was something wrong. But he couldn't fathom what it was.

Barykov called for a guard. When he opened the door and looked in, Barykov shouted: 'Bring a bottle of scotch and a bottle of vodka.'

As the bottles and glasses were placed on the desk, Peter declared: 'Barykov, you should bloody well be ashamed of yourself. Not only are you addicted to alcohol but you are hell-bound on turning the rest of us into drug addicts.'

Barykov filled his glass with vodka and declared earnestly: 'Pacem is not addictive. My enslavement to alcohol is only temporary. When our Movement has gathered sufficient momentum, I shall give it up. You are not helping me by refusing to join us. Now please have a drink.'

Peter shook his head.

Barykov threw back the glass of vodka, hiccupped and said: 'Your war-time leader, Winston Churchill used to say that he took more from alcohol than alcohol took from him. Why don't you follow his example?'

Peter shook his head again.

Barykov drank more vodka and said tolerantly: 'OK. We'll have no more arguments about Pacem. It will save the world and that's all that needs to be said. Let's talk of other things. Let's talk about women. Let's talk about Heidi. She is still in love with you, in spite of your obstinacy.'

He sipped vodka again, before continuing: 'You appear to object to Pacem simply because it is a drug. Half of the developed world and perhaps a quarter of the undeveloped World owe their lives to the pharmaceutical industry. Why complain if in fifteen years time, as seems likely, three-quarters of the whole world will owe their lives to Pacem. Try to get your mind around the indisputable fact that we are in deadly danger. In the meantime, let's discuss Heidi. She won't sleep with me any more and that is entirely your fault.'

He topped up his glass and went on: 'Peter, she loves you. She has confided in me that to her you are an old-fashioned Englishman – exactly the type she likes to write about in her stories.. She dreamt about you before she even met you. You don't believe it, because, typical banker as you are, you don't believe in anything that doesn't fit in with your preconceived view of the world..You're very blinkered. Nobody believed in sixty-metre squids until long after sailors had sworn that they had seen them. But eventually, remains of their huge carcases were found. Millions of species whose existence was unknown in Darwin's day have since been discovered. When Horatio said in Hamlet: "There are more things than are dreamed of in your philosophy," he should have added: "And that includes many unknown species.." As J.BS. Haldane, a famous scientist, once remarked: "The world is not only stranger than we think but stranger than we can possibly think" Believing only what you can see is a form of mental myopia.

'You laughed at Heidi because she dreamed of you. I can tell you that our partnership began as a dream. I had a vision in which I saw both of us at work on this great project on which I am now engaged. I saw in my dream a huge revolving globe with fiery nuclear explosions taking place all over its surface. I knew then that it was my destiny to prevent this Armageddon. It has become my life's work. My guardian angel has ordained that this should be so.'

'Guardian Angel?' Peter grinned, sarcastically..

'Yes, my friend, 'Barykov declared, and spilled a few drops of vodka as he waved his glass. 'Just as a horse is vaguely aware that a superior being is guiding him, so am I aware than an angel is guiding me, to make sure that I achieve my goal. I have had implanted in me a sense of duty which compels me to save our planet from disaster. But, of course, as well as angels there are also demons. One of them is preventing you from becoming a Centurion. Don't let him tempt you into doing the Devil's work. '

Some sixth sense then told Peter that Barykov was about to take another swig of vodka. When seconds later he did, he experienced an intense sense of deja vu. Then common sense returned. The only reason he had predicted the event was that Barykov was taking a swig approximately every two minutes and he had been unconsciously monitoring that measure of time. That, he told himself, is a perfect example of the hypnotic effect he has on people. So keep a sense of proportion and try to turn his unbalanced state to your own advantage.

Barykov, narrowing his eyes, continued: 'Peter, there is no need to discuss Pacem any more. Pacem works. Pacem is an established fact. Rajiv's father is one of the shrewdest operators in the world. He doesn't want his family to be wiped out by a Pakistani missile that some fanatic might decide to loose on Delhi. He wants to survive. He wants us all to survive What we have to debate now is whether it is worth surviving in a world that the modern media regards as no more than a a dried-up orange. Pessimism is the curse of our age. Our Movement wants to return to optimism. Do you understand what I am saying, Peter Hargreaves, respected banker and member of the British Establishment?'

'I have never been a member of the Establishment!' Peter retorted angrily. 'Everything I possess I have worked hard for.'

'Do you not come from a land-owning family?'

'Seven acres of Somerset scrub land! I bet your family in Russia owned more than that.'

'Nobody owned land in the former Soviet Union. But I am sorry if I falsely accused you. All I am saying is that we need to debate some of the basic issues that are affecting society today. If you win the argument, you can go home. If you lose, you must become a dedicated Centurion. Isn't that a fair deal?'

He held out his hand across the desk, which Peter ignored.

'Who will decide who has won?' he enquired.

Barykov gave a huge guffaw. 'Heidi. We will let her decide.'

He motioned towards the unopened bottle of Famous Grouse on the desk. Peter again shook his head.

'It is the best lubricant of human relationships ever invented,' Barykov declared, nodding his head.

Peter grimaced and said: 'There isn't much more to talk about. You have tortured me.' He held up his wrists still raw from the plastic manacles. 'Are you going to continue to keep me here against my will and throw me back into your KGB torture chamber?'

Barykov gave a little grimace and said: 'Aren't I entitled to get a little cross with you. You refuse to recognise the obvious truth that we live under the shadow of a nuclear war. Do you not want your children and grandchildren to live a life free from the threat of imminent destruction?'

'My imprisonment is at issue, not some hypothetical threat of nuclear warfare. The police will soon locate me and you will be put in jail, a fate which you richly deserve.' 'That wouldn't worry me, because I know that I am doing the right thing.'

'You have committed a criminal act?'

'The ends in this case fully justify the means.'

'I doubt if a judge will accept that plea.'

'If I am put in prison for doing what I am fully convinced is the right course of action, so be it. Sometimes we must forego pleasures in this life for the sake of pleasures in the next.'

'Do you believe in a next world?' Peter enquired, sourly

Barykov laughed.

'Of course. Remember in Shakespeare's Twelth Night, where the clown says: "Good madonna, why mourn'st thou?" Olivia replied: "Good fool, for my brother's death." To which the Clown replies: "I think his soul is in hell, madonna." Olivia says proudly: "I know his soul is in heaven, fool." And the Clown replies: "The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen."

He added: 'Can you prove the clown wrong? Can anyone prove the clown wrong?'

'I thought that in the Soviet Union you were taught that religion is the opium of the people?'

'That is correct. But they failed to realise that religion is a useful mechanism that enables us to cooperate and keep ahead in the evolutionary game. However, our Movement looks after everybody in the world and we make no distinction between Creationist and Evolutionary thinking. In our view they both deserve respect.'

'Which shows what a humbug you are. They can't both be true.'

'Let us get back to the point, why are you so reluctant to join our Movement?

'Because I will not allow myself to be bullied. If you let me go home, I'll give it every consideration.'

'That cannot happen. Not yet. Here, have a wee drachm.' Barykov carefully examined the label and declared: 'It's a good whiskey. You know the previous owner of the estate lied through his teeth when he said there were pheasants on this estate ...What was I saying? Yes, the Clown was right to admonish Olivia for mourning her dead brother. After all, our conviction that better things lie ahead is what keeps the whole of Creation on the move. I imbibed Darwinism at my mother's knee in the old Soviet Union – a version corrupted, of course, by Lamarck and his latter-day lackey, Lysenko. But Creationism in the old Soviet Union always had a following. It doesn't die easily. It's possible to make a case for it, because every creature in the world behaves as if he is moving towards a place where all is sweetness and light, in spite of every evidence to the contrary. We live in an apparently cruel world, red in tooth and claw. But the blind force that created it also stamped it with a convincing form of optimism. I ask myself: are we just victims of a giant hoax? Or are we, in fact, being irresistibly propelled towards something good and splendid in the future? Science insists this is pure fantasy. But science can misjudge. Einstein said: God does not gamble with dice. But.quantum physics has since showed that he was wrong. Science frequently turns mental omersaults. Today's received wisdom is tomorrow's myth. A good example is Black Holes. They were originally supposed to swallow everything up. Now they are a source of mysteries yet to be revealed. Allow me to tell you something, Peter ...'

He leaned across, getting so close to Peter that he could smell vodka on his breath and continued gleefully: 'Let me tell you confidentially that some Darwinians believe in heaven but they'd never dream of admitting it, just as some archbishops will never admit they harbour doubts about God's existence.'

Peter was now convinced that he had positive proof of Barykov's madness.

Barykov again pushed the bottle of whiskey towards him. Thinking he might gain some concession, this time Peter poured himself out a small tot.

'That is more like it,' Barykov said with a beaming smile. Time, you know, is not on our side. The threat of nuclear annihilation is perilously close. We must square the circle.'

'The what? Peter enquired, politely.

'The eternal circle which encompasses everything.' He laughed, hiccuped, poured whiskey into his own glass by mistake and swallowed it without apparently noticing the difference. He then enquired slyly: 'Peter, do you really want to square the circle?'

Peter shook his head and remained silent, thinking there's no point in encouraging him to go on with his maniacal outpouring.

Barykov said, motioning with his hand: 'Music can do it. When I was a child, the sound of the cello assured me that Heaven exists. Music hints at the truth which lies tantalisingly on the other side of our short lifespan. It grants us a glimpse of the magnificence which lies beyond the keyhold through which we must all eventually go. Art truly conquers all. The stories about Adam and Eve and Noah's ark were allegories which made perfect sense for people who knew nothing of science. Evolution, now trumpeted as a science, is yet another beautiful legend. What, after all, does it tell us? It tells us that life progresses by trial and error. Which is how any work of art is created You compose a legend, you paint a picture, you write some music, and if it doesn't work out, you keep trying until it does. Because our life is so short we can never achieve perfection. But Creation is an on-going artistic masterpiece which eventually achieves perfection because it has eternity in which to accomplish its aim. That is why I believe the stupid clown was right, as stupid people often are. But we'll certainly never see our perfect world, if we blow it asunder with nuclear weapons.'

