Real Characters

Chapter One

Peter Hargreaves, City banker, was alone in his semi-detached house in North London. His wife was in New York on a business trip, his teenage children were out with friends. He heated a meal in the microwave, glanced idly through his son's sci-fi novel and watched the news on television. Having dutifully turned it off, he then took his labrador dog, Rambo, for a walk. When he returned, still feeling restless, he decided to visit a local pub. Strolling towards it in warm evening sunshine, he congratulated himself on having discovered some well-camouflaged flaws in an astutely pitched, glossy business plan that had arrived on his desk that afternoon.

A loud football commentary was sounding from a wide-screen television as he entered the Suzie Cue pub. Young men were chatting to mini-skirted girls with bejewelled midriffs. A strenuous arm-wrestling contest was in progress. He bought a pint of beer and carried it into 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 won the frame with the aid of an astonishing fluke. Watching the black ball fall in slow motion into an unintended pocket, Peter reflected on the surprising change that had occurred recently in his own fortunes. His boss had died unexpectedly, leaving a vacancy which 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.'

Remembering that his wife had recently complained that he lacked a spirit of adventure, 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 devil. 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.'

Intrigued by the invitation but 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 vaguely 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 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, glad to have escaped without harm to his reputation.

CHAPTER TWO

Three weeks later he saw Heidi again in the High Street. Encumbered with shopping bags, she was about to step onto a pedestrian crossing. She retreated onto the pavement, when she saw him, ignoring the hooting of an impatient driver.

She 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 walking towards an estate agent.

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

Peter didn't answer. He was intent on finding a house suitable for his appointment 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. Their fifteen-year old son, Winston, had neglected to switch off his music machine when he left the house. 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 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 a magazine she had asked him to buy 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 her, and said: 'Just to remind you that I still love you.'

'What's come over you in your old age?' He kissed her and whispered:' Shall we go upstairs.'

'No. She shook her head. 'I don't feel sexy.'

'O.K. ' he said ruefully. 'I'll read the Financial Times instead.'

It's a long time since we last made love, he thought. But I suppose that's normal for people of our age.

Unable to sleep that night, he lay awake, reviewing the financing of a new pipeline in Asia. As an expert on foreign contracts, he had been asked to make a balanced presentation of the risks involved.

CHAPTER THREE

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 recently been measured by a Savile Row tailor. He then hailed a taxi to the bank's headquarters in Canary Wharf. As the lift swept him up to the fourteenth floor, he recalled the bank's former 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 much of the cabling redundant. Foresight was expected of bankers and admirals alike. He was going to need plenty in his new job.

He glanced at some e-mails 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 impress his colleagues, although he harboured doubts as to whether 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 Seven/Seven, which consisted of multiple sections of girders made of shining blood-coloured metal welded together to form a human skeleton. The face consisted of the famous London Underground icon.

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. After making 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 Rachel 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 to take 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 monkey sculpture. 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. 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 remark, aware that he was overshadowed by his sister's superior academic performance. It contained, anyway, an element of truth. Jade had a pragmatic streak and shared his own belief that enlightened self-interest was what 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 somewhat like the Peter Principle, which states that people are invariably promoted to a level above their ability to cope before being demoted.'

'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. On the rare occasions when he did, she poured scorn on the small amount of money involved and contrasted his cautious behaviour with that of several famous entrepreneurs, who gambled their personal wealth and made vast fortunes..

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 golf lessons for him, bearing in mind his forthcoming round with an important client.

CHAPTER FOUR

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 make a thorough assessment of 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, Sydney, a journalist who, coincidentally, lived in Sydney, Australia. His sister, Gloria, was a beauty consultant, in Los Angeles, 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, which 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: '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.'

CHAPTER FIVE

'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 the following day 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 the swiftness with which Barykov had asked a return for his favour. But he took a more tolerant 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 and then turned back, having remembered that Gerald and Ursula Patman had been invited for a game of bridge. When he returned, Rachel was busy laying out a table cloth on the kitchen table and had 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 had sold very well in her native country. 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 he would never divulge it in case he went bankrupt.

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 for both of us 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 one 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.

As Peter poured out more drinks. Gerald suddenly 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, in spite of his being of Greek origin. But I suppose if we had a Jewish queen people would complain she was too Jewish?'

Peter considered 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 sometime – 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.

CHAPTER SIX

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. 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 in Britain. 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 keep you on 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 at his reminder that she slept with him. His love-making was energetic, mechanical and totally self-absorbed. 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, I shall do 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 had enquired.

'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.'

'Masculine pigs are very necessary.'

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

'That is a pity. Pigs don't wantonly kill each other. Human beings do.'

One of the bedrooms housed the computer equipment he used to run his Distant Learning web sites. 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 indifferent 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, one day she might 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.'

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

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

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Internet was forging ahead. Peter reflected, on his way to Barykov's house. Rachel's course with the Open University had been very successful.. Internet-based learning had the potential to become extremely profitable. Barykov's acumen, his language and business skills were all impressive. In addition to which 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 had not yet returned from a Masonic meeting. She asked: 'Would he 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, settling down afterwards beside Peter's chair, panting happily.

'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.'

'My fault?'

'You're the chief character. But you don't co-operate when I ask you questions.'

'Why don't you just make up characters in your head? 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 produced a packet of cigarettes from her trouser pocket and lit up. Drawing on it hungrily, she continued: 'Jack's theory is that the best way to make believable characters is to find real people with whom you can empathise 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 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.'

'Do you propose to base all your characters on real people?'

'No. But you happen to be the central character in the book '

'What kind of book are you writing – 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. The former communists from Russia seemed to have taken to capitalism like ducks to water.

He noticed a pungent smell 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?'

'Yes.'

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, 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. 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, Peter guessed that Barykov had sold his cello because he was running short of capital for his business. Thanks to his own recent promotion, he could 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 capable of taking a courageous leap into the unknown.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Six months later the sun was shining brightly into a large bedroom in Ayreshire. The large, stone-built former manse which contained the room was the headquarters of the company Peter now jointly owned with Jack Barykov. The previous owner had bought fishing and shooting rights, which allowed 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 entrepreneurs Rachel admired. He had not yet told her of his new venture, and was looking forward to her expression of surprise when he casually let slip that he had joined the ranks of the multimillionaires. She was under the impression that his travels Scotland were concerned with of the bank's investments.

Another 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 put every penny he could borrow into Barykov's Internet enterprise. He was no longer a routine-dominated banker who always played safe. Heidi had persuaded him that he resembled the chief character in her novel – a high-rolling adventurer with 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 lovemaking delighted and astonished him.

A stained, sepia photograph of a stern-looking Victorian clergyman hung on the wall behind the bed. Getting out of bed, Peter nodded towards the photograph asked: 'Did we shock him last night, do you think.'

Heidi shook her head.

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

They dressed and went downstairs for breakfast in the staff canteen presided over by Mrs. McGregor, a cook who had worked for 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 a few 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 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. They could find nothing against 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 believed their affair was good for the Company. Her duties at the former manse involved supervising the cleaners and looking after the welfare of staff who worked there. She told Peter she was anxious to take on further responsibilities.

When Peter entered 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 ideological 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 software that would flash a warning should danger signs appear in the company's finances. Barykov pointed out that it could adversely affect their stock market prospects if such an event became general knowledge that this had happened, so 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. Moth-eaten 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 ask Heidi to arrange to have the garden tidied up.

Climbing a steep slope, he saw in the distance Ailsa Craig, a small island rising like an irregular brown 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 wooden 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 extremely rich. There was every prospect of owning holiday homes abroad, a yacht, a personal jet aeroplane 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 of all 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 pleasure he had experienced the previous night aroused him again and he wished she were beside him. During interludes between lovemaking she told him extremely funny bawdy stories. The praise she heaped on Barykov sometimes irritated him, but 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 the luxury of thinking what might happen if the business failed. He would be personally bankrupt. Any breath of financial wrongdoing could result in the loss of his job and might even preclude him from working again in the banking 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 at Barykov's house. Heidi told him he was out but would be returning soon. He sat in Barykov's armchair, looking at the cello, now back in its familiar place, and congratulated himself on his shrewd move.

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

She drew up a chair, 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.'

'The facts talked for themselves.'

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

'Recognised me?'

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

'Don't give me that hogwash,' 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 lifelike characters.'

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

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

At that moment Jack Barykov appeared. He announced 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. He stood still, and made no effort to move away. As he walked home, the touch of her moist lips lingering in his mind, 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 continued reading. It was painfully apparent that Rachel 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 be able to see exactly how he appeared in her eyes by reading her novel.

CHAPTER NINE

An oil price increase improved the prospects for the new pipeline which had occupied his attention for so long. But the possibility of inflation 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. But there was no alternative. The high degree of socialising demanded by his promotion, which included networking, 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 also be greatly enhanced and numerous offers of directorships would come his way. Success might even heal his marriage.

Heidi called him on his mobile 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 guessed, had 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 her meal, 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. 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 must have made her 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 perhaps she's right. Perhaps she has a clearer insight into my character than my own wife. The compelling proof of which is shown by the fact that I have just earned my spurs by investing in a booming 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.

CHAPTER TEN

While an accountant was describing a recently developed, complicated new financial tool for estimating cash flow, he found himself speculating on how he would have behaved in Sir Peter Crawford's situation. To run would be shameful. To defy the King might result in the loss of his head. He had to ask the accountant to repeat himself. Apologising for his loss of concentration, he explained: '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 his Regency house, the value of which had already increased considerably, confirming his belief that his judgement was sound and increasing his confidence in his decision to invest in Barykov's Internet business. Refurbishment was still in process. He and Rachel were sleeping in separate rooms. He went up to his bedroom and changed into casual clothes before coming downstairs for dinner.

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

'Not bad. I'm working on an interesting case of a contested will. By the way, Sydney 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 arrangement, 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 recent promotion.

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, he was worried that his brother might find out that he had taken a risk – albeit a small one – with their mother's money.

'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 mobile for a moment, checked his engagements 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. At the age of fifteen he had been invited into a barn by a wild-eyed dairy-maid who worked on a neighbouring farm. She thrust a breast into his mouth and masturbated him.. It happened the day before he was due to return to boarding-school. Coming home at the end of term, he was bitterly disappointed to find that she had left the neighbourhood.

He said: 'Do you know where the card table is located?'

'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 poignantly 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 – the locking of antlers at rutting time someone had likened it to – 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 now jointly owned with Barykov. When 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.

.