'Who says life has any purpose whatsoever? Science has irrefutably demonstrated that Evolution is completely random and aimless.'

'That doesn't stop that irresistible urge that lies within us to create a perfect world. Every art form expresses such a longing, which is why the word 'heaven' entered our vocabulary.'

'How do you answer scientists who say that only Evolution theory can provides an intelligent answer as to why we are here.'

Barykov's eyeballs expanded frighteningly and he roared: 'There is no difference between Creation and Evolution. It's two sides of the same coin. It doesn't matter whether life is pushed by Creation or pulled by Evolution. It doesn't matter a damn whether the universe came into existence six-thousand years ago, or started with fifteen billion years ago. It exists. That is all we know. That is all we can know. We are part of it and it can't exist without us. Consciousness is expanding in all directions and into other dimensions. The only way we can catch a glimpse of other worlds is through music, through the intuition of artists, some of whom also happen to be scientists. They all try to bridge that impossible gap between the square and the circle. And they are unanimous in telling us that we are travelling towards Heaven.'

Mad as hell, Peter thought and shook his head in bewilderment.

Barykov railed at him: 'Bankers can't see the wood for the trees. You'd rather the world became a blackened cinder than give up your money. But let me tell you this: a little bit of physical discomfort will change your mind.'

A long silence followed, at the end of which Peter said mildly: 'Why not let Heidi try to convert me? She's very enthusiastic about your Movement. She certainly wouldn't approve my having to endure another ordeal like the one I experienced last night.'

Barykov said with a rueful smile: 'It'll be forty-eight hours next time. And if that doesn't work, It will be something much worse.'

'You intend to kill me?'

'Yes, if necessary.'

Barykov studied his watch and muttered: 'OK. I'll give you one last chance. I will allow Heidi to talk to you.'

He lurched towards the door.

Peter felt a surge of optimism. He was still hopeful that Heidi might be induced to help him.

However, her blank expression when she came in after a few minutes alarmed him. Perhaps Pacem gave people a robotic quality. He himself could feel no diminution whatsoever in his own capacity to hate. At that very moment he would have liked to tear Barykov limb from limb. Pacem, he thought, might be a figment which existed only in Barykov's mind. It might be just a cover for some fraudulent plan.

Heidi was wearing a navy skirt and a peasant blouse, tied at the neck with a string which enclosed a tiny oval of white skin. He resisted an overpowering impulse to kiss it, took her hand and said: 'Barykov says you're going to convert me.'

'Why don't you accept what he says?' she replied brightly. 'He has just told me to remind you that our planet is in danger from other factors besides nuclear weapons. He says you are also being given a great opportunity to save the world from global warming, which the Movement strongly supports.'

'He didn't mention that to me.'

'That's because the nuclear threat is more immediate than the ecological one.'

'Why is he so keen to convert me?'

'Because you are his business partner.'

'Tell me, Heidi. When you first approached me in the Suzie Cue pub, were you acting on his instructions?'

She looked embarrassed.

'Were you?'

She nodded.

'So all that business of dreaming about me was a load of hogwash.'

'No. I did dream about you. Just because Barykov asked me to find you doesn't disprove that.'

'Did he know I was a City banker?'

'Yes. He saw your name mentioned in the Financial Times as a possible successor to someone in the City who had just died. He showed me a photograph and told me to let him know if I saw you anywhere locally.'

'So the whole thing was a put-up job.'

'There was one thing that wasn't. And that was my love for you.'

'Don't give me that, Heidi.'

'It is true.'

She looked towards the door and nodded slightly, as if to indicate that their conversation was being monitored. Peter thought if she really loves me, she will find a way to help me escape. But it was important to find out the extent to which she was in Barykov's power.

'Heidi, why did you let them put me through that horrible ordeal?'

A pained expression appeared on her face.

She answered: 'I've been through it. And they said that you would come out of it a better person.'

'Don't tell me you believe all that rubbish about Pacem?'

'Jack says that it is our only hope. Our powers to destroy ourselves are increasing all the time. People will always use any weapon that comes to hand. Nuclear bombs will soon be as numerous as Kalashnikovs. We won't know which rogue state or terrorist will fire the next nuclear weapon. All we can be certain of is that it will set off a chain reaction of reprisals that will kill us all. He likes to quote a former Soviet Union foreign minister who said: "Peace is indivisible." Once a fire is lit it spreads everywhere. Our Movement is the only one capable of preventing this happening, because we intend to change human nature for good. The gun lobby in America say it is not guns that kill people; it's people. In a way they are right. The only way to ensure that human beings will engage in peaceful activities is to modify human nature. That's why we need Pacem. That's why I look forward to spreading the word when I become a fully-fledged Centurion.'

She has been well and truly brain-washed, Peter thought.

'How can you believe everything that Barykov tells you? He's completely mad. He carries two wholly contradictory theories in his head. He's a Darwinist who believes in the Bible. Don't tell me that he has taken you in as well.'

'Whatever Jack believes so do I. He's a brilliant man. Surely you have found that out by now.'

'Even a genius cannot change facts. Every piece of evidence shows that the universe started with a Big Bang fifteen billion years ago.'

'Of course.'

'What do you mean –of course?'

'That doesn't prove the Bible is wrong.'

'Of course it does.'

'Jack has his own way of arriving at the truth.'

'There can only be one truth,' Peter said irritably. 'Either two and two equals four, or it equals five. Both statements can't be true.'

'They can be where Jack is concerned. He can perform miracles like Jesus Christ. I have seen him do it.'

'I suppose he turns water into vodka,' Peter said sarcastically.

'I once saw him wave his hand over a dead plant and it sprouted leaves. He made Charlie dance the ballerina's role in Swan Lake while he was wearing his kilt. It was so funny. Charlie was quite unaware he was doing it. '

Heidi's eyes were open wide in wonderment.

'He's hypnotised you as well,' Peter remarked. 'Tell me, do you believe in Christ's miracles?'

'Yes, of course.' Heidi said, smiling. I always have and always will.'

Peter wondered how he had managed to fall in love with such a naive, unsophisticated girl.

Heidi went on: 'Jack says Jesus Christ's most important miracle was in holding fast to his message.'

'But what about the loaves and the fishes? Do you believe in all that junk?'

'Jack says the collective mind demands miracles, especially in times of turmoil and stress. The Russians got their miracle at Stalingrad. We got ours at Dunkirk.'

'They just seem like miracles, Heidi. We're talking about reversing nature's laws. Changing water into wine and so on.'

'Jack says the fact that we can take inert matter out of the ground and turn it into energy so powerful that it threatens our very existence proves that anything is possible. Jesus tried to plant peace in the minds of men but he didn't succeed. Pacem can do what he failed to do. If Jesus was alive now he would approve of what we are trying to do. That is why you must become a Centurion.'

'Has Pacem made any difference to you?'

'Yes. I'm not mad at you for being so obstinate. I still love you and I always will.'

'Whatever they gave me last night has made no difference to me whatsoever. I hate Jack Barykov's guts for what he did to me.' He added in a whisper: 'Look, I've got to get out of here, Heidi. Can you help me?'

She shook her head.

'Why not?'

'Because I have taken the oath of a Centurion.'

'You're not a full Centurion yet.'

'But I have taken the oath of allegiance. If I break it, I shall die.'

'Who told you that?'

'Jack.'

'He's a fraudulent old hypocrite. He's trying to frighten you. Heidi, you shouldn't believe a word he says.' He continued; 'No self-respecting head of an organization would issue threats like that. You must try to get me out of here.'

'I can't.'

'Don't you realise that he is a monster. He's a pimp. He exploited your mother to make money and he's treated you like a slag.'

'That's not true. He gave me a good job and he encouraged me to write.'

'Just as long as it served his ends. Now he's involving you in criminal activities which could result in your going to prison.'

'I don't believe that,' Heidi said disdainfully.

'I'm afraid it's true.'

Heidi stood up and said, coldly: 'I must go.'

'What will you tell him?'

'That I can do nothing with you.'

But on her way to the door, she paused and whispered: 'If he puts you in the cellar again, I'll come and visit you.'

Two guards arrived as soon as she had left.

One of them asked in a gruff voice, putting a gloved hand on Peter's shoulder: 'Are you going quietly?'

'OK, but what you are doing will get you into deep shit.'

The guards looked at each other and laughed.

30

Struggling again with his bonds, Peter told himself I have been targeted by that criminal, Barykov. He is trying to exploit my financial connections. And he used Heidi as bait in a honey trap. Exactly what he is up to I still don't yet know. My guess is that he wants me to hand over my share of our business.

He stopped struggling because of the pain in his chafed wrists, and decided that Barykov's New Enlightenment Movement was just a cover for some other plan. Escaping t seemed out of the question. There was only one bright spot – Heidi had promised to come and visit him in the cellar. She had obviously been told to use her sexual charms to help persuade him to become a Centurion. But to admit that there was any merit in such a stupid, misguided scheme would be to sell his soul to the devil. Trying to take his mind off the nagging pain in his wrists and ankles, he tried to analyse the motive of his former business partner. Another possible explanation for Barykov's actions occurred to him that was so far fetched that he rejected it out of hand.

He resolved to try to exploit those flaws he had discovered in his opponent's mental make-up. Barykov's most obvious weakness was his alcohol addiction. It had clouded his judgement, allowing him to imagine that he could change the basic nature of billions of peope by dosing them with a new drug.