* * *

While Gerald Patman was being shown over the house, he drew attention to a faint odour in the basement and suggested that perhaps a former occupant of the house had buried his lover there. The modern furniture in the dining-room, imported at enormous cost from Italy, he insisted was bizarrely out of character with the house. 'Minimalism,' he added, giving a fair imitation of Oscar Wilde, 'is for those who cannot afford maximalism ... And there are far too many bedrooms. One of these days you'll regret buying this white elephant.'

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

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

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

Rachel then proudly showed them one of the bathrooms, airy, light and modernised to the highest standard, Gerald commented: 'It's very nice but the house will fall down if that gigantic tub springs a leak.'

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 to collect the sketch, he wondered if the new owners were as happy as he and Rachel had once been. Their marriage had deteriorated but they would probably stay together, he decided. What would be the point in making divorce lawyers like Gerald Patman rich.

Ursula, welcomed him at the front-door. She 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 housecoat 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. And he didn't mean the ones with sand – he meant Archie Bunkers – American racists like our own Alf Garnett.'

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

' I told him not 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, and 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 sad and 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 still frightens 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, reminding him 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 Heidi's face suddenly 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.

What's happening, he asked himself, as he drove home, feeling thoroughly confused. I. I must be in love with Heidi..

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rachel was working on her 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. She remarked: 'I look as though I've seen a ghost.'

'It probably reflects Ursula's thoughts 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 Sydney that the Trust deeds and documents were held by the solicitors and would not therefore be available for inspection 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 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 would forgive her because she was in love with him. He certainly owed her a debt of gratitude for having saved him from Ursula, although cuckolding Gerald would have been a just punishment for his dreadful jokes.

The idea of appearing in Heidi's imaginary love scene appealed to him. Barykov, thankfully, was too old to be a rival but fortunately possessed enough know-how to ride this second wave of Internet commerce and capture a share of the enormous profits available.

He studied again Barykov's business figures. They had been certified by two firms of chartered accountants. There was an element of risk in any commercial enterprise, so why, he asked himself, had he gambled so much on this ambitious Internet scheme devised by an expatriate Russian? The answer was that Barykov had got the moment exactly right: the first wave of Internet commerce had fallen flat on its face but the second had caught the spirit of the times and the snags had been ironed out. Heidi's assertion that, like Peter Crawford, he was an adventurer at heart showed a true novelist's insight. The only reason he had been cautious when he was younger had been out of concern for the welfare of his young family. Rachel's accusation that he was unprepared to take a risk, was very unfair. As Heidi had correctly guessed, at heart he was a true entrepreneur . Her judgement of him, however, was wrong in only one respect: he wasn't exactly like the penis-directed adventurer, Sir Peter Crawford, she had depicted in her Restoration drama. He was a sensitive man capable of falling deeply in love.

The following evening, after dinner, he informed Rachel, as she sat in the study surrounded by cardboard files, that he was going out 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, drawing some comfort from the fact that even if she was slightly suspicious of his evening mission to see Barykov, her feminine intuition had completely failed to tell her of Ursula's attempt to seduce him. He hadn't mentioned it, out of concern that Rachel might suspect him of making the first move. He intended to keep his business venture secret for as long as possible. Heidi would soon leave to help Barykov set up the company headquarters and he would be able to make frequent business visits to Scotland to see her there.

Barykov gave him documents to sign when he arrived at his house. He was now joint-managing director of The International Learning Institute and shared ownership of the new headquarters.

After the signing, Barykov showed him a 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 a strange blend of a Scottish-Russian accent. 'I'm a sassy soaker up of dialects, d'yer ken.'

Barykov's extraordinary attempt at emulating a Scots dialect amused Peter.

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 sipped the whisky, reckoning 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 whenever I 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 the first few bars of Dvojak's cello concerto, making Peter feel that he had invested wisely in this multi-talented man.

When Heidi reappeared wearing a peasant smock, he enjoyed 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. 'Make yourself scarce, Heidi.'

'Certainly, lord and master.'

She curtseyed mockingly and left the room.

Barykov put the cello back in its accustomed position, returned to his armchair and said to Peter with a quizzical expression: '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 understand each other.'

'I suppose it is 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 once said that a man was never so innocently employed as when he was making money. But I have my own reason. I have an important idea I wish to propagate.'

''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 ground. 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.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Peter put his shaving-brush back in the cabinet and looked at himself in the mirror. His face looked younger and he congratulated himself on the good fortune that had recently come his way. 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. He was loath to lose such an efficient P.A. and the news reminded him of his own marital problems.

The oil price was going down and might reduce the slender margins on the pipeline project. Mike Montgomery told him that they must be ready to disclose the generous provision they had made for possible future losses. '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. It suggested to Peter that perhaps he had underestimated amount of guile and deception that was needed to stay 'on top of the greasy pole.' Now, however, he had become a mature professional, capable like his boss, of assessing risks with a cold objectivity. He was satisfied that he had applied exactly the same criteria to his private investment.

Gerald Patman had once tried to provoke him into an argument by declaring that a banker was just a bookmaker with social ambitions. How wrong that analysis was! Bankers dealt with more important issues than football matches and horses: they were forced every day of their daily lives to make critical judgements on individuals, companies and countries. Whole economies could be wrecked if their estimates were wrong. It was not too much to hope that Rachel would eventually come to appreciate the important role he played in the world.

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

He led her to a table in a shadowy corner of the snooker room, in case one of his former neighbours happened to be in the pub.

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

'A married woman – a friend of the family– 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..'

'Supposing I was drunk with passion?'

'That would be different. 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.'

'Wouldn't that also apply to Jack Barykov?'

'He's much older then you. And he's very eccentric.'

'Why do you say that?'

'He says 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 didn't you meet me at the house?'

'I couldn't be absolutely sure at the time I phoned you that he'd be gone. He can be very unpredictable. But now 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. But not since I met you. Don't worry about Jack. He's completely wrapped up in his business. He just used 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 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 stood up and tore off her jumper, exclaiming: 'Phew! it's hot in here,' and then

sat on his lap and kissed him tenderly.

He savoured her lips, hoping that her lovemaking would be as inventive and imaginative as her writing.

Then 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.'

'OK.. But I'd like you to be sober when we make love.'

'I'll make a cup of tea. Read this while I'm gone and tell me what you think.'

She took out typescript from a chest-of-drawers, and handed it to him. It was a raunchy narrative with a background story of true love Just the stuff to keep housewives 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 yearning to spend the night with you. But we don't want to make trouble at this very moment. Please, darling. There will be plenty of time later. What do you think of my novel?'

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

'Did you like the scene where they make love?'

'Yes, but why do you spend so many pages describing the sexual act? You wouldn't spend pages describing how someone blows his nose.' He added quickly: 'Of course, I'm only joking.'

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

'How right! I wish we could make love now.'

'You'll love the passage in the book later on when they spread cherry juice all over each other's bodies.'

'Is there any 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 something out soon.'

'OK.' He gave a deep sigh and said: 'Tell me when.'

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

Remembering that 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 accompany you in 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.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Peter sat in his office, thinking about the night he had just spent with Heidi. She had insisted that he use exactly the same love-making technique as her fictional character, Sir Peter Crawford, spelling it out step by step. And afterwards she assured him triumphantly that he was Sir Peter Crawford's complete doppelganger.

'Have I earned a knighthood?' Peter enquired, grinning.

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

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

Colleen commented that he looked cheerful, as she came in with a pile of documents for him to sign.

'That's because the Footsie has recovered its poise,' he declared. And added: 'But don't go on a stock-buying-spree just yet.'

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

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 turned into a beautiful swan. Which reminded him of a 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 that 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 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 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 its genes.

'You're always quoting Barykov?' he said reproachfully..

She was hunched up in bed, legs apart, her splendid breasts exposed by her flimsy night dress. She answered him with a serious expression: 'He has a remarkably well furnished brain. When he says something interesting, I quote him. Nothing wrong in that, surely.'

Peter, feeling that Heidi had too high an opinion of his business partner, said: 'I guess not. I have a considerable respect for him. But, 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 conjure up vision of 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 going on all around me.'

'Jack still manages 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 the 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, wondering whether 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 guess 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?'

'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, making 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.

CHAPTER 14

'You could do with a few more workouts,' Peter's fitness trainer, told him the next day, motioning with his forefinger at Peter's abdomen without actually making contact. He would have touched me I weren't a director, Peter thought with satisfaction. It was his privilege not to be tapped by the proletariat. 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 his body as he remembered their lovemaking and he mopped his brow with a cambric handkerchief.

Rachel had come back from Bournemouth and reported that her mother, who was suffering from dementia, had asked to go into a care home. Peter assured himself that when his plans took effect, the extra expense would not punch too much of a hole in their finances. As an afterthought, he asked himself whether by "their" did he mean his and Rachel's, or his and Heidi's finances?

The previous night Rachel had entertained Gerald and Ursula Patman, together with a junior executive at the bank, Thomas Greenhalgh, and his young, pretty, lawyer wife, Daisy. Ursula had greeted Peter with a friendly smile when she entered the house, having seemingly forgotten her wanton behaviour. He was vaguely disappointed – he had half hoped for a conspiratorial wink.

Gerald spared them his witticisms during the meal, but eventually lived up to his reputation by saying pointedly to Daisy, who was eight-months pregnant: 'Would the Catholic Church regard it as a miracle if the Virgin Mary had been inseminated by IVF?' Ursula broke in and said that she would like to have children by any means, including IVF. Tom then tactfully turned their attention away from Gerald's tasteless remark by expressing admiration for Ursula's portrait of Rachel, now hanging above the fireplace.

Rachel served paella, followed by some delicious desserts from a nearby patisserie. Peter, having decanted some bottles 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 your side when contentious issues arose. One, due to come up shortly, was the outside directorships. Sir Michael, the bank's chief executive, wished to ban them, because, as he put it, he favoured what he called 'total commitment.'

Peter mentioned the Urinating Monkey he had considered buying at the Harcourt exhibition and succeeded, as he had intended, in 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?'

'We're discussing aesthetics not the law,' Gerald reminded her.

'What's the difference? Tom enquired.

Gerald, tilted his chair to a dangerous angle, and putting his hands behind his head, said: 'Never mind the difference. there's an important legal consideration: If the monkey didn't piss genuine urine, wouldn't you be entitled to return it under the trades description act?'

'What was the asking price?' Ursula enquired.

Still smiling at Gerald's comment, 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 replied.

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 signed Salvador Dali it would be worth millions. That's unfair, don't you agree, Peter?'

Trying to recall the remark Barykov had made about an exhibit at the Harcourt Art Exhibition, Peter didn't immediately answer.

Rachel interceded: 'Come on, Peter. You've been asked for your opinion.'

He gave a doubtful grimace and said: 'I am inclined to agree. What do you think, Tom?'

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

'My paintings don't fetch high prices,' Ursula complained, looking at Peter with an accusing expression, as he refilled her glass.

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

Magda's entrance at that moment made Peter wonder whether 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 a hideously expensive diversion of plumbing.

Later that night, as Rachel read a magazine, Peter lay back with his hands behind his head, and said: 'It went off all right, didn't it.'

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

Peter's thoughts turned towards his business partner. He had told Peter some really horrific stories about the KGB and had intimated that the British secret services were no less ruthless. He had also informed Peter that some new software had enabled him to reduce the numbers of staff, adding with a sly grin: 'As we used to say in Russia, when we eliminated people, "Goodbye, enemies, now let's drink to new friends."'

Peter was encouraged by the progress that the business had made. Heidi gave him boundless love and asked nothing in return. And this confirmed that he was at heart exactly the kind of entrepreneurial hero his wife declared she so much admired, while denying that he possessed those desirable qualities. Everyone else recognised his new found confidence. Alluding to some of his recent work, Sir Michael had recently said approvingly: "Cometh the hour cometh the man,". But of course, neither his boss nor anyone else suspected the full extent of the changes that had taken place in his life.

The move to Scotland had been a blessing. No need 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 try to claim her back. But it seemed very unlikely.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

During one of their business meetings, Peter had asked Barykov why he had encouraged Heidi to continue with her writing with little chance of her getting published.

'It keeps her happy,' Barykov answered.

'Isn't it cruel to encourage her illusions? She told me you compared her with Catherine Cookson.'

'Telling her how good she is helps to maintain her self esteem.' A cleft appeared between Barykov's black, bushy eyebrows and he enquired: 'Do you get depressed when your favourite football team loses?'

'Sometimes.'

'Since the game – any game – could be settled by the toss of a coin, doesn't this show how we all deceive ourselves.'

'What does that have to do with Heidi?'

'I've just shown how we all deceive ourselves. So why deprive her of the comforting thought that one day she will write a best-seller? If you're so concerned, buy a publishing house for her.'

'Are you serious?'

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

Peter, after a pause, said: 'The Creative Writing school gives a poor return on our investment.'

'It more than earns its keep as an attention-grabber. When students discover they lack talent, they invariably sign up for another course, which bolsters our total 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 out-dated style. I wrote a story in a modern vein about a girl who wanted to leave the Soviet Union for Israel and I was given a hard time by the apparatchiks.

'What made you write that particular book?'

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

'You're not Jewish, are you?'

'No. But I began to wonder why my paternal ancestors refused to conform. I was at the 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 shot him and his son just the same. When I had finished my research I wrote the book. It was 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 their story- tellers. Novelists can only earn that respect by fulfilling their obligation to tell a good yarn. Which is what Heidi does.'

' Does Heidi have any relations in Manchester?'

'She has one. She telephones her occasionally.'

Peter eyes fell on the cello and 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 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 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 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. My mentioning it was one of the things 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 to the West, Barykov had been helped by the British secret service.

Barykov said broodingly:'You know, Peter, a man is like an onion with 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 official 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 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 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 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, always 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 worse. But underneath he's really quite a reasonable sort of guy. Nevertheless, Barykov makes me feel uneasy. I suppose the real reason is that I resent the fact that Heidi slept with him. I don't like her being his servant. Perhaps 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 that Ursula had not confessed all. '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, which are 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 looking when they waggle their bottoms at me seductively. I used to have one job and now I have two., Which is in breach of company regulations. Sir Michael, having made millions from outside directorships, 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 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 Gwyn, 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 in bed with me, I wouldn't care which angle I had set this damned mattress.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Winston was slumped in his chair, eating corn flakes, 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 and wondered on his way to work whether Winston resented his warning concerning the maids. His approach to the problem had been a bit heavy handed, he reflected. It crossed his mind, as he drove past the MI5 building, that he probably knew more of what was going on in that hush- hush building than he did of the thoughts 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 had been well invested.

Colleen, already rotund from her pregnancy, 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 would attend the reunion.

'Can you spare the time?'

'I'll adjust my schedule,' he commented, thoughtfully, at the same time highlighting 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.

'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 can 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 said nothing until they joined the M1 motorway. Soon, after overtaking a large container lorry, he had a sudden inspiration.

'She's not your aunt, is she. She's your mother?'

'Yes, she's my biological mother.'

'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. And undoubtedly would be successful eventually in her chosen sphere. Barykov, a novelist himself, was unlikely to make a mistake in that area. And learning something about her sordid origins would be more interesting than meeting his old class-mates. They by now would be as dull and staid as himself. He corrected himself: that was how he had been until he met Heidi. She had shown him the truer, buccaneering side of his nature.

He drove to the hotel in Manchester he had booked on the Internet, choosing an out- of- town hotel, where he would be less likely to see someone he knew.

'Not luxurious,' he declared to Heidi, 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.'

'I think I would.'

In the drab restaurant, he ordered two bottles of good wine to accompany a meal of indifferent quality.

Heidi 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 cancelled the wine, telling the waiter: 'I'm afraid my lady insists that I remain sober.'

'Never mind,' she said with a grin after the waiter had gone, reaching for his hand. 'We can have a drink before we go to bed. 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.'

'You can anoint them with cherry juice and lick them clean.'

.He guffawed so loudly that several commercial salesmen at an another table looked up in surprise.

As he hacked at a sinewy piece of steak, Heidi said: 'I would like to see your wife some time.'

'That's not a very good idea, Heidi.'

'Then I'll have to rely on you to give me a clearer picture of her '

'Why do you want to know about her?'

' Sir Peter also has a wife. I need to weave the relationship between him and his wife into my story.'

'But Sir Peter isn't me.'

'He resembles you so closely that you could be interchangeable.'

'OK. I'll tell you about her on condition that you don't intrude into my family affairs.'

'I won't, darling. I promise. Jack wants me to join him Scotland soon, so there's little danger of that happening.'

On the way to Wilmslow, Heidi Peter said to Heidi: 'How did you manage to track down your birth mother.'

'Jack helped me find her. I told him that that my adoptive parents had forced me to give up my baby when I became pregnant at sixteen and that afterwards I lived in a succession of squats and bed-sits.'

'Why do you call him Jack? He always signs documents Ivan?'

'He likes to have an English name.

'OK. Go on. No wait ....'

Peter was listening to a verbal instruction from the GPS 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 for me to make up my mind. But I eventually agreed to let him.'

'Are you pleased that you did.'

'I wasn't 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.'

'Why not?'

'He has a bee in his bonnet about preventing war. What with that and the Internet business he never has time for me.''

'You're probably right. He's a hard man to get to know. How would you describe him?'

'He's both angel and demon.'

'Aren't we all?'

'Yes, but he really believes he's an angel.'

'Well, as long as the business continues to prosper we won't worry too much about his obsession with politics.'

'How about my obsession with writing?'

'It makes you happy. Some day, perhaps, it will make you very rich.' 'Thank you for having confidence in me ... It's the next turning on the right.'

They drew up besides a double-fronted brick bungalow with a wide frontage. An Audi soft-top sports car stood in the drive. Peter was surprised 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 elegantly styled. 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 the 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 items out of character were an Art Deco gramophone and the small Chinese laquered cabinet on which it stood.

'Very retro, isn't it Peter. But I shall change it soon. I get bored very rapidly. This is my chauffeur, Tim,' she said. A lanky Asian youth, clad in a black suit with a button-up black collar, uncoiled from a pink chaise-longue.

He glanced at the visitors and said: 'I'll be off to do those chores, then, Mrs Saunders.'

'Yes, Tim. Off you go.'

Shortly afterwards, the lights of the sports car flickered as the car swung out of the drive.

'Bess pointed to some 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 genuine

'Like you, Peter, I work with money. The only difference is you do it on a larger scale.'

Peter nodded, although he resented the comparison.

Bess went on remorselessly: 'My accountant always calculates the exact yield I shall get from my property. Isn't that exactly what you do, Peter.'

'Yes,' he said with a soothing smile.

'Well, we won't talk any more about money. It's too vulgar.

Bess turned her attention to Heidi. 'Have you written any more of your wonderful stories, darling?'

'I'm writing an historical novel at the moment, Mother.'

'How wonderful! 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 like you 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?'

'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 are a natural literary genius. I cannot tell you how proud that makes me. It almost made up for those years of worry 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 accept life as it comes. Isn't that the best way, Peter?

He gave a nod of acknowledgement, anxious by now 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 she said in a hushed voice: 'Two boys were wandering through the forest, playing games. Suddenly, Alistair said to Tom, give me a piggyback. 'Right-ho,' said Tom and allowed Alistair to leap onto his back. He staggered with his burden along a winding path, until they came to an ancient brick wall covered with ivy; the remains of a large building that had fallen into decay. A few feet above his head, Alistair's eyes alight on a small aperture in the wall.

He shouted down to Tom: 'Let me stand on your shoulders. I can see something.'

Tom braced himself as Alistair, using the ivy for support, heaved himself upwards, until he reached the opening.

He pulled away some of the ivy 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. Other people are making love. It's just like 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 ivy in the wall. Finally Tom threw him off. He stood back and looked up at his friend hanging onto the ivy for dear life. Instead of coming down, Alistair wriggled through the opening. The last Tom saw of him was his legs and feet as they disappeared.

'Alistair, Alistair, where are you?' Tom shouted in despair.

He looked around frantically for something to help him climb up the wall, but there was nothing suitable. He continued to call out, but there was no response. Finally, in desperation, he followed the line of the wall further into the forest, seeking another entrance, all the while calling his friend's name. At one stage he thought he heard a faint echo, but the sound disappeared.

The ancient brick wall ran on for hundreds of yards, ending with the remains of a weathered concrete foundation. Tom walked round the otheri side and followed the wall back to where his friend had disappeared. All he could find were some grassy mounds, tree stumps and some fallen masonry.

Heidi gave a self-conscious laugh.

'Is that how it ends?' Peter asked.

'No, he meets Alistair at school the next day. But he denies the whole episode. Years later, however, when Tom went to his wedding Alistair confessed that the travellers had warned him that if he ever spoke of what he had seen he would surely die. The wedding service went ahead afterwards and just as Alistair was about to say to his bride: "I will," he dropped down dead.

Heidi gave them 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?