Peter's eyes wandered upwards to where he once imagined seeing a chink of light in the cellar ceiling. But he could see nothing among the dark shadows.

Heidi's response, when he had asked her to help him escape, had not been encouraging. Nevertheless he suspected that she had some independence of mind left. He would purge her of Barykov's baneful influence and they would escape together. Inevitably details of their affair would come out subsequently.. But that was a problem for another day.

He had made the huge gamble of investing in Barykov's Internet business in the first place because of

Heidi's assurance that he possessed all the qualities of her swashbuckling hero. The only way now he could vindicate himself was to behave like the characters in her novel and effect a dramatic escape.

He still hoped Heidi would help him. She wasn't entirely to blame. Barykov exercised a hypnotic influence over her. He had fallen under that same spell and had been stupid enough to believe Barykov's financial balance sheets. But could it really be true that Barykov had made that six-foot-seven-inch hulk, Charlie, dance without being aware if what he was doing? Or had he just hypnotised Heidi into believing it?

Another more urgent question suddenly entered his mind. How long before he wet his underpants? To take his mind off the problem, he tried think of other things...

Barykov's assertion that biblical legend should be put on an equal footing with science was puerile. It was true, of course, that many people carried such contradictions in their heads without worrying about them. Albert Einstein's scientific proof that time is elastic doesn't stop people from going to church. Billions of Muslims accept that E=Mc2 gives a true picture of the Cosmos, but it doesn't stop them from believing that the Prophet Mohammed went up in a straight line to Heaven on his steed. Nor dies the Uncertainty Principle of quantum physics stop Roman Catholics from believing in the chastity of the Virgin Mary. Most people are content to be ambivalent on these questions. But for an intellectual like Barykov to take up such an absurd position was reprehensible. Nevertheless, I must play on his weaknesses, Peter told himself, and try to undermine his confidence. Still, it would be best not to make him too angry. He still undoubtedly has some nasty KGB tricks up his sleeve.

Should he continue to dispute Barykov's plan? There was a seductive element in the parallel he drew between using chemicals to control aggression and using the contraceptive pill to control fertility. But he hadn't thought through the consequences of his plan. It was obvious that those who took Pacem would be exploited and bullied by those who didn't. Inevitably the latter would dominate everyone else, thus defeating the object of the whole exercise. But there was even a weakness in that line of thought. Ghandi, who behaved just as if he had taken Pacem, had taken on the whole might of the British Empire and won. So in fact, Barykov's idea did have some merit. Its chief demerit was that it was totally impractical. Apart from any other consideration, people should never be coerced into taking a drug, however harmless.

Another factor was Barykov's lack of a coherent philosophy. Any attempt to base a world-wide movement on wishy-washy mysticism was doomed to failure. But he certainly wasn't a fool. The dichotomy in his brain, which allowed him to believe simultaneously in two irreconcilable doctrines might well be the result of his alcoholism.

Peter felt heartened by his analysis. Understanding Barykov mental state was the key to his survival.. He might even consider a deal which would give Barykov the majority of the shares in their venture, if this would buy him his freedom. But it would be hard to promise not to bring criminal charges against him subsequently. Nevertheless, if necessary, he would give such a guarantee.

He glanced at his wristwatch. It was eleven o'clock p.m. Barykov had threatened him with a forty-eight hour imprisonment this time. Forty-five hours to look forward to without food or water. A dismal prospect, but he now felt stronger, buoyed up by the feeling that he had Barykov's measure. Telling him that the Indian financier, M.P. Patel, had made his huge investment motivation in Pacem for purely venal reasons would anger him. He chuckled out loud at the thought and then realised that he was getting light-headed.

Still trying to take his mind off his bursting bladder, he decided that whenBarykov came, he would ask him a series of preposterous ethical questions. If Heidi was pregnant and in danger of dying, would you save mother or baby? If you were in a sinking boat, would you give the only life jacket to your wife or your mother. An ancient savage, deep in the Amazon rain forest, is dying from cancer. If you press a button, a billion pounds will be added to your bank account and will simultaneously kill the old man. What wukk yiu do? Peter decided that Barykov's answer was not in any doubt. Certainly if it would advance his precious Movement. he would press the button. Would he himself press a button that would simultaneously kill Barykov and release him from his imprisonment? The answer was not in doubt.

And then it happened. And he watched in dismay the spreading stain in his underpants.

Ironically, the next moment he felt thirsty. How many more hours before he could would have something to drink? He remembered entering a pub in North Wales. The publican called: "Time, gentlemen, please.' A man at the end of the bar called out: 'Time's been going on for a few million years, Taffy. There's plenty more of it left. So pull us another pint.' With manacles digging cruelly into his wrists, he felt that the Welshman was right about time going on endlessly.

He decided that the only reason why Barykov embarked on his mad scheme is that he is suffering from a Messianic complex.. But his plan won't get anywhere. Fighting is an integral part of human nature. We can never give it up. People are not going to voluntarily take a drug to curb their aggression. Christians are commanded to turn the other cheek but rarely do. Even if the dose of Pacem Barykov gave me had worked, I would continue to hate him. I shall hate him for ever more. Hate him! Hate him! Hate him!

He felt better for that outburst. Expressing hate can be cathartic, he thought, remembering a word a psychiatrist friend had once used. It then worried him that he could not remember her face. Gradually, however, it assembled itself into a broad, earnest visage with coarse complexion and a deeply-cleft brow surmounted by untidy grey hair.

He fell asleep.

When he woke up, he caught a glimpse of the illuminated chink in the ceiling he had seen during his prevous spell of imprisonment and became excited thinking of the possibility of escape. There is a way out of here, he told himself. That knowledge will give me the strength to resist any pressure that Barykov tries to inflict on me. Starving, thirsty, cold and hungry I may be, but he will never break my spirit.

I may even be able to turn Heidi round. I once read that intelligence services in Northern Ireland had succeeded in changing the views of some prisoners. Who knows, I may even be able to shake that monster Barkov himself out of his self-regarding obsession. The thought excited him for a while. But when the stark reality of his situation impressed itself on him once more he became depressed. His depression deepened when he realised that his own mental processes seemed to be deteriorating.

Nevertheless, I shall make it clear to Barykov when he comes to interrogate me that I shall never give up.

Some time later, Barykov strode in wearing a barbour jacket and tweeds, incongruously looking likea Scottish laird about to embark on a shooting expedition.

'Good morning,' he said cheerily, 'as though greeting a fellow huntsman. 'It's a pleasant day outside, as you will find out when you have come to your senses.'

A guard placed a wooden chair beside the bed on which Peter was lying and stood outside the half-open the door. The chair creaked as Barykov deposited his considerable bulk on it.

Peter looked away.

Staring down at Peter, like a consultant about to examine a patient, Barykov said: 'I am trying to be as kind to you as present circumstances permit. You know that the welfare of the entire world must take precedence over the suffering of one individual. If you would bear that in mind, we can dispose of this whole issue in a few minutes and you will then be free to resume your normal life. All I shall ask of you after that is that when you go home you make a few speeches in support of The New Enlightenment Movement. I do believe you will find the arguments in its favour so irresistible that you will want to do even more than that. I hope and expect that eventually, like Rajiv and Li Hua and many others you will become passionate about it.'

Peter did not answer.

Barkov looked round at the grimy cellar walls and then said brightly: 'You may like to know that I have deposited a thesis entitled Origins and Ends in a metal canister the grounds of the manse. It embraces my total philosophy. If you became my second-in-command, I would reveal its whereabouts to you and you would be free publish it when I die.'

'You're suffering from delusions of grandeur,' Peter said scornfully.

'You may possibly be right, Barykov replied, nodding sagely, 'but you will never know until you have read it.'

'Is it about pimping for prostitutes? Peter enquired, sarcastically.

'If you are referring to Heidi's mother, I can assure you that I did a great deal to help her and her girls. Several of them came off the game, which they would have found impossible otherwise.'

'Since you apparently act all the time from the saintliest of motives, why did you inveigle me into joining your company when all the time you were planning to rob me?'

'I didn't inveigle you. You volunteered to join me. I had not the slightest intention of robbing you.'

'Then why the hell don't you let me go.'

Barykov's face clouded over.

He replied: 'I can't. Not yet anyway. You happen to hold the key to the success or failure of our Movement.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I will tell you shortly. But regarding my thesis, I can tell you it is about ending the causes of war.'

Peter interrupted him, shouting savagely: 'Why the hell should I listen to your rantings when you've got me here tied up like a chicken awaiting slaughter. If you had even a trace of decency left in that worm-eaten soul of yours, you would unfasten these manacles.'

A bemused expression crossed Barykov's features and then to Peter's enormous relief he called out to the guard: 'Take off his manacles.'

When this was accomplished, he said: 'You are on your honour not to try to escape.'

Peter nodded assent and then, unable to stop himself, snorted with fury. When he had recovered his composure, he said: 'Your stupid, bloody scheme is doomed to failure. How will you persuade governments to administer Pacem to billions of people?'

'Some will take it up with enthusiasm. Others will refuse at first, but will eventually follow .the example of the more progressive states. In the end good sense will prevail. The people of the world are even more aware of the dangers of nuclear proliferation than politicians who have access to bomb-proof bunkers. Our researches in America, Europe and Russia fully support our beliefs that people will welcome a solution guaranteed to save them from nuclear annihilation.

Peter stroked the raw places on his ankles and wrists and indicated the black plastic manacles which the guard had left on the floor.

He muttered. 'Trussing me up like that won't make the slightest difference to the decision I shall make.'

Barykov nodded.

'We'll see how our discussion progresses. We can agree on one thing, though, that the world is in deadly danger from nuclear proliferation and the spread of chemical and biological weapons.'