Peter thought he was being offered sugar and shook his head. A moment later, realising Bess was addressing Heidi, he changed his mind, took a lump of sugar and placed it on his saucer.

'I'm told that novelists are always looking for stories,' Bess said. 'I have a lovely one for you, Heidi. Are you prepared to listen?'

Before Heidi 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, my girl was duly 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 decided it would be undiplomatic to ask whether the surrogate mother had returned the money she had been paid .

He 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 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 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 per cent. You're a banker, Peter. Did I do the right thing?'

'When was this? Peter asked.

'Two years ago, just after I was reunited with Heidi. I made him a straight loan, based on the collateral of his house in London and he promised a ten per cent return. I believe he's going to pay it all back soon.'

Peter assured Bess that her investment was sound. Barykov had probably been in financial trouble at the time. Anyway, whatever the nature of their relationship, it was altogether 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 engulfed 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.'

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 certainly 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, back at the hotel, as the warm water in the shower coursed over them, Peter apologised for his expanding waistline. Tentatively exploring his abdomen with her index finger, Heidi murmured that she was neutral about middle-aged spread. What turned her on was the love there – tapping the region round his heart. She slowly moved her hand down.

Still wet, they hurled themselves into bed and made love.

Later, she murmured: 'You took me to heaven and I heard the angels applauding. That

was a transfiguring experience.'

'My body 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 probably indigestion.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

'How was the reunion?' Rachel Peter asked the following day.

'OK. But everyone looks much older.'

What did you expect? Did you see Alfred –.what was his name? Your old buddy.'

'Alfred Hoylake. No he wasn't there.'

Rachel looked quite attractive. Perhaps Heidi had sexually rejuvenated him. The thought occurred to him 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.

He was able while driving to think dispassionately about his problems. Heidi would soon accompany Barykov to Scotland and that suited him. Although satisfied with the progress of the business he shared with Barykov, he still had a vague sense that something was wrong. The news that Barykov had borrowed money from a prostitute made him feel slightly uneasy, even though he believed that, basically, money, like electricity or water, was neutral. Another doubt concerned Barykov's claim to have witnessed people being tortured. Nor was he entirely comfortable with Barykov's claim that his telephone line was under surveillance by British intelligence, although, of course, he was aware that such things happened. He comforted himself with the thought that Heidi would inform him if she thought that Barykov was acting against his interests. It might, though, be sensible to keep a log of events.

With this in mind, he opened a new file on his computer, to which he applied encryption software. On a sudden whim and for added security, he changed the name of the file from 'Barykov' to 'Baruch,' which Barykov had told him was the name of his great-grandfather.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PART TWO

Am I being unduly suspicious? I ask myself this, as I make my first entry in the Baruch diary. Spying on one's business partner is probably not a good idea. However, when NASA prepares a vehicle for a space launch, it goes to extreme lengths to check all systems. Having committed all my assets to this one venture, I must be equally thorough. Launching the new IT stock next year is going to create a great deal of excitement in the City. I may bypass the Alternative Investment Market and float the company on the London Stock Exchange. Our present rapid expansion should make this possible. Sir Michael will want a slice of the action when he hears about it, as will many of my City friends and associates. But it's early days. I'm sure my present qualms will soon be forgotten.

Rachel astonished me when I arrived home at about eight o'clock after taking some of the new members of my staff – three men and two women – to my club for a drink. I had used the occasion to indoctrinate them into our methods and impress on them the need for solid team work. As soon as I entered the front-door my cheerful frame of mind was destroyed.

'Admit it,' Rachel said, as I took off my coat.

'Admit what?' I thought she was referring to Eleanor Aloni, one of the newcomers I had just entertained, whose head-turning beauty is creating havoc in our suite of offices.

'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 but that you had behaved impeccably.'

'Then what are you complaining about?'

'I'm not. She told me she is conscience-stricken about the way she behaved when you called to collect the portrait. She had been very upset about something and got thoroughly sloshed. She intends to give up drinking.'

'Just as well,' I said, dryly.

'Have you had anything to eat?'

'Just a few canapés.'

'I'll make you an omelette. Why didn't you tell me what Ursula did to you.'

'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.'

We discussed more mundane 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 can empathise with his sense of loss because Heidi has made me feel young again. I suppose I should be grateful that Ursula has diverted Rachel's attention from something that might genuinely give her cause for concern.

Jade and Jake continue to see each other. He hasn't got a university place but is studying journalism. He has given up singing and intends to work eventually for a music magazine. He is reluctant to quit the music scene.

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 Athenaeum Club. I didn't tell him that I would probably be in my nineties when I gain 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 removed some doubts from my mind.

After we had drunk 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 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 in reuniting them.'

Barykov nodded and concentrated on his pudding again.

I tried to conceal my distaste. My business partner had just told me that he had consorted with a prostitute and then borrowed money from her. And then I told myself, I shouldn't be censorious, since it enabled him to keep the business going of which I now own half.. He obviously sees me as a prudish, caste-ridden, middle-aged Englishman, easily shocked by the sordid 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, reports 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. She's very good on relationships.'

'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 has 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 harmful if any 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 lived in the Soviet Union.'

'Really?'

He leaned towards me said in a low tone: 'One occurred when the Russians were experimenting with telekinesis?'

'Telekinesis?' I repeated, asking myself what possible relevance this could have to our conversation. Then I said, frowning: '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 heads.'

'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 scientific 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 had 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 and remarked to her good-humouredly that Winston had seemed to enjoy the idea of being a father.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

My suspicions about Barykov having been laid to rest, I can now begin to enjoy my life. Everything is going well. Rachel actually invited me into her bed last night. Nothing happened. She is not very well. I demanded she consult a doctor, but she refused to do so. Nevertheless, we recovered something 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 on the whole. 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. 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 been the case if Heidi had not approached me that time in the Suzie Cue pub.

I have imposed my authority on my department and everything is going smoothly. Too early to make a radical overhaul, but I am forming a plan which I believe will increase productivity all round.

Everything appears to be going well up in Scotland. I shall be going 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. Rachel refused to invite a wealthy merchant adventurer and a recently ennobled Government official, together with their respective partners to my home recently, on the grounds that the new maids are untrained – almost untrainable, she said. Instead, I invited them to dine at my club. They had the impertinence to damn it with faint praise. I was more amused than otherwise. I have applied to join several superior clubs when vacancies occur. Very soon, if The International Learning Institute continues to expand, I shall be in a position to buy one!

My new P.A. is not up to snuff. 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.

I still get occasional qualms about the wisdom of having thrown in my lot with Barykov. One serious mistake in the world of banking and you're reputation is gone for ever. No backing out now, though.

Heidi informs me that my alter ego, Peter Crawford, has been pardoned for screwing the King's mistress because he has made the King very rich by buccaneering and sharing the loot with him. I am glad that the Internet company does not carry such a high element of risk. Talking of which 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. This persuades me that I am "on a roll" and that my affairs will prosper.

I asked her if she would consider giving up smoking. She replied: 'I will soon. Jack has promised to hypnotise me so that I can kick the habit.' The easy way she said this gives me cause for concern. Barykov knows a great deal about imposing your will on other people. His account of the telekenesis propaganda coup is a good example.. He broke off from a business discussion recently and mentioned solipsist philosophy. We had been talking about how some web sites on the Internet encourages people to live in a world of delusion, in which avatars take on the roles of people who have created them and go on to live independent, imaginary lives. This arose out of a conversation about people who flunk out of their courses and refuse to take up the alternatives they have been offered. Barykov quoted the famous poem about whether an object exists when there is no one around to observe it. Which raises the question of whether, if all consciousness in the universe were extinguished, would the universe still exist.

He recited with a pronounced 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.

He then asked me whether I would like to hear his own version of the third verse.

I replied, I must admit 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 laughed and added: 'You see: it brings in the pertinent question of why God allows suffering.'

I then reminded him that we were supposed to be discussing sales targets.

The conversation disturbed me a little, because ventures such as ours demands one-hundred per cent dedication.

Perhaps because of my concern about Heidi continuing to smoke I had a strange dream recently. 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 advised him how to give up smoking. I said in a kindly tone: 'Make your living-room a non-smoking area. When you have got used to not smoking there, turn yet another room into a non-smoking area. And so on until there is nowhere in your house you can smoke. When it's freezing cold outside in the cold you'll soon give up smoking.'

He turned on me and said 'Why the hell do you think I am smoking here in church? It's because my wife has already turned the whole of our house into a non-smoking area.'

Barykov and I went on to discuss sales targets. He says there is no need to increase our conventional advertising in television, newspapers and magazines, because our web sites are already producing as much business as we can handle.

*

When Heidi and I text each other, we emplo the simplest of codes. We substitute the third letter along in the alphabet. It could be decoded by a child but nobody would bother.. Barykov 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.

I reply: Shall imitate Jonah and enter you via your FXQW.

I gain relief from the demands of my family and my job when I engage in this correspondence. She is a friend and lover who releases me from constraints ground into me by my 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. Now my second springtime has arrived! I took Rambo for a walk along the Regent's Park canal last night. The trees and the water in the canal was crimsoned by the dying rays of the sun. There was very little wind. Rambo tugged at his lead as I gripped a polythene bag ready to scoop up his excrement. Sounds of celebration came from a painted barge. I suddenly remembered waiting for Rambo to urinate outside Barykov's house. – the precise moment that I guessed he might know something about the Caucasus region.

A young cyclist, wearing the Arsenal football team strip, wobbled past me, reminding me that Barykov still attends Manchester United home games. His loyalty to his team encourages me to believe that he will be totally loyal to our company.

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 spread out, reminding me of how the waves from our actions spread ever outwards, forming vast complicated patterns. Millions of people are now benefiting from the association I formed with Barykov.

Another thought then came to me concerning Heidi. What if I made her pregnant? But it is very unlikely. She would rather give birth to a novel! I am convinced the one she is writing will be a very good one. I find it both intriguing and flattering to be part of her imaginary world.

Jake le Roy is taking a course on journalism.. He seems genuinely fond of my daughter. He has some idea of 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. Unfortunately, I am the only one in my 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. Literary role models can influence the young to an even greater extent than Rock stars. Not always a good thing, though my own role model, Sir Peter Crawford, happens to be just the kind of person I have always wanted to be.

Last night, when I arrived home, Rachel informed me she had a pain. I suggested calling a doctor. She responded icily: 'You are the pain.'

She then 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. She suddenly changed tack and complained that her clothing allowance was entirely inadequate.

I responded: 'But we agreed that X amount would be sufficient.'

'No, you insisted that it would be sufficient. You talked me into taking less after I had said it would be insufficient.'