Peter nodded assent. Continuing to rub his sore wrists, he said: 'The USA and other major powers have been unable to remedy the situation, so why do you think you can do any better?'

'Because I am dealing with the root cause. As I told you before, it is people who are at fault, not weapons, which are strictly neutral. For thousands of years the tribes of the world have fought each other. Now is the time to call a halt before every living thing is blasted to eternity.'

'Educating people is a much more civilised way of dealing with the problem than drugging them.'

'History shows that it is impossible to eliminate aggression from people's hearts and minds. But we are attempting a dual-track solution to the problem. Religion, and I include science, which can be just as intolerant as religion – are major obstacles to world peace. As well as offering people Pacem, we are planning to produce brochures, leaflets books and movies which show people how to reconcile their religious and political differences.'

'Try doing that in Northern Ireland,' Peter said caustically.

'We have a small experimental unit in Belfast doing precisely that,' Barykov said, stroking his chin. 'And it's showing encouraging signs that our aim can be achieved. I can show you one of our pamphlets. Just wait a moment ...'

He left the cellar. Peter sat on the side of the bed and swung his arms and legs, to restore his circulation. The guard watched impassively from the half-opened door. Peter decided that an attempt to escape at that moment would stand little chance of success and if it failed would inevitably bring about even more stringent restrictions to his movements. Another plan then came into his mind.

When Barykov returned, he handed Peter a pamphlet, which read: "Catholics and Protestant unite against the common foe." A picture showed a group of group of men, women and children cowering against the background of a towering mushroom cloud. The wording said: "Whose God says that this is permissible? The Catholic God? The Protestant God? Certainly not. Science, which saved us from plague and pestilence in the past, has unfortunately allowed the nuclear genii to escape from the bottle. Nuclear weapons threaten us all: Protestants, Catholics, Muslims, Hindus, Jews and Heathens alike. Tell your politicians to call for the world-wide provision of Pacem, which alone will guarantee world safety."

Peter shrugged, handed the pamphlet back to Barykov, and said: 'That proves how hopelessly naive you and your movement are. The Anti-Nuclear movement tried for years to persuade governments to give up their nuclear weapons and failed miserably.'

Barykov tucked the pamphlet into his inside pocket, and said with a complacent smile: 'You're missing the point. We are also carrying out a widespread propaganda message in the under-developed world which suggests that soon a new Messiah will arise who will save the world. The next stage of our campaign will announce that the Messiah has endorsed Pacem as the only weapon that will stop the fearsome weapons in the world's armouries from being used. Eventually we shall convince people everywhere that Pacem is where their salvation lies. But, of course, he added ruminatively: 'Such a campaign will cost a great deal of money.'

'So who is this Messiah you are referring to? One minute you blame religion for creating strife. The next minute you appeal to it. You can't have it both ways.'

Barykov smiled, condescendingly and said: 'The concept of a superman who will save the world has continued throughout history. So why should I not enlist that fictional being in the service of world peace?'

Peter was struck by Barykov's extraordinary capacity for self delusion. He said, in an attempt to make him see reason: 'Every sane, informed person favours Evolution as a scientifically proved explanation of how our world has developed. So why include religion in your campaign.'

'Because it has played an indispensable role in our past. A new religion will come

about eventually that that will embrace all other religions.'

'That's a childish pipe dream,' Peter said irritably. 'People have a huge emotional investment in their own religion. They won't give it it up in favour of some shallow, world-wide creed. You're on a loser, Barykov. Let me go free and I promise not to prosecute you for what you have done.'

' Perhaps I will,' Barkov mused. He fingered the lapels of his jacket and looking down, said: 'I may go out on a shoot one day. The man who owns the neighbouring land says it is very exciting to shoot pheasants. I suspect our birds have emigrated because they dislike mypolitical views.'

He guffawed heartily at his own joke and looked at his wristwatch.

That wouldn't be at all surprising,' Peter said acidly, 'considering that you imprison and torture anyone who disagrees with you.'

Barykov looked hurt. He stroked the stubble on his chin and said: 'That is very unfair. With so much at stake, it is surely right to try by all means possible to save the world. It's never easy being in charge. A powerful political leader has only has to shift in his bed to cause distress somewhere within the world. The art of statesmanship is to cause the least distress and that's exactly what I am trying to do. I have made you a little uncomfortable for a couple of days, but it couldn't be helped.'

'You still haven't explained where I come in the equation. If you want me to give up part of my share in the business, I am prepared to discuss it.'

Barykov shook his head and said sadly: 'I'm afraid the business is not doing as well as we had hoped.'

'What's happened?' Peter enquired sharply

'Our sales dropped off. I was obliged to ask Rajiv to manipulate the computer in order to exaggerate our revenue. His father also agreed this was the best thing to do in the circumstances. He manufactures Pacem. Without his involvement the New Enlightenment Movement would never come to anything. Rajiv obeyed our instructions, to avoid the company being put into liquidation. Our Movement needs a huge income to keep its momentum going.'

'You're a bloody cheat, Barykov. You got my money under false pretenses.'

'At the time I believed that my share of the proceeds from a successful stock market launch would be sufficient for me to proceed with my idea. I'm genuinely sorry it hasn't worked out that way.'

'Then why are you continuing to detain me?'

'There is something else we want you to do for us. I had hoped by now that you would understand how important our Movement is. I still hope we shall achieve a meeting of minds. I am appealing to your conscience to join us.'

Barykov got up from his chair and began pacing rapidly up and down the cellar.

Barkov then sat down again, tapped Peter lightly on his bare knee, which in his hypersensitive state, made him jump, and said: 'I need to confess something to you. When I was sixteen years old, I experienced the most intense feelings and emotions. I had a longing for purity. I vowed that when I grew older I would keep faith with my ideals. But eventually I was corrupted by a brutal regime. When I realised how far I had travelled from that idealistic younger self I decided to leave the U.S.S.R. for England. One of your agents helped me come here. Having found a way to survive in a capitalist society, I studied philosophy and history and realised that only by doing some good in the world could I make up for my past. It was then that. I decided to help bring about a more peaceful world in which people could live without fear of being incinerated by nuclear weapons.'

'All very commendable,' Peter muttered. 'But what has it all to do with me?'

'Wouldn't you like to return to your idealistic youth?'

All I can remember of my youth is that I wanted sex, Lots of it.'

'Were you never in love?'

'Yes.' Peter remembered a schoolgirl called Catherine, who wore a red blazer, had a striking profile and long blonde hair. Aware that his opponent was trying to strip down his emotional defences, he said: 'I suspect you've been turned into a born-again Christian.'

Barykov shoook his head.

'No. I'm simply asking you save yourself and everyone else in the world.'

Angry with Barykov's slippery tactics, Peter asked bitterly: 'What the hell has all this to do with our partnership '

' We are not discussing finance. We are two privileged beings discussing our obligations to the rest of humanity.'

'I'm a banker,' Peter declared flatly. 'I make money for myself and other people, which spreads around and creates employment. That is what I have been trained to do. ' He added bitterly: 'And you have the nerve to sit there in brand new clothes and talk to me of morality while I'm shivering in my underpants. Go fuck yourself.'

He had the satisfaction of seeing Barykov flinch. Barykov then went to the door and instructed the guard to fetch Peter's clothes. As they waited for him to return, Peter performed some vigorous exercises ,congratulating himself on having won a significant victory. a

Later, fully dressed, knotting his tie, Peter listened as Barykov gave an account of his past from his early indoctrination under the Soviet Union schooling system to later secret meetings with a Russian Orthodox priest while at university, and, finally, to his intensive reading sessions after coming to England.

Peter interrupted his flow of words and said: 'Get to the point. What exactly do you want of me?'

Barykov said calmly: 'The electronic numbers of two of your wealthiest client's bank accounts.'

31

Peter thought that bastard is asking me to me to bring down the sacred pillars of banking. Something I will never do. I'm just an average man – what the French call an homme moyen sensual. But I have my principles and do my duty as I see it. I'll never give him the code.

At last it was clear that Barykov's International Learning Company was just a cover for a plot to raid his bank. Barykov's high sounding talk about world peace meant nothing; it was sheer hypocrisy. Why had he fallen into the trap? He was, as his name suggested, a living, breathing example of the Peter Principle at work. It wasn't his fault that the bank had promoted him above his competence level. It was the bank that deserved censure. If all the psychological tests he had been put through before being given his job were any use it could never have happened. And he could say also in his own defence that Russian criminals like Barykov had been trained to the highest degree in subterfuge and deceit in order to be able to pull the wool over the eyes of people like himself. The former apparatchiks from the Soviet Union were notorious for stretching their tentacles deep into corporate and international state affairs. The only way he could redeem himself was to stand firm and refuse to allow the transfer of three-point-seven billion pounds into his former partner's bank account. Did he have the guts to make the sacrifice required to thwart Barykov? He seriously doubted it. But he vowed to delay the inevitable outcome for as long as he possibly could.

The International Learning Institute was a cyber-net ghost company that had tricked the accountants into believing that it was making huge profits. When the final reckoning was made he would be held responsible for the bank's huge losses and he would be both morally and personally bankrupt. The only comfort he could find in this ghastly mess was that for once he had struck out from his dull, routine-driven life and taken a huge gamble.

He said to Barykov: 'You're a bloody thief.'

Barykov spluttered, his face purple, his eyes opening wide: 'That is a disgusting thing to say. It's the Movement that needs the money not me. If our International learning Company had prospered, as we both expected, my share of the proceeds would have been sufficient to do what I want to do and I would not be making this demand. But in the present circumstances I am forced to ask you to do it in order to save the lives of billions of people.'

Peter said: 'I have no knowledge of these bank account numbers.'

'Wrong,' Barykov replied. 'We know you have them?'

'What makes you think so?'

'The last time you came up here Rajiv examined your Blackberry PDA while you were out playing golf and it contains a reference to the bank accounts of Sheikh Abdulah of Saudi Arabia and The Emir of Quattar, two of the richest men in the world. But not, of course, the numbers themselves, which would allow us to make an electronic transfer.'

'I don't know the numbers.'

'They are in your Blackberry in encrypted form. You will decypher them, or suffer the consequences.'

Peter addressed Barykov by his forename – something he rarely did. 'Jack, I recovered your mother's cello for you. But it hasn't stopped you from swindling me out of everything I possess. And now you're asking me to betray the bank which has employed me for most of my adult life. You say you are driven by conscience. If you have one, in God's name spare me this and let me go home.'

Peter had thought he might gain a little time. What, in fact, he did gain made it worthwhile.

Barykov growled: 'You bought the cello in order to ingratiate yourself, so you could get a half share of my business. What good will your reputation as an honest banker be worth in a hundred year's time? You will be remembered as a fool who wantonly threw away a last chance to save the world. Try to rise above your petit bourgeois origins. Think on a larger scale. Ask yourself what your children would do in your situation. Wouldn't they unhesitatingly choose to save the world rather than the bank accounts of two men who won't even be impoverished by losing some money. They will simply pump more oil. I'll give you two more hours to consider what I have just told you. We have your Blackberry. When I return, I hope you will have changed your mind. And remember what I told you once about the capacity of the KGB to strip a man down to his basic layer. For the time being you may keep your clothes on.'

Barykov strode out of the room. Peter heard him instructing the security guard to remain vigilant.

Well, at least have my clothes, Peter thought. And two hours in which to devise an escape plan. My experiences in the dentist's chair do not suggest that I would be able to resist physical pain for very long. Perhaps he has something else in mind. A truth drug, perhaps. Isn't there a drug that allows interrogators to squeeze the truth out of people? They beat the shit out of them first, if I remember correctly from the documentaries I have seen on TV. But he's a cunning devil and may have something else in mind. The trouble is that I'm not as smart as him, which is why I fell into his trap in the first place. My only hope now is Heidi. The key question is, can she escape from Barykov's overpowering influence. I'll find out if and when she visits me.

Two hours later, Barykov came in looking grim-faced. He was accompanied by Rajiv

'Where is my Blackberry?' Peter asked.

'In my pocket,' Barykov said, and sat on the chair. Rajiv retreated to the back of the cellar.

'I don't know the encryption code,' Peter said. 'The only person who does is my boss.'

Barykov shook his head and said: 'It is in two halves. Your boss has one half. You have the other.'

'If I gave you my half, how would you get hold of the other half?'

'We already have it. Rajiv hacked into your boss's home computer and discovered it. So you are the only obstacle to the money transfer.'

'Do what you like then,' Peter retorted. 'You'll soon discover that I'm not lying when I say don't know it.'

Barykov sat on the chair, drank noisily from a silver flask he had taken from his side pocket and leaning towards Peter, who was sitting on the bed, and said softly: 'I'm going to tell you a true story about myself which may convince you of the genuineness of my motives. Towards the end of my time in the Soviet Union I was stationed in Kabul. We were fighting the mujadeheen in Afganhistan. I was doing interpretation work for the KGB. We often had drinking sessions after our day's work was completed. It was a dangerous place. Nobody was forced to stay more than a month. I was already in trouble over my book, Escape from Paradise. I knew I was under a cloud, but not many people were capable of doing my work and being fairly senior in the detachment, I was sufficiently confident to express thoughts that ran counter to the official line. I was an exhibitionist and sometimes made controversial statements just for the sake of doing so.

'They used to send us movies from Moscow – science fiction movies were very popular. A favourite topic we debated after the movie was over was the difference between human beings and computerised robots – androids as they are called. Artificial intelligence is a very complex subject, not fully understood even today, although the neurosciences have made great advances in that area. During one of these discussions someone asked if an android could be described as immoral if it left its pre-ordained task in order to save a human being from certain death. The questioner's implication was obvious. The philosophy of the Soviet Union demanded that the interests of the State must always come first. What applies to human beings must surely apply to androids. Most of those present took the party line, because you never know who is going to snitch on you. But I liked to show what a clever and independent fellow I was.'

Peter told himself there is some kind of hidden message here. He's trying to turn me round, but he won't succeed.

Barykov continued: 'Everyone was lolling about in this shabby, pock-marked hotel room, including some floozies who had had been flown in from Moscow. I stood up a little unsteadily and said: 'Morality is a word that embraces many issues.'

Ilyich, my second-in-command, winked and said: 'I intend to embrace Natasha. Is that immoral?'

'If you take her before me, that would be very immoral,' I said sharply. And went on: 'Answer this very important question: Can an android tell the difference between the sacred and the profane?'

Ilyich said: ' Would you care, Comrade Barykov, to explain.'

I said: 'OK. I'll try. Some of you may remember Yusuf whom we suspected of being an agent for the Americans. We employed an agent called Abdul, to put explosives in his purse. When Yusuf went to the market and took the purse out of his jellaba to pay a merchant, it exploded, taking off one of his legs and both his testicles. Abdul was conscience-stricken when he heard that Yusuf was still alive. He went to the makeshift hospital and offered him everything he owned in the world as compensation for what he had done. Yusuf refused, but he said he would accept his offer if he undertook to teach children the Koran for thirty years. And Abdul took a solemn vow to do so. Now should we not recognise that this was a noble act, of which an android would be totally incapable. That, my friends, is the difference between a human being and an android, between the sacred and profane.'

'I have to admit that I don't think anyone there knew what I was talking about. The conversation degenerated into shallowness. And Ilyich took Natasha before I did, which made me very angry. He was killed by a mortar bomb shortly afterwards.'

He looked hard at Peter, who responded: 'It strikes me as very odd that these KGB butchers should be discussing morality after your organisaton had perpetrated such acts..'

'War is always vicious. It was precisely because of the squalid background to our conversation that I raised the question.'

'It's all very interesting,' Peter commented. 'But I can't see that it has the slightest relevance to what we have been talking about.'

Barykov took out his silver flask again, put it to his lips, wiped his mouth and said: 'I am trying to point out to you that we are not simply machines; we are human beings and must take responsibility for what goes on in the world. That is why I am asking you to help us.'

'Prove that we are not androids, and I might consider your point. As it happens, I believe we are just clockwork dolls that are thrown away when the spring has unwound.'

'If you were the maker of dolls, wouldn't you design them so that the springs could be re-wound?'

'Perhaps. There is no scientific evidence that such a state of affairs exists.'

'Perhaps those mysterious black holes modern science has recently discovered are places where the dolls are wound up again. But enough of this nonsense. You must come over to the side of sanity. You are half convinced already, I suspect.'

'You're deluding yourself Barykov. You used Heidi to get me into your clutches. You asked Rajiv to falsify the accounts of the so-called business in which I invested my money. You're a crook. And even if I knew the numbers I wouldn't damn well give them to you.'

Barykov moved uneasily in his chair, cast a glance at the door behind which the guard was standing and said: 'I'm very disappointed in you. I thought you had retained your moral values. But I find that you are just as materialistic as my former colleagues in the Soviet Union. I'm surprised and disappointed.'

'Barykov, for my part I find it very hard to believe that you hold such naive views. Imagine a crocodile chewing with gusto the body of a small boy he has just grabbed from the banks of the Nile. Doesn't the crocodile express his deepest gratitude to God for providing him with sustenance and everything he needs to keep him happy? From which the obvious inference is that every creature on earth has its own god. You are extremely naive. You behave like a criminal and now you have the infernal cheek to preach religion to me. Go back to your native Russia. Putin would recognise you as the poisonous snake you are and put you in prison.'

Peter hoped his outburst would confuse Barykov. He was astonished when Barykov threw out his arms out in an expansive gesture and said: 'Of course I understand why you are against old-fashioned religion. But there is nothing in evolutionary theory that denies anything other than the outward trappings of religion, that is to say its myths and legends. It certainly cannot disprove its central truths. Evolution, after all, simply consists of the oldest engineering principle in the world: negative feedback. This is what keeps any guided mechanism, such as an auto-pilot or a rocket on course. When a rocket strays from its trajectory it receives a negative feed-back response from a gyroscope which puts it back on course again. Every organism does the same. It runs up blind alleys, gets a negative response and alters course to enlarge, procreate and become more powerful. Human beings are not exempt from this process. We also learn from our failures. The trouble with you, Peter, is you let the professors befuddle you with science while you are busy counting your money. We are not talking about unimportant matters. Ideas are real, potent forces which affect us all and control the way we think. And the way we think is important because that is how we control our own destiny. It appears that the only debate these days is whether the rocket of evolution has a target or is blind. But, and this is the strangest thing of all, science ignores the fact that we affect the trajectory of the human rocket by our deepest beliefs. I believe that by becoming a Centurion in our movement you will shift the axis of our planet towards Heaven. Deny it and we will all surely go to Hell.'

Peter, unimpressed by Barykov's argument, had no intention of becoming one of Barykov's Centurions. He said: 'You're talking a lot of ill-informed crap. I don't know the fucking encryption code. So you can do what the hell you like with me.'

Barykov stood up and said to Rajiv, who was loitering in the background. 'OK. We'll have to do it.'

Barykov called to the guard outside: 'Get Charlie!'

Soon Charlie appeared, holding a jug of water, which he handed to Barykov. Grinning widely, he grabbed Peter in a vice-like grip. Barykov, still holding the jug, produced a small green tablet from his pocket and said in a kindly voice: 'Swallow this and all your troubles will end.'