'Not a big deal. I'll rustle up the extra cash.'

'Where from?'

'I'll rob a bank.'

'You couldn't rob a sweet shop!'

Whenever there is a dispute, one person wittingly or unwittingly tries to dominate the other one. This happens at home, in business, or in international affairs. Whether it 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. I should not have used the technique with Rachel.

She was fast asleep when I went up to bed. I shall apologise tomorrow. As I fell asleep myself, I reminded myself not to allow Jack Barykov to use that particular technique on me.

*

I borrowed the extra money from what is left in the Trust Fund. Sydney 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 Fund as soon as the Internet business is floated, and will have enough left over to last several life times.

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 dressed up her communication as a stock market tip. I looked at my calendar. It didn't look promising. Rachel's car was being serviced and I would have to help with the shopping on Saturday morning. We had tickets for the theatre that evening. On Sunday I had promised to attend church because Rachel wished to visit her 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 alibi for spending the afternoon with Heidi.

She said she was nearly fainting with happiness when I called on my mobile to inform her of what I had done. In a state of euphoria, I ran all the way down to the ground floor instead of taking the lift. I remembered, as I ran, members our staff in New York who had died on 9/11. but even that failed to dampen my delight at the prospect of seeing Heidi.

Time moved with painful slowness. Rachel kissed me before I left the house on Saturday and told me to enjoy the match. Rather than doing any harm to her I felt that it seemed right because it was making Heidi and me insanely happy. I was sorry, though, to miss the match.

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 carried them to the foot of the stairs.

'Jack insisted I bring our computer 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, having, I suspected, been 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, in her bedroom, she maddeningly insisted on going through the procedure of changing the sheets.

I asked her how things were at company headquarters.

'Fine. Jack seems in good humour all the time. He rushes from office to office 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.

She countered: 'And have you been shagging your wife? It won't do either of us any good if we start to get jealous.'

'OK, I stand corrected. So let's make the most of the little time we have.'

She hurled a pillow at me.

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 looked up at me thoughtfully and said: 'Would Sir Peter have kissed my oranges?'

'Your what?'

Peter Crawford would be bound to tell Nell Gwyn: 'I adore your sweet oranges, ma'am.'

Taking the tip, I complied with her requests, and enquired: 'What would Sir Peter Crawford have done next?'

She then gave a very colourful and bawdy account of what he might have done, and having matched it to the best of my ability, I said: 'Thank you, dear Nell.'

She replied: 'Thank you, Sir Peter,' and we drifted off to sleep.

I said, when we woke up: 'One of these days, when our ship comes in, we'll take a long holiday together.'

Heidi said excitedly: 'That's just what Sir Peter Crawford said when he was about to go on a long, dangerous voyage to the Caribbean. He hoped to capture a vast hoard of gold, which would help to place him once more in the King's favour. The King would forgive anyone who refilled his purse. But on his return to England he and Nell were obliged to hide from Sir Peter's enemies, who suspected that Nell Gwyn was being unfaithful to the King. They hid in the brigantine Sir Peter had brought back from the Caribbean, which was moored at Gravesend.'

She described it in great detail and 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, sat on the edge of the bed and I ran my hand down the ridge of her spine, as she bent forward to put on her slippers. She then danced a jig, opening and closing her dressing-gown in a wanton manner. Fastening her belt, she asked with a serious expression: 'Would you undertake a hazardous voyage, in order to recover your worldly fortune?'

'I have already done so,' I replied.

'Which proves that you fit the character perfectly.'

'Thank you, ma'am. I hope that you won't dump me, when you start your next novel.'

'No, you'll be the hero of that one as well.'

Later, as we drank tea and ate shortbread, Heidi said: 'Jack and I drove to Turnberry golf course one evening and had a meal there. Perhaps you'll play the course 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 a similar but mythical island,

'Let's hear it.'

She said: Gravestones on my island are covered by low clouds. .A girl hides behind a tombstone and watches as the inhabitants line up to enter a door leading down to the island's t interior.

The last verse, I thought, had a heavy sense off foreboding.

"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.'

'You don't like it?'

'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.'

'Turnberry 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 very glad to have him as a partner.

'And I'm glad you came into the pub that night. My fantasy became real that night, Sir Peter.'

'I doubt I shall ever be knighted.'

'If you want something enough it will happen.'

'You sound like one of those self-help books.'

'Jack believes in building up one's confidence. He has assured me that one day I shall succeed as a novelist. And I believe him.'

'You don't allow him to dominate you, do 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.

Heidi's account of Barykov seems consistent with everything he has told me. It is much to his credit that he encourages Heidi in her writing. And apparently he inspires all our staff to work hard. He is soon going to make me a very rich man. My sister and brother will never know how their share of the family money helped to make my fortune. I shall be exceptionally generous when my ship yields up its store of gold.

I put on the radio to hear the result of the rugby match and reminded myself to express delight that England had prevailed. Manchester United also won their home game, so that will put Jack B in a good mood..

The fact that he prudently keeps our business data disks in a safe place has increased my confidence in his good sense.

*

My old school's maxim was: Laborare est orare – work is prayer. Workers should offer their prayers to the banks. We bankers expand the economy, benefiting everyone else in the process? I am full of confidence, proud that I own part of a business that is prospering and reaching all points of the globe. And a beautiful woman has informed me that I am the best lover in the world. All this while I am still young enough to enjoy the good things of life.

Mike Mongomery values my good judgement. The pipeline project has done wonders for my reputation. Mike asked me, while we talking about new investment opportunities in India and China, if I had seen the guy who tipped us off. I said I had bumped into him once or twice..

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. I replied: 'Very soon, I hope.'

I try 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 I had known this..

When Rachel and I went to choose our dog, we were offered a sand-coloured Labrador or a black one. Rachel preferred black. I preferred the alternative. I won the day by suggesting that if our puppy ran out into the road a motorist would be more likely to see a land-coloured one than a black on. I was using a management technique on how to overcome the opposition. I couldn't see that it mattered – black or white – it was just a dog. The children would presumably be perfectly happy whatever colour it was. Rachel has never forgiven me. She insists the black puppy we left behind was more intelligent, better bred, less prone to illness. Incidentally, Rambo's hind legs seem permanently out of kilter and he has the biggest balls I have ever seen on a dog. She still regrets not having the black puppy,. I suspect it is because she resents my having had my own way. Because of my tendency to dominate, I must take part of the blame for the difficulties in our marriage,.

But I did let her choose the dog's name!

I paid Rachel's fees to The Law Society. She is now a fully-fledged solicitor. She had to work very hard, commuting between home and the Guildford Law School during the past year. She still objects to my considerably higher earnings. Nevertheless, I am sure she will enjoy spending the money when I capitalise on my Scottish investment,.

*

All went well when I returned home from my afternoon with Heidi. An awkward moment occurred 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 and hadn't seen it.. 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 his age. In spite of that, I shall soon be flying at an extremely high financial altitudes. I seem to have got the timing exactly right this time. Heidi was the one who gave me the courage to take a leap into the unknown.

When I have doubts about Jack Barykov, because he defected from the Soviet Union, I remember Sharanski and thousands of other defectors who had good and honourable reasons for doing so. As for his dealings with prostitutes, I suppose that is entirely his own business.

* *

Had a head-on with Mike Montgomery today about our involvement with 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 rapidly gaining experience at this stratospheric level of commerce.

Jade and Jake have had another row. 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. Should I be pleased?

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.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Peter flew to Prestwick, to spend a weekend with Heidi. He was looking forward to seeing the new company headquarters. As he drove there in a hired car, meditated on the strange fact that real worth of the organization lay somewhere in Cyberspace, the complex system of world-wide websites which was generating income for the Company at a gratifying rate.

The headquarters was housed in a dark, rather forbidding, three-storey house with a stone gable above the entrance, 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 and 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 house.

Peter followed her into a large wood-panelled hall. One wall was decorated with ancient weaponry, the opposite wall with stag heads. They seemed a little incongruous. He supposed there had not yet been time to have them removed.

'Is Barykov here?' he enquired.

'No, he's in Prague, 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 – 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. The cellars are one of the reasons 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, seven-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. Hargreaves.'

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.

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 attributed Peter's high score to the frequent gusts of high winds. Amused by his tactful excuse, Peter doubled his tip.

He said to Heidi, who had been quiet during the round: 'It must have been very boring for you.'

'No. I might take up golf 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 was it that 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 thinking about the charming tigress who had clambered all over him the night before. Her description, as they 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 portrait bringing bad luck? he enquired.

She grinned and said: 'Why take unnecessary chances? '

'You could throw it away just to prove them wrong.'

'It might 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 uncomfortable because the Reverend Brown's eyes seemed to 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 the picture back. What does Barykov say about it?'

'Jack says you should treat superstitions just as you would sleeping dogs and let them lie. Isn't he witty!''

'Perhaps he's superstitious himself.'

'I doubt it.'

That evening he told Barykov that it might be possible to make a full-blown flotation on the London Stock Exchange. They had previously envisaged a 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 you should appear in our advertisements She says you would fit the part exactly.'

Peter threw up his hands in mock horror and replied; 'Not in a million years.'

'Are you worried that it would harm your image.'

'Something like that.'

Heidi commented to Barykov: 'I told you he'd refuse,' and poured out the drinks.

Looking around the 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 they survive?'

'Some did. I gained an insight into methods of making people change their outlooks.'

'Very interesting,' Peter commented. He wanted to continue discussing company business

'I'm sure you will agree with me, Peter, that we're all dominated by the shallow values of the news media.'

'How do you propose to change that?' Peter enquired.

'We need angels to take charge,' Barykov said, with a wistful expression.

Peter enquired: 'You mean show biz impressarios?'

'No, I meant angels in the old fashioned sense.'

And noting Peter's frown, he went on with an ingratiating smile: 'My guardian angel has saved me several times from my own folly.'

'What happened?' Peter enquired, with a smile that showed he wasn't taking Barykov's assertion seriously.

'No, I mean it. On several occasions when things were going badly for me in the Soviet Union I felt that my mind had been suddenly re-jigged by some outside force. As a result I was saved from unpleasant things that happened to some of my colleagues.'

'You surely don't believe in angels!'

'It's important to have an open mind. We can't prove that they exist, but equally we can't prove that they don't exist. Dogs and horses are completely unaware that we control their lives. I believe that just as the lives of domestic animals are dominated by us, we in turn are controlled to a similar extent by angels. There are references to them not just in the Bible but in all the cultures and countries of the world. So perhaps we should allow for the possibility that they exist. 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 Union when I talk like this. .Incidentally, while I think of it, I bear you no ill will for capturing Heidi's affections.'

Heidi inspected her nails, showing studied indifference..

Peter told himself that tolerating Barykov's drunken ramblings was part of the price he had to pay for becoming his business partner. He was prepared to forgive him as long as he ran the enterprise well. He had known business managers with even stranger eccentricities 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 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 Great Patriotic War that great atheist Stalin appealed 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 have tried to improve my behaviour, they have been singularly unsuccessful.'

He grinned at Peter, took another swig of vodka and continued: 'Bookmakers give odds against the possibility of finding other intelligent beings in the universe. But it is only the brevity of our lives that gives them immunity from paying out. In the long run – by which, I mean eternity – pigs will fly, losers will win and winners will lose. That is what enables Evolution to perform its miracles. With all the time in the world, fish are bound to emerge onto dry land, reptiles are bound to take to the air and Mankind is bound to gain a sense of awe at the world he lives in. For the life of me I fail to see why religious authorities object to evolutionary theory. Evolution is surely one of the glories of our universe. Scientists now say that there are an infinite number of universes, so it follows that the most unlikely events will unfold time and time again. Our progress from amoebas to sentient beings had to happen. Everything that can theoretically happen eventually does 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?" The other snow flake responds: "Yes, but that's because we were cloned by a scientist." He roared with laughter at his obscure sally 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 oppressed, victims of the KGB. 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.

TWENTY-ONE

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 maths. 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 some of these Russian mystics, Gurdjieff and Ouspensky.

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 investment.'

'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 amazing.

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 Sydney had telephoned to say he wished to borrow from their mother's trust fund. His son, Harry, wished 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 Sydney?'

In seven or eight month's time, he decided, the amount 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. He was amused by Heidi's coded message. But fearing 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. Gerald was very protective towards Ursula and this buoyed her confidence.

As one of the maids served soup, Gerald commented: 'My dear wife thinks she is the only woman in the world capable of producing a child.'

'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 said: 'There was a young woman named Parky, who went a married a darkie. He gave her 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 remembered her opulent body under her gaudy housecoat. Her pregnancy was as yet not very obvious. Probably because she is very plump, Peter thought, and remembered that if he hadn't fallen in love with 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. 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 had 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 an Internet writing course.

TWENTY-TWO

'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.'

'I didn't like what you did to me. Still, it sounds a very big idea. Very idealistic.'

'It is much more than that. I want to get Peter involved. Be nice to him.'

'I'm always nice to him. I'm in love with him.'

'Think of him just 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.'

'We have to bend him to our will, Heidi.'

'He's your partner. 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 that 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?'

'Tell him the truth about you.'

TWENTY-THREE

Peter's phone began vibrating, as he was sitting in an armchair in his club. He immediately went into the corridor, put it to his ear and enquired testily: 'What's happening?'

'Don't worry, old chap, Barykov replied heartily. 'Our sales have been expanding at an unprecedented rate. But 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 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.'

'If word got out that we had to put out a call for extra cash it could affect our stock market floatation. 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 immediately 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 by the fact that Jake was taking a course with the company he was financing. 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 OK.'

'How's your mother? Have you seen her lately?'

'No. But she rings me occasionally. Does your wife know you're here?'

'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 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 a númber of uniformed security men standing around and enquired the reason for their presence.

Heidi replied: 'There have been 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 an 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 Barykov is a man of very high principles.'

'Good. Give me a kiss.'

Later, they went downstairs 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 co-operation with Bess that would not otherwise have happened but in incomparably worse conditions.'

Peter enquired politely: '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 to 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 pressure 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 Indian friend would certainly see through your bluff and subsequently 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 did hear of 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 minds can be subtly changed by the power of the written word. Incidentally, the course always emphasizes that good writing should always improve the world in some way or other.'

'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 forms 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 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, 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 you to accompany me. I wish to show you something. The Reverend Brown left some erotic photographs in the cellar. Perhaps you might 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, and while I'm doing that you can look at some of the photographs.'

Smiling, he took hold of Peter's arm and led him out into the corridor.

TWENTY-FOUR

Peter awoke from deep sleep, feeling as though he had just from the very bowels of the universe. Dark, grimy walls met his eyes as they became fully focused. His head hurt. An overhead bulb above his head cast an unfriendly yellow glow. He turned his head away and became aware that, wearing only boxer shorts, he was lying on a lumpy mattress, his ankles and feet fastened tightly with plastic cuffs to a heavy brass bedstead.

What had happened?

He dimly recalled walking down badly worn 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 commendted that it had once contained an extensive wine collection. His eyes lighting on a single dusty bottle, he shook off the dust, and said that it was a very rare Crimean wine, dating back to Edwardian times, adding that the previous owner must have overlooked it during the removal.

Holding the bottle, he led Peter into another cellar containing an array of computers 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 viticulturists in the Crimean vineyards. 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 on the walls around you.'

Peter peered at the walls in the dim light and for the first time noticed photographs of nude women in a variety of coy, inviting poses.

'Barykov went on: 'The reverend gentleman used to tell his domestic servants that, as a minister of God, he had undisputed rights over their bodies. The pictures were intended to desensitize the girls. "Grooming" they call it nowadays. The same photographer took the portrait of him which hung in Heidi's bedroom. I threw it away the other day. Barykov added: 'If the Reverend Brown were alive today, he would be in the Internet pornography business. Pornography flourished then just as it does now.'

'What a disgusting old humbug!'

Peter 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. Why had Barykov insisted on going to him instead of using the resources he had available?

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 transferred him into this cellar and tied him up. But to what purpose? He could be held there for long. If he did not return to London, Rachel would inform the police and they would come and rescue him. But first she would try to ring his BlackBerry combined PDA and cell phone, which, of course, his captors would have switched off.

So was the Indian White Knight rushing to their financial rescue a figment of Barykov's imagination? If so, then the alleged deficit in the accounts might also be a lie Barykov that had devised as an excuse to recall him to the manse. All previous reports had shown a healthy cash flow. Overheads were low. So was the wages bill. Many of the tutors lived in India. Advertising expenses had come in below budget, because as Barykov 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 after all, in spite of his innate caution, fallen for the oldest of tricks. It was no consolation that countless other men throughout history had fallen into the honey-trap

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. His headache had gone when he woke up. But he felt extremely cold. He struggled once again, in an effort to generate heat, but gave up when the manacles began to hurt.

What was Barykov's motive? The most obvious explanation was that he was trying to force him to sign them over his shares. No doubt he would then kill him, leaving himself in sole ownership of the company. The longer he resisted the greater his chances of staying alive.

It was unfortunate, that he had told Rachel that Edinburgh was his destination. 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. But by then, of course, he might have fled he country.

He glanced down at his wristwatch. It was six-thirty p.m. The thought that he might die slowly from hunger and thirst depressed him deeply.

How could Heidi do this to him, he asked himself. He could only speculate about her motives. Perhaps Barykov had bribed her with an offer of shares.

He vowed to be as tough as his fictional counterpart, Sir Peter Crawford. Had not his ancestors had survived plague, famine and Civil War in the county of Somerset? And hadn't he called his son Winston after that indomitable leader, Sir Winston Churchill. He would defeat this insolent Russian bastard whose transactions with prostitutes showed that he was utterly untrustworthy

Why was he in this dire situation?

He thrashed around wildly and began to yell and scream.

No one came..

His wrists hurt so much that 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 left with a number that was completely meaningless. Nevertheless, he felt he had accomplished something and his spirits rose.

Badly needing to urinate, he twisted and turned, trying to contain himself. Eventually he watched with revulsion a damp patch spreading on his underpants.

It was clear to him now that his life had never been of any importance. Even the wealth and possessions for which he had yearned all his life now seemed completely worthless. He raged against Heidi's treachery. She had obviously fallen under Barykov's evil influence and this was his revenge for taking Heidi away from him. Remembering that Barykov had encouraged their love affair in the first place, weakened that theory. But her treachery made him hate her even 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 had belittled his professional achievements and had lost interest in sex. Heidi constantly praised him,was passionate and had this fascinating talent for creating fictional characters. Byy insisting that he was made of the same stuff as her imaginary hero, she had inveigled him into a plot that seemed designed to steal all his family money.

Peter sighed. Even while hating Heidi. the image of her naked body kept coming into his mind and still had the power to excite him.

He tried to get into Barykov's mind. He had claimed that his reason for quarrelling with his masters in the former Soviet Union was that he possessed a social conscience. That should have been a warning. His own daughter could have told him that a man who made such elaborate claims would not be a suitable partner in business. Barykov was devious and slippery. His relationship with Heidi's mother was yet another example of moral degradation. But none of this explained why, when they were on the verge of success, he should 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 serving some obscure plan of his masters in the Kremlin. It was not a very convincing notion. He must 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 refused point-blank, telling him: "There are plenty of boobs to look at on television. " He stammered: 'Yes, but they're not the same as the real thing.' He consoled himself by studying the image of the Venus de Milo in an encyclopaedia. But the the stone breasts were not as satisfactory as "coral-tipped mounds of blancmange,." the phrase used by a school friend to describe the breasts of topless sunbathers he had viewed while on holiday in the South of France.

Thereafter, Mabel refused to speak to him, so he set out to explore the local countryside. Coming across a steep chalk quarry, he thought that if he climbed right to the top, it would impress Mabel and she would talk to him again.

Painfully and carefully, inch-by-inch, he clambered up the vertical chalk face, hanging precariously onto jagged outcrops and clutching embedded clumps of grass. But at the summit he came across a dense, overhanging fringe of vegetation, climbing over which would put him at grave risk of falling onto the rock-strewn ground two-hundred feet below. That was too high a price, he reckoned, for renewing friendly relations with Mabel; so he started a precarious descent. It proved a lot harder than the climb. By the time he reached level ground his interest in exploration had gone along with his interest in breasts. Three years passed before it returned with renewed vigour.

Trying to interpret the dream, he came to the conclusion that 'climbing down' meant retreating from an established position, indicating that he must be flexible in order to save his life. He fell asleep again and dreamed again of breasts. This time they were Heidi's and he cursed her again for going over to the enemy.

When he awoke, hungry and cold, he remembered with horror Barykov's description of finely-tuned KGB tortures. Playing for time was his best hope. If he could hold out long enough, the police would come to his rescue. But would he be able to hold out against such carefully calibrated, cold-blooded cruelty?