'Is it poison? Peter enquired.

'No, my friend, it's Pacem.'

'But I've already taken it. It doesn't work on me.'

'It will this time,' Barykov said. 'The last time we gave you a placebo. You were part of an experiment to test the psychological reactions of someone who thinks he has taken Pacem.'

'You filthy bastard!'

Twice Peter spat out the tablet Barykov forced into his mouth. But the third time he felt a tasteless liquid dissolving on his tongue. As a final indignity he was held firmly on his back while water was poured down his throat.

Panting heavily, he lay on the bed afterwards and watched his tormentors leave the room.

When he had recovered, he consoled himself with the thought that Heidi and the others had taken Pacem without any apparent ill effects. I shall resist it by sheer will power, he vowed. There is an antidote, so I shall eventually be able to return to normal. In years to come I shall remember this moment when, although assaulted and abused, I managed to retain my essential dignity.

He lay back on the bed and tried to analyse the situation. Although still imprisoned, he was now fully clothed and without shackles. No doubt Barykov thought that having taken Pacem his will to resist would rapidly disappear. When he returned, he would try to squeeze the code numbers out of him again, with the confidence of a man had watched many hundreds of other victims subdued by drugs and torture.

A stray thought then came to him. Instead of Pacem, they might have administered a truth drug that would allow him to divulge the code on his Blackberry without being aware of doing so. He tried to thrust the numbers deep into the furthest recesses of his mind.

At seven o'clock p.m., a guard deposited a tray of ham, salad and bread on the chair beside the bed.

Peter whispered to him: 'I'll make you a very rich man, if you will do me a favour.'

The guard appeared not to hear, slammed the door behind him and locked it noisily. Peter thought that didn#t appear to do much good, but the message might penetrate his brain later on. In the meantime, I'll conserve my energies. During the night I'll test my theory that the room I'm in was once a coal cellar.

He ate all the food and drank from the bottle of water that had accompanied it. He slept for a while and when he awoke the tray had gone. Looking at his watch, he noted that he had been asleep for twenty minutes. He put down his tiredness to the pill he had been forced to take. Oddly, he no longer felt rancour towards Barykov and his fellow conspirators. Was Pacem influencing his thoughts and emotions already? He remembered dreaming that he was suckling snow-white breasts that issued copious drafts of the milk of human kindness. It induced a feeling of universal love. A rush of emotions overcame him as he remembered Christmas celebrations, a general feeling of good will towards everybody, of giving presents and expressing love and devotion. If that was the effect of the wretched pill, perhaps it wasn't so bad. And even though he had been defeated by a superior intelligence, he no longer hated Barykov.

He registered this in his mind with a kind of numbed resignation. Barykov had conquered him, so there was no point in refusing to decypher the bank account numbers, especially since the net effect was going to be the removal of terrorism and the elimination of weapons of mass destruction. He was being given a chance to join a team that would remove the scourge of war from the world for all time. It would not just be foolish to resist Barykov; it would be wicked. As a born Christian, it was his duty to love everybody and he could fulfill that commandment by divulging the code. Doing so would grant a boon to mankind.

But was he a Christian? Biblical Creationism, the supposed account of how the world came into being on which Christianity was based, was plainly dead. As dead as the billions of creatures that had become extinct during the past few million years, many of them as the result of man's predatory nature. He had won his arguments with Barykov's residual, wishy-washy devotion to religion hands down. And yet he was still unhappy with himself.

If I have lost my religious affiliation it is because it has proved totally irrelevant to the modern world. Pure reason, on the other hand, demands overwhelming approval for Barykov and his Peace Movement. But I still have a nagging feeling that something is wrong. Perhaps it is because Barykov is a foreigner and his thoughts and ways are not mine. That, of course, is pure prejudice. Something else, a fragile wisp of an idea which I can't even articulate, prevents me from acceding to Barykov's demand. I don't like him but I no longer hate him. So why don't I just take the easy way out and give them what they want?

Perhaps it's because I dislike intensely what he has done to Heidi. And it is difficult to forgive someone who requires me, against the whole grain of my training and upbringing, to become an accessory to a bank robbery. However, that shouldn't stop me from appreciating that the idea which he pursues with such a fanatical zeal might avert a nuclear nightmare.

What I do know is that I should get the hell out of here as soon as possible. And for that I need Heidi. If she doesn't visit me I am lost. I still bitterly resent her loyalty to Barykov. Her excuse that she took the Centurion oath doesn't wash with me. If she loved me, she would never have allowed me to be imprisoned and abused. I'll confront her with that when she comes. If she comes! In the meantime she remains my one and only hope.

Logically, it is open to me now to reveal the alphanumerical digits locked in my Blackberry. But my last shred of dignity and credibility will then have been lost. Barykov will have won. There appears to be no satisfactory conclusion. If I give in I shall be ruined, if I don't I shall die.

But if Heidi and I could escape, we could leave all this behind us and make a good life together abroad. Didn't that wily old devil, George Bernard Shaw, say that a man can grow a new reputation like a lobster can grow a new claw. And it's even possible that Heidi will one day succeed in selling her romantic novel. What a victory that would be! Together we can make it. By ourselves we can't.

Peter began pacing up feverishly and down the uneven, concrete floor of the cellar, occasionally glancing up at the ceiling, trying to look for the elusive chink of light he once imagined he had seen.

The door squealed on its hinges and Barykov appeared, accompanied by a guard.

'Listen outside for any trouble,' Barykov told the guard, and as soon as he had disappeared, said to Peter with a smile: 'It's no good trying to bribe them. They are totally devoted to the Cause as I hope you soon will be. When Pacem has curbed your aggressive instincts I shall be able to dispense with their services.'

Peter said in a conciliatory manner: 'Isn't there a possibility that Pacem will have long-term genetic effects, in addition to the desirable one of controlling aggression?'

'They have carried out extensive trials in M.P.Patel's laboratories on rats and mice and none have showed up.'

'But won't curbing people's aggressive instincts inhibit them from striving for better things?'

'Pacem doesn't entirely eliminate what has been called "divine discontent." It simply sublimates aggression into higher forms of activity.'

'What about libido?'

'It enhances it.'

He then added: 'By the way, Heidi has expressed a wish to talk to you.'

'What does she want?'

'She hopes to persuade you to give us the code.'

'Does she also have ambitions to be a bank robber?'

'That is an insulting remark. She is acting from a sense of duty.'

'Duty to whom?'

'To the Movement in particular and to the religious ideals she shares with me.'

'Torturing someone does not conform to any religious ideals that I know of.'

'Drastic action is sometimes called for. Sweeping the money- lenders away from the Holy Temple was a good example.'

'You're calling me a money-lender?'

'If the cap fits, wear it.'

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Barkov's face..

'Breaking faith with my bank and its shareholders is not something I can do lightly. What about "Thou shall not steal." Doesn't that strike a chord?'

'The Decalogue has served us well for thousands of years. It goes back to King Hammurabai in ancient Iraq. That is why I sympathise with religion. We take water and electricity for granted and only miss them when supplies are switched off. We will only miss religion when we don't have it any more. The eleventh commandment is, of course, be tolerant towards other people's religions.'

'Jack Barykov, I am half-persuaded by what you say. But I should like to have a final discussion with Heidi. If I join the Movement it will obviously have a profound effect on our relationship.'

'Of course.' Barykov smiled benignly and then added soberly: 'It can take hundreds of years for a radically new perception to percolate down to the average man or woman. The full implications of Darwinism are still yet to be felt. It is doubtful whether sixty-per-cent of the world's population have even heard of it. One hundred years have passed since Einstein promulgated his Theory of Relativity, but the average person still has little idea of what it is all about. And, we cannot foresee what will eventually happen when everyone understands its full implications. String theory presupposes the existence of other dimensions. I recently dreamed that I had entered the Fifth Dimension and in so doing achieved immortality.'

A strange, almost frightened expression appeared on Barykov's face.

He went on after a pause: 'Leaving all that aside, I have decided to let you have a chat with Heidi. She is totally devoted to the Movement and I believe she will get rid of any misgivings you may still have and persuade you to join us. I have the ultimate means of persuading you in my hands, but I am loath to use it when more civilised methods will suffice.'

He offered Peter his hand in a friendly gesture. Pete shook it, but regretted doing so afterwards.

He concluded, as he waited impatiently for Heidi to visit him, that allowing her visit was yet another of Barkov's psychological ploys intended to lower his resistance. He began pacing up and down the cellar again, wondering what to say when she came into the cellar. Barykov exercised a baneful influence over her, as he did over all his fellow conspirators. An electronic bank robbery was no different morally from an old-fashioned smash-and-grab raid. However noble and idealistic Barykov's motives money would be channelled from the owners of the bank accounts into the hands of someone equally flawed and equally fallible. An ancient Greek philosopher was asked what he was looking for when friends found him searching high and low in broad daylight with a lantern. His answer was: "I'm looking for an honest man." There are very few honest men in the world, and even if Barykov was totally honest, as he claimed to be, Pacem might turn out to be just another false panacea for the world's problems. Admittedly, in his semi-drugged state he no longer hated Barykov. But that did not necessarily mean that he must blindly follow his grotesque, unworkable plan.

The only way to open up a possible escape route was to convert Heidi to his way of thinking. The hatch, if it existed, was his last hope. He would drag the iron bedstead towards where he had seen a faint crack of light, and inspect the ceiling closely to see if his theory was correct. The main danger was that the noise of the bed being dragged over the rough floor would attract the attention of the guard. But if he and Heidi raised their voices to drown out the noise of the bed's movement, the guard would assume they were quarrelling. The plan was worthy of his namesake Sir Peter Crawford, he thought ruefully. Whether it would work was another matter. It was still doubtful whether Heidi would co-operate.

He was sitting the edge of the bed, when she appeared, wearing the peasant blouse and skirt he had seen her wearing on a previous occasion. Her presence still had the power to arouse him.

She said 'Hi,' shyly, and came over and sat on the bed beside him. He said, nodding his head, 'You still look good.'

'So do you – the perfect English gentleman.'

'The English gentleman is being cruelly persecuted by his Russian counterpart.'

'He has asked me to soften you up. I am to do everything possible to make to make you disclose those secret numbers. If necessary, he advised me to make love to you.'

'That shows what an old humbug he is. I'd like that but it still wouldn't make me cough up the code numbers.'

'If it doesn't work, he says he's prepared to strip you down to the last layer, whatever that means.'

'And you'd allow that!'

'Darling, I'll do anything possible to help you.'

'Why did you stand by when I was shackled to this fucking bed.'

'I couldn't do anything.'

'That is no answer.'

'He was blackmailing me. I'll tell you about it another time. Just now let's try to think how we can get away.'

'Would you be prepared to escape with me?'

'Of course. I'm still in love with you. I have always been in love with you.'

'Even before you met me?' Peter gave a cynical chuckle.

'I can't convince you of that. But it's true.'

'Why did you become one of his so-called Centurions?'

'He told me that it was necessary to try to save the world. He's terribly persuasive. He can hold you spellbound. It's impossible to deny him. I thought, anyway, you would become one of us, and we'd have no further need to quarrel. Why won't you?'

Peter replied: 'It sounded a great idea when he first spoke of it to me. I have genuine doubts about the efficacy of Pacem, even though I can tell by its effect on me that it does subdue one's aggressive instincts. I hate Barykov, but not enough to kill him, which I would have been happy to do before I took the drug. However, I'm not prepared to become a thief.'

'Even though the money will be used to save the world?'

'He's just another egotistical bastard who thinks he can put the world to rights. I can't and I won't give in.'

'He says you are condemning the world to a nuclear holocaust.'

'There is only one thing that can save the world. It's not a miracle drug. It's ordinary people's common sense.'

'We can't be certain of that.'

'Nothing is certain, Heidi. Life is always a gamble. We'll have to wait and find out.'

Heidi said in a despairing voice: 'What are we to do, then?'

Peter whispered: 'Escape.'

'Escape! How?'

After telling her about the crack of light he had seen at dawn, he pointed to the shadows at the rear of the cellar and said he suspected there was an opening in the ceiling. 'The big problem,' he added in a low tone, 'is that I would have to shift the bed over there to find out, which will make a grating noise and alert the guard.'

'Can we do it between us?'

'Yes, but it's bound to make some noise'. He paused and then added: 'But if we raise our voices loudly as if we're quarrelling he possibly won't hear it.'

'We have plenty to quarrel about.'

'You mean over the fact that you're supporting Barykov.'

He raised his voice.

Getting the idea, Heid responded in an even louder voice and declared 'It's a perfectly good scheme! 'It'll save billions of lives. Billions!'

'Yes, but at what expense!'

Peter lifted one end of the bed and signalled to Heidi to lift the other. However, she failed to lift the metal legs high enough and a scraping noise ensued.

Peter screamed: 'And at what cost! Your fucking Mr. Barykov thinks he's going to take over the world. Those stupid pills will cost a King's ransom and there'll never be able to persuade everyone to take them.'

They were inching the heavy bed towards the back of the cellar.

Heidi shouted: 'I love you, you stupid bastard. But to me Jack Barykov is a hero. No politicians have got the guts to try and achieve what he is attempting to do.'

Peter made a face, intending to encourage her to continue. But this made her laugh. Her end of the bed slipped from her grasp and crashed onto the floor.

Peter shouted in a stentorian tone: 'I LOVE YOU, SWEET MISTRESS. I SHALL ALWAYS LOVE YOU. YOU ARE MINE FOREVER.'

The bed was now in a suitable position to allow inspection of the ceiling. Clambering onto the soggy mattress, he continued to shout: 'Darling, you are so beautiful. My hands yearn to clasp that lovely ass of yours. And your breasts, your breasts, your lovely breasts. They fill me with delight ....'

He looked down, mouthed: 'Keep it up,' and felt the ceiling

Heidi continued:' Oh, how wonderful! Do it some more. Again and again and again!'

She suddenly exploded with muffled laughter, which he fervently hoped the guard would interpret as her climax.

Peter whispered, as he continued exploring the ceiling with his fingers: 'There's something here. I can feel a ridge. I think I've found a panel. For God's sake make more erotic noises, even though it's giving me a hard-on.'

In response to which Heidi shouted: 'More, more, my darling ... Oh, that's lovely' She followed this up with a scream of pleasure which convinced him that she had gone too far.

Suddenly, pushing against the panel he dislodged a mixture of earth and soot which, fell on his face, nearly blinding him. Then with an enormous effort, accompanied by a muffled grunt, which he hoped might sound to the guard like one of pleasure, he lifted the metal panel covered with earth and gravel, and moved it sideways.

A cool wind blew in his face and a pale moon appeared overhead. He jumped up several times and, finally, with a huge effort grasped the sides of the opening and levered himself through the opening. When he looked down, Heidi was standing on the bed, gazing up at him imploringly. He knelt down and tried to lift her by her hands through the hatch. But she slipped from his grasp, landing with a resounding thump on the bed. With great presence of mind, she shouted for the benefit of the guard: 'Oh, darling, please do that again.'

Finally, after he had succeeded in pulling her slender body through the opening, she collapsed into a heap beside him. He quickly raised her to her feet and whispered: 'That last orgasm of yours wouldn't fool anyone. Let's get out of here.'

32

This way,' Heidi whispered.

'That's not the way out.'

'The main gate will be guarded. I know a secondary road.'

'OK. Let's get moving.'

Heidi led him through a side garden and through a rusty gate that squealed alarmingly, into a field where Peter made out the vague shapes of sleeping cows.

'Are we out of the manse territory?'

'Not yet, this is a field he leased to a local farmer.'

A depressing reminder hat he was bankrupt came to Peter. But he thrust it from his mind and asked Heid if she had any money. When she shook her head, he said: 'Not to worry. We'll be alright as soon as I can get to a telephone.'

He added after a while: 'We'll go to America or Australia and make a fresh start, that is, after I've nailed Barykov. But we're not in the clear yet.'

Hearing a distant scream, he asked anxiously: 'What was that?'

'A fox,' she replied.

'OK. I'm so glad you came with me.'

'I never want to leave you again,' she responded squeezing his hand, as they walked briskly through grass heavily soaked with dew.

'When I put my money into Barykov's International Learning Institute, I never dreamed that it would come to this. Did he tell you that he had this mad scheme of his in mind?'

'He talked vaguely about a plan that would bring about world peace. But I didn't take him seriously until he asked me to become a Centurion.'

Peter remembered that his late boss, Sir Charles Goldstein, had once remarked; "Nobody is more than a hair's breadth from madness at any one time." He thought how right he was. Barykov was completely mad, another false Messiah convinced that he could save the world. No doubt the judge would take his madess into account when he sentenced him for his various criminal acts.

Still worried by Heidi's refusal to condemn Barykov, he said: 'Darling, tell me again what gave you the idea that you were in love with me before we met in the Suzie Cue pub. There must have been some reason why you imagined you had seen me before.'

'I had this very strong sense of deja vu as soon as I saw you.'

'But it wasn't deja vu, Heidi. You had already seen a photograph of me from the Financial Times.'

'I know. But I had already met you in a previous life.'

It was pointless to argue with such a superstitious person, he thought. His attention was distracted by the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

'How far is it to the road?'

'Not far. There's a gap in the hedge, we cross a bridge over a stream and from there it's about a hundred yards.'

'OK. We'll hitch a lift when we hit the road.' The barking was becoming louder.

He took her hand again and lengthened his stride as they ran towards the hedge. As they approached he could see that is was covered with ripe blackberries, glistening in the moolight. Heidi moved along the hedge until she found an opening. The vegetation tore their clothing as they pushed through. Peter suddenly remembered that his little handheld computer, the source of their present troubles, was called a Blackberry.

They ran along a narrow, winding lane, the moonlight throwing groteseque shadows in front of them, his bulkier form merging with Heidi's slighter figure running beside him. Thinking of her obstinate refusal to accept the truth of how they had met, he decided that her incurable romanticism would be intolerable but for the fact that he loved her.

Noisy barking caught his attention again..

He said: 'Thanks, darling, for coming with me. We mustn't let those bastards catch us.'

She exclaimed breathlessly: 'Sir Peter's little hussy is going to stay with him for ever. There's the bridge I told you about.'

Ahead was a wooden structure with slender parapet, spanning a small stream that glinted in the moonlight. Glancing back, he saw a group of three men, with alsation dogs straining at the leash. Possessed by a frantic desire for freedom, he urged Heidi along at an even faster rate. But she stumbled and fell on the wet, muddy ground. She pulled herself up into an awkward position, propping herself on her hands and legs and then fell back again onto the wet ground. He grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder and staggered towards the bridge. But just as he reached it, a snarling dog sank his teeth in his calf. He pitched forward, Heidi slid off his shoulder onto the wooden hand rail and rolled into the water.

At least the dogs won't get her was his first thought.

He guard pulled off his dog and said deferentially: 'Sorry, sir. But orders is orders. Mr. Barykov says we have to bring you back at all costs to discuss your financial arrangements.'

He would say that, wouldn't he, Peter thought, cynically. He replied curtly: 'Never mind that. For Christ's sake, get Heidi.'

She was lying motionless in the water.

Two of the dog handlers strolled at a maddeningly slow pace down to the bank of the narrow stream and pulled her from the stream..