What an idiot he had been to get involved with such a man. He had been outsmarted on every level, which meant that he himself was not nearly as clever as he had thought. It was obvious now that such success as he had achieved owed much less to his native intelligence than to his having a good education and a solid 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 have escaped this hell hole. Peter Hargreaves, he told himself, the Peter principle might well have been named after you. Your ambition made you accept a job far beyond your natural ability, resulting in this catastrophic situation.

He started to rehearse what he would say to Barykov when he came into the cellar. "You fucking Russian whore-monger. You're a fucking disgrace to the human race. Comrade Stalin was a gentleman compared to you, you treacherous bastard."

. He spent several minutes envisaging the physical torments he would inflict on Barykov before mercifully falling sleep again

TWENTY-FIVE

He woke up the following morning, tired, dispirited and hungry, his limbs cold and stiff. Knowing that Barykov's intention was to break his spirit, he vowed to be icily composed when he came into the cellar. He would act the proud Englishman and show that he was undaunted. He would prevail over him by sheer strength of character. Then he remembered Heidi's insistence that he possessed the very virtues of fortitude and courage he was trying so desperately to summon up. The fact that she had so blatantly betrayed him brought tears to his eyes. He tried hard to believe that she had acted under duress. It would be impossible to forgive her otherwise.

He listened intently for any sounds. Everything was silent. Looking up at the ceiling, he thought he saw a faint glimmer of light in the far corner of the cellar. But it soon faded and he realised that it was a figment of his imagination brought about by his weak condition. A vision came to him of one day someone finding his skeleton tied to the metal bed. He vowed to hack off his own limbs, using the plastic cuffs to cut through flesh and bone rather than allow that to happen.

Was there any consolation in this disastrous situation? For once in his life he had summoned up the courage to gamble on a heroic scale. His only hope now was to get Heidi back on his side. If she really loved him, they would combine forces and defeat Barykov. He imagined a passage in one of Heidi's novels: "Peter rested one elegantly-booted foot on Barykov's prostrate body and said loftily: 'If you will now make amends for your perfidy, 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 Russian secret service that has replaced the KGB."

. Other plans for survival then passed through his mind. Declaring that his doctor had given him only a few weeks to live occurred to him but was too implausible. He could say that he had left instructions for the police to be contacted if he did not make contact within twenty-four hours. But Barykov wouldn't swallow that, because he was already aware that he had given Rachel a false destination. It occurred to him to challenge Barykov to a drinking contest. The idea of taking part in such an unequal contest made him chuckle. But the movement caused excruciating pain in his chafed wrists. No more jokes he told himself. Lack of food and water was obviously making him light-headed.

Perhaps prayers would help.. He tried: "Give us this day our daily bread." But since bread was being denied the Lord's Prayer seemed inappropriate. He tried a psalm instead. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." But it struck him that the imagery was curiously old-fashioned. The Lord is my friendly television adviser would be more applicable these days, he told himself. And then he gave up, telling himself that if God was omniscient, he would know in advance exactly what he was going to ask. So what would be the point of praying?

He had once tried Transcendental Meditation but had never succeeded in calming the torrents of economic and financial data that flooded his mind. He tried to imagine that he was at one with the grimy cellar walls and the bedstead on which he was lying. A feeling of serenity stole over him. Time slowed down. But 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 this dark, baffling, hostile cellar,

A succession of eyes passed through his mind. Rachel's – dark blue, thoughtful, defensive, vulnerable. She wanted me to be adventurous and by God, look what it's got me into! 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. If he had hadn't, I would not be imprisoned here. 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 torture. 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, as Wellington defeated Napoleon. We British believe that character always triumphs over intellect.

He recalled the faint ray of light he had seen earlier and wondered whether there was a hatch up there in the darkness which allowed a faint beam of light to shine through at certain times of day. It suggested that he might be imprisoned in a former coal cellar. And this offered a glimmer of hope that he might at some stage be able to escape from his appalling situation.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Two hours later, there was a squeal of rusty hinges and the cellar door opened. An overpowering smell of coffee accompanied Heidi, as she entered carrying a breakfast tray. . She was followed by Barykov, wearing a smart charcoal-grey suit. Charlie, clad in a blue boiler suit, carried in two wooden chairs and a small table, which he placed by the side of the bed. Looking down at Peter, Barykov said with an air of great sympathy: 'I have come to make amends for putting you through this unpleasant experience. How are you?'

The contrast between Barykov's smart suit and his own semi-naked condition drove Peter into almost apoplectic rage. 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 him fresh underwear and the rest of his clothes,'

Heidi paused momentarily by the door before leaving. Peter interpreted this as a sign of sympathy for his plight. Subduing his overpowering impulse to attack Barykov, Peter accepted the cup of coffee he was offered, his trembling hands causing the cup to rattle in its saucer. He drank the strong coffee 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. But first allow me to give my reasons for doing this to you.'

'Behaving like a typical 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, using the same excuse.'

'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 in you 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 left the cellar, 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, caustically.

Putting on the fresh underwear, he looked up at the ceiling and tried, altogether without success, to see the faint line of light he imagined he had seen before.

He then did some press-ups, 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 and something which won't do you any permanent harm.'

'You cunning bastard, Peter thought. There were obvious traces of KGB brutality in Barykov's behaviour. 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, lumbered after them as they walked through the dimly-lit corridor to the stone stairs which led up to ground level.

Rajiv was staring into a monitor when they entered Barykov's office,. He nodded and left without saying a word. Barykov occupied the chair Rajiv had just vacated and motioned Peter to a chair facing him at his desk.

'So how are you feeling?' he enquired, solicitously.

'Totally shattered. What else would you expect?'

'Let us hope that you never have to experience such an ordeal again,' Barykov remarked, with an unctuous smirk.

Peter thought he will kill me as soon as I sign over my shares, so I must keep him talking.

The sound from outside of dogs barking startled him.

'Vagrants have been trespassing on our land,' Barykov explained. 'I have called in a security firm with handlers and German shepherd dogs.'

Peter felt for his mobile in his jacket pocket. 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.'

'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 e-mail 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,' which he didn't normally use, hoping that the unfamiliar word would arouse Rachel's suspicions. The use of the diminutive Pete would also be unfamiliar to her.

Barykov studied the text thoughtfully, added the letter 'r' to Pete and sent off the message. Nevertheless, Peter felt sure he had outwitted Barykov by using the word 'bell, a word he never used in that context. "Who Will Bell the Cat?" was a fable they had often told their children kids when they were small. It would be sure to arouse her suspicions

. Barykov said: 'There is another incentive for you to be co-operative. 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 to keep it a secret from your wife.'

'You're a dab hand at lying and deceit, 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, which he placed 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 while Heidi makes us something to eat. The rest of the staff have been sent home.'

'Isn't that bad for business?'

'They're gardeners and cleaners. Most of our courses on the Internet, as you know, 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 tone and drank his own glass of wine in one gulp.

Peter was painfully aware that there was little chance that the wine would soften Barykov. He fought hard against his anger and gazed at him disdainfully..

Heidi placed cottage pie in front of them.. Her eyes seemed remote and cold. It was hard to believe that she had conspired with Barykov to torment him. She appeared to be completely under his control. So why was he dining with this cold-blooded monster? There is no alternative he told himself. I must talk, negotiate and play for time. If any weapon comes to hand, I'll kill him without compunction.

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. At one time I intended to revenge myself on my colleagues who betrayed me. But I am glad I didn't. I have 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 Peter's favourite bread-and-butter pudding. Was this a secret signal he wondered.

'So why are you doing this to me?' he demanded.

'I'll answer your question with another question: 'What do people normally fight over?'

'Money and sex, I guess,' Peter replied.

'What else?'

Before replying, Peter looked around. He was prepared to make a bolt for it, if there was even a slight chance of getting away.

Barykov said, without waiting for his answer: 'People also fight for power and sometimes even for the power to do good. We are about to discuss something that rises above money, sex, and other mundane considerations. I am about to introduce you to a new Movement that at last is going to bring peace to the world.'

'What does it have to do with me?'

'I want you to become my partner in a magnificent new project that will eventually turn everyone on earth into model citizens '

Convinced that Barykov was suffering from delusions of grandeur. Peter simulated interest and said solemnly: 'Of course, there is more to life than sex and money. Tell me what it is all about.'

Bankers were the last people in the world to be led astray by quixotic schemes, he told himself. Why, then, had Barykov chosen him to be a participant in such an impractical scheme? He decided to pretend he was in sympathy with the idea and nodded solemnly, and as he continued to eat.

Barykov said with a sly smile: 'Let me ask you a question: Do you think God has a sense of humour?'

'How the hell should I know,' Peter replied absently, taking another spoonful of pudding.

'The Bible says we are made in God's image. Does it not follow that, since human beings have a sense of humour, God has one as well.'

'Does he laugh when human beings are swept to their death by tsunamis?'

Barykov shrugged and said: 'I don't think so. But one cannot deny that the initial Big Bang that started it all was the biggest joke of all. It was the cosmic equivalent of a conjurer producing a rabbit from a hat. It follows that humour is an essential element of the whole set up, so we are obliged all laugh whenever we can.'

Barykov burst out laughing, obviously under the impression that he had just said something immensely entertaining.

Peter replied: 'You don't make me laugh, Barykov. Anyway, what has all this to do with this scheme of yours?'

'I was testing your religious beliefs.'

'Why?'

'We admit religious people, but not religious fanatics, into our organization.'

Peter replied sarcastically. 'You want people who will accept uncritically whatever you say. What right have you to question my beliefs? When I gain my freedom I shall inform the police of what you have done to me.'

'Un mauvais quart d'heur should not close your mind to reason.'

'What you did to me is inexcusable.'

'Religious organisations use similar methods to increase spiritual awareness.' . 'They give their novices a choice. You forced it on me and you've made me fucking angry. What is this all about, anyway?'

'After many centuries of bloodshed and unhappiness, we intend to bring peace on earth. Our organization, which I hope you will join shortly, is going to elevate and enhance the consciousness of humanity.'

'Our business is a commercial organization. We can't afford to be sidelined into supporting some crazy political idea.'

'The New Movement I am talking about will be entirely independent of our company.'

'Have you been milking our business to support it?'

'The Movement I am asking you to join transcends such trivial considerations. I am asking you to become an active partner in the most significant social plan since History began. Heidi and I, having formed a favourable 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.'

'None of this gives you the right to put me through hell for twenty-four hours.'

'The ritual we put you through is a precondition of joining.'

'It all sounds very childish to me.'

'It has the same rationale as a university initiation ceremony Everyone involved in the Movement so far has gone through this test, and they all agreed that it helped to them to a deeper spiritual understanding of its rationale and purpose. I am sure that when I have outlined its principles in greater detail you will appreciate its benefits and act accordingly.'

'Has Heidi gone through it?'

'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. You are just the kind of person we need. We can't let you go. You are honest and hardworking and 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 high office in the organisation.'

Barykov beamed at Peter as though he 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.'

'That's about sixty million people. How can you possibly expect to recruit so many?

'The Internet is the greatest recruiting sergeant the world has ever seen. Google and Yahoo will help us along. Have no doubt about that.'

.What about the other ninety-nine per cent?'

'They will follow in due course. You are about to become one of the elite, pioneering Centurions. That is what our examplars are called who go forth to bring in converts.'

'The Cathars 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 some of the things they tried to achieve.'

'They were 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.'

'You're a Free Mason, aren't you?' Peter demanded.

'Yes. I wanted to investigate the basic psychology 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 to Freemasonry; it is far more inclusive. It will draw into itself all the basic beliefs and aspirations of humanity and use modern methods to help bring about the perfect world that God intended us to create.'

Peter laughed.

'Preaching religion in the enlightened twenty-first century won't get you very far.'

Barykov gave an amused chuckle and said: 'Peter, my son, you are very naive if you think I'm an old-fashioned Creationist. But a leader of men, like a builder or a sculptor, can only work with the materials he has at hand. Two-thirds of the world still believes in myths and legends. The other third has been weaned from old-fashioned religion by the theory of Evolution, which has been described as a science but is really just another religion with its own dogmas. 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: 'Ludvig Wittgenstein and other philosophers have proved that it is logically impossible to establish the truth. Which makes nonsense of what you have just said.'

Barykov nodded his head approvingly and said: 'Good. I knew that when Heidi and I chose you to join us we had chosen the right man. An open mind is the first requisite of a Centurion.. We are not much interested in abstract notions. We are solely concerned with ensuring that 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 some convincing details?'

'Later, when you have sworn the oath of allegiance.'

'Why should I swear allegiance to something I know nothing about?

Barykov sighed, as though he was dealing with a delinquent child.

'Peter, I have given you a basic outline. 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 it is with our novitiates. There is a gradual process of enlightenment. You will be highly gratified as and when you are admitted to each successive stage in the process.'

'Great. And now I should like to go home and think about what you have told me so far.'

'That is not possible. Only when you have pledged total co-operation, will you be free to go.'

Peter had a sudden thought.

'By co-operation do you mean giving you money.'

'Yes

'How much do you need?'

'I don't have all the figures yet.'

'Then get your accountant to tell you.'

Peter felt more hopeful. They were now on solid ground. Barykov, like every man had his price. But his optimism disappeared when Barykov responded sternly: '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 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 of retraining your mind, which incidentally no one so far has succeeded in resisting. I see no reason why you should be any different. So let us come to an amicable agreement to work in harmony.'

' 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 told her you were in Edinburgh, examining a balance sheet.'

'I put a hidden word into that e-mail message – a secret method we agreed to use if I was in danger.'

'We have taken all necessary precautions to ensure that no one will find you here.'

'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 he relented and said: 'OK, Peter. You may have a word with her. Go in there.'

He pointed to a door. 'Heidi will join you shortly.'

Pete entered a large pantry, littered with discarded computer equipment.

Heidi came in shortly afterwards. Looking very uneasy, she closed the door behind her, put her hand to her lips, stepped forward and embraced him.

'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 I was tied to that filthy bed. Why did you allow 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. And then we can become lovers again. Don't you want that?'

'Of course. I'm still in love with you. Incidentally, the pudding was delicious.'

She nodded furiously, satisfying him that she had intended to convey a message that she was still, in spite of appearances, loyal to him.

'So, are you now one of Jack Barykov's Centurions?'

'There are 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 it is our minds that will eventually reshape the Universe. If you follow him, all the delights of Eternity will be laid before you.'

'Heidi, you've been brainwashed.'

She shook her head.

'No, he is a great man with an important mission. You only have to listen to what he says.'

'Am I supposed to swallow all that nonsense?'

'It isn't nonsense. I have seen proof that it isn't.'

'What proof?'

Heisi's eyes widened, as she said: '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 with 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. There is nothing wrong in that, because it keeps us all trying to reach to the stars. But it must not 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 know the secret. They experience joy in being part of a process that is greater than themselves. They strive to share in the work of Creation. But the experience is not confined to artists; it is something we can all do by recognising that there is an ultimate unity in the Universe. A perfect example is the circle, which is clearly beautiful in is own right. We human beings can achieve that same kind of unity by making our own lives works of art."

Jack then started tossing the old cricket ball he had found from one hand to the other then said: "I can demonstrate the truth of what I have been saying by showing that the molecules in this ball can instantly harmonise with all the other molecules in the entire Universe. Let us all experience the peace of Ultimate Unity!"

'And the 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 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 an anguished expression, she ushered him towards the door.

He knew now that he could no longer rely on her for help in making his escape. She had been entirely taken over by Barykov's powerful mind. It was now abundantly clear: Barykov had taken him on as his business partner with the idea of recruiting him into his weird cult and was planning to use the company's funds to achieve his ends. Heidi had become Barykov's docile, uncritical accomplice. And probably that had been the case all the time he had known her.

It was essential to escape as soon as possible.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Barykov said: 'An eighteenth-century aristocrat remarked on returning from the Middle East: "Travel broadens the mind but travelling by camel certainly broadens the buttocks."'

He directed a smile towards Peter. Li Hua and Rajiv were also sitting round his desk, on which a bottle of vodka lay unopened. It was very clear to Peter that he must resist Barykov if he was going to survive. If necessary he would go through his ordeal in the cellar all over again.

'The point is that we must all learn from experience. We have neglected history,' Barykov went on, 'and now it is biting back at us. Civilization is in danger of crumbling.. 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.

'A Movement,' replied Barykov, 'which acknowledges that mankind can only survive by eliminating his aggressive impulses for all time.'

'Clearly impossible,'Peter replied, with a grimace.

'That 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 called Pacem which removes aggression and will ensure that in future every one of us will behave courteously at all times towards his fellow human beings. It requires only one dose and relieves the individual permanently thereafter of anger and hatred.'

'Sounds like 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: 'We have all taken the solemn oath of Centurions.'

'Presumably 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, 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?'

'We can't let you do that?'.

'Why not?'

'We're operating to a strict schedule'

'I don't give a fuck for your schedule.'

'If you don't cooperate, you will have to return to the cellar for a further period of contemplation.'

'That is illegal and immoral and you'll have to face the consequences.'

'It is merely a form of initiation.'

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, if not thousands, of people plotting to use them. The new drug will disarm people by eliminating their feelings of aggression. We must accomplish this as soon as possible. I appeal to your better nature to help us in our vital mission.'

'How can you change the mind set of billions of people in a few short years? It took Christianity thousands of years before it had any real influence in the world. And only during the past two-hundred and fifty-years has the Enlightenment 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 web sites that we already control will be mobilised in the service of our cause. Google and Yahoo and the other search engines will help to speed up the process.'

Barykov's eyes were afire with enthusiasm.

'You can't use our company's web sites without my permission.'

. 'We are engaged in a campaign that is infinitely more important than our own insignificant commercial activity. I am going to suggest that you have a little chat with Li Hua, who was until recently an associate Professor of Psychology at Harvard University.

Li Hua flashed a quick smile at Peter.

Barykov and Rajiv left the room. A moment later Barykov returned for the bottle of vodka. This gave Peter a gleam of hope. It must surely be possible to defeat someone who depended so heavily on 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 create disturbances under the influence of alcohol and instead of becoming aggressive they immediately became affable and pleasant.'

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 her neat ankles. She took off her glasses in order to rub her right eyebrow and looked even prettier without them. A practical test of how this much vaunted drug affected her would be to slap her complacent, smiling face.

'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 be 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 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 of becoming 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 Heidi's mother but 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 is acting unlawfully in relation to our business 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 a unique opportunity.'

'Li Hua, 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 in the past. But events are moving much faster now. There is no time to waste. Politicians are powerless to deal with the situation. Many of them secretly approve of the action we are taking, even though they find it impossible 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 silkily:. 'The contraceptive pill brought about a dramatic change in a few short years.'

'The Pill changes a woman's body. We're talking about people's minds. Mao Tse Tung and Lenin tried to turn their populations into communists but they relapsed into capitalism. That illustrates how unchangeable human nature is.'

'But it is possible for human beings to change their nature. You are respectful of my womanhood. That would not have been the case a few thousand years ago.'

'Exactly. It has taken thousands of years. And, incidentally, if I am treating you with respect, may I assure you it is not because I find you unattractive.'

Li Hua looked slightly shocked and said primly: 'We do not approve of sexual relations being formed between members of our Movement.'

'But if I raped you, wouldn't you become angry.'

'No. I would be distressed beyond measure. But Pacem would ensure that I did not lose my temper.'

'You would be perfectly 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 lose our tempers. But 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 possibility of someone destroying our world with nuclear missiles.'

Small pink spots appeared on Li Hua's flawless cheeks.

'The drug allows you to become excited, if not angry.'

'Of course. Pacem merely modifies human nature's more unpleasant aspects.'

'Instead of a chemical, what's wrong with using persuasion and indoctrination.'

'There 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 concluded that a drug was the only solution.'

' Wouldn't hypnotism and auto-suggestion work equally well?'

'Indeed, that was Jack Barykov's original idea. We shall use continue to advocate persuasion and the use of role models to improve human nature. As you know, we experimented with creative writing courses, in getting people to change their personalities. 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 felt an overwhelming urge to overturn the desk at which they were sitting. But the presence of the 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 combating the mass Nazi hysteria which persuaded the Germans that war was their glorious destiny?'

'Yes, it would definitely have saved us from the horrors of World War Two. Much of Goebel's 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 superfluous to requirements.. Becoming angry is no longer a genetic advantage; unchecked, it will 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 act as a memory and if conditions allow them to survive they pass on characteristics from generation to generation 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 we 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?'

'Do you mean the contraceptive pill, or do you mean Pacem?

'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.'

'So, in spite of your profound knowledge of psychology, you are still unable to maintain good relations with your own child.'

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Li Hua said 'We are not here to discuss personal matters.

'It is obvious you would not win an award for being an exemplary mother.'

'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 break your marriage vows with the daughter of a prostitute?'

Instead of flaring up, which would have been his normal reaction, Peter felt unnaturally calm. He asked himself if it was the strong sexual attraction he felt towards