Peter followed them, the guard all the while keeping a restraining hand on his arm.

They laid Heidi on the grassy bank. One of the men shouted as they approached: 'Call an ambulance on your mobile. She's unconscious.'

33

The police were questioning the guards in the manse entrance hall. As they waited to be interviewed, Peter sat facing Barykov in his office. His brooding, dark-stubbled face, looked positively evil by the light of a single reading lamp. But he did not feel any hostility. It must be the Pacem he thought. Anyway it was pointless to hate in these tragic circumstances.

Heidi's body had been taken by ambulance to a local hospital. The paramedics were not sure whether she had died either from a broken neck or from drowning. Barykov had just told Peter in a matter of fact way that their partnership was at end. The International Learning Institute was bankrupt and would be placed in the hands of the Official Receiver.

'Why didn't you alert me earlier,' Peter asked.

'I had other, more important, things on my mind,' Barykov said in a lofty tone.

'Like robbing my bank for example.'

'It was necessary,' Barymov said, this time sounding like a broken man.

'Where are Li Hua and Rajiv?' Peter enquired.

'I've sent them home. I'll find some way to save the Movement. Your refusal to cooperate has been very damaging but we shall succeed ultimately.'

'Your criminal activities have resulted in Heidi's death. That's something you'll have to live with for the rest of your life.'

'It was an unfortunate accident.'

'It wouldn't have happened if you hadn't decided to rob my bank. Incidentally, why didn't you approach me directly when you learned that I had been made a senior director, instead of using Heidi as bait?'.

'I telephoned your office but your secretary wouldn't put me through.'

'As a result of your cunning scheme Heidi has lost her life.'

'She shouldn't have run away with you.'

'What was she supposed to do? Stay there and watch you torture me into submission!'

'I was just trying to change your mindset, so that you would agree to be my chief Centurion.'

'Bullshit. Too much vodka has blunted your sense of decency – if you ever had one. '

' I didn't expect Heidi to fall in love with you.'

'OK. But how did you persuade her to do nothing to help me when I was tied up in the cellar.'

'What makes you think I did?'

Barykov rubbed his stubbled chin, and then looked round the office as though seeing it for the first time.

'She told me you blackmailed her.'

'Nonsense.'

'So what are you going to do now?' Peter enquired.

'Do you intend to bring criminal charges?'

'Is there any reason why I shouldn't? '

'Yes. There are many reasons. Although my attempt to obtain funds that would set the Movement on an irresistible march forward has failed, I intend to go ahead, even though at a slower pace. I am going to canvass rich men, asking them to pay sustantial funds to advance the cause of world peace, in consideration of which their names will be inscribed on a huge plaque at the United Nations. be able to do that if I am in prison. So I appeal to you to forgive the personal affront you have received and think of the enormous benefit that will accrue to mankind if you let me get on with my job. Do it for Heidi.'

'She's dead,' Pete said bitterly. 'Thanks to you.'

'She shouldn't have helped you to escape. But incurable romantics often seek a romantic death.'

'That is not true. She would prefer to have lived.'

'Be that as it may, romantics play an essential part in the dynamics of life.'

'What on earth are you talking about?'

Barykov smiled and wiped his unshaven face with his hand. 'Without them the world would be very dull and uninteresting. Look at how she managed to turn you, a listless, tired, middle-aged banker into an adventurous entrepreneur of heroic proportions by showing you another side of yourself in her novel.'

Peter said disdainfully. 'It was your cunning plan to use her as bait that resulted in her death.'

'You were greedy and wanted a share in the loot. Don't try to blame me for what happened subsequently to Heidi.'

'Well, she's dead and she'll never come back, ' Peter said with a tremor in his voice.

'She will live again.'

'How can you say such a thing. No one comes back from the grave.'

'The latest scientific thinking suggests that we do.'

'You're a sorcerer, Barykov. You twist words so they seem the opposite of truth.'

'Mathematics, the purest of the sciences, uses a sign that means infinite. If we accept the reality of infinity, then the inexorable laws of chance means that every possible combination of circumstances must come about. That must include coming to life again. As a Christian, don't you believe that Jesus rose from the dead?'

'Not in any physical sense.'

'What other sense is there?'

'He lives on in other people's memory. The best way to influence people is to suffer and die, which was precisely what he did.'

'You don't believe in miracles.'

'Certainly not.'

'They are all around you, my friend.'

'I'll believe a miracle when I see one. And don't call me your friend. You still don't seem to accept how abominably you have treated me.'

Peter touched the plaster which a paramedic had placed over the painful wound the dog had made on his calf and said: 'You certainly deserve to go to prison.'

'The prospect of going to prison doesn't worry me. My only concern is that the Movement I have founded will succeed. Perhaps you would like to take over the leadership while I am in prison.'

'Don't be absurd. It has no chance whatsoever of succeeding'

'You're a man of little faith, Peter Hargeaves.'

'Your so-called Movement will go nowhere. But if you had stuck to the Internet business you might have made us both very rich.'

'You insist on seeing it from a financial perspective. I have a higher calling.'

'It's people like you and Stalin and Pol Pot and Mao Tse Tung who make a hash of things in this world. If you had behaved like a normal person, we'd have made money and Heidi would still be alive.' He continued brokenly: 'You still haven't explained how you managed to stop Heidi from interfering when you had me tied up.'

'That is a matter of little consequence. What is important is to save the world from a nuclear disaster. The profit motive you so much admire won't to do that. It needs idealism and faith, qualities which bankers tend not to possess.'

'You can say that, Barykov, safe in your little cocoon of self-righteousness. But in the end it's good, pragmatic banker's commonsense that keeps us all on an even keel. Not appeals to wishy-washy religion.'

'I'm not religious. I don't just pray for world peace. I do something about it.'

'Like robbing a bank.'

'My intentions were good. The only thing I regret is your folly in refusing to co-operate, which has put the whole project in jeopardy.'

'You're just another of those demagogues who set up imaginary bogeymen so that they can take credit for knocking them down.'

'If you read and understood history, you would know that what I am warning against is real, not some idle, imaginary threat. Human beings are predisposed towards hate and aggression because our brains are loaded with the deadly reflexes of our reptilian ancestors Training and conditioning has failed time and again to overcome them. That is why we must get rid of our dangerous impulses as well as the nuclear, chemical and biological weapons that threaten our extinction.'

'You're a misguided, superstitious old fool, Barykov. And you still haven't come clean on how you managed to blackmail Heidi.'

At that moment a policeman knocked on the door and asked them to come into the main hall.

'Are you going to arrest me?' Barykov asked.

'The Inspector will decide when he has interviewed you,' the policeman replied stolidly.

They got up from their chairs and trying to be first, jostled each other in the door-opening. Peter was forced to pull back and allow Barykov's bulky frame to pass through. As he followed him in the passage-way, Barykov said over his shoulder: 'At this stage of the game I'll tell you about Heidi. You know she had a child.'

'Yes, she had it adopted.'

'No,' Barykov said, curtly. 'She killed it.'

'What!'

Brykov continued: 'She murdered her baby while suffering from post-natal depression and she was frightened you would find out. Threatening to tell you was the only way I could stop her intervening on your behalf.'

They emerged into the main hall, where a desk had been set up behind which a police inspector was sitting. Two uniformed policeman with expressionless faces stood on either side of him..

'That was a disgusting thing to do,' Peter exclaimed.

Barykov said with a sardonic grin. 'I was fully justified in doing it. After all, she was living proof that we all at some time have murder in our hearts!'

A mad fury overwhelmed Peter.

The inspector commented cheerfully, as they entered the main entrance hall 'That's an interesting array of weapons you have on your wall, Mr. Barykov.'

'Yes,' Barykov replied, 'The Reverend Timothy Brown who once lived here was an avid collector.'

'I see you have a crossbow by the side of those claymores. I'm very interested in crossbows. I have a couple at home. That looks quite an interesting one.'

Barykov said: 'Would you like to take a look at it?'

'Yes, I would,' said the inspector absently, riffling through some papers on his desk.

'Would you hand it to him?' Barykov said to Peter, who was standing closer to the wall containing the weapons.

'OK, Peter responded.

He lifted it carefully from the two hooks on which it rested .But as he turned round, he inadvertently touched the trigger. The crossbow seemed to take a life of its own. The bolt flew across the hall and lodged itself in Barykov's chest. Blood spurted through his shirt and he collapsed onto the parquet floor. The two policeman rushed towards him. Peter, horrified, followed, and was just in time to hear Barykov utter very faintly through his horribly contorted face, a word that sounded like 'Eternity.'

34

Some time after these events, when Peter and his wife were in Manchester, they decided to visit Heidi's grave. Bess and two similarly well-dressed women were standing by the graveside. They moved away as he and Rachel approached. Peter guessed that Heidi's mother had paid for the elaborate marble slab over the grave, which had been carved to resemble a book. The inscription read: "She created as much as she could in the short time she was allowed." Reminded of the heroic picture she had painted of him in her unfinished novel, he felt unworthy. Nor did his victory over Barykov give him much comfort.

Rachel had been surprisingly forgiving, when he confessed all. The events in which he had taken part had been given considerable prominence in the press and she was proud of the part he had played in thwarting an attempted bank robbery. The removal of an ovarian cyst had restored her sense of well being. She was now much more tolerant and no longer criticised his professional career.

'Death by accident' was the official verdict on Barykov's death. No proceedings were taken against Peter. He still had his job, because, as the newspapers put it, his heroic resistance had saved the bank billions of pounds of its clients' money. There was even a possibility that he might be credited with some assets retrieved from the defunct International Learning institute, including, ironically, the Creative Writing School.

Rachel didn't even seem over-concerned by his financial losses. 'You'll recover in time and make up for it,' she assured him. And he supposed he would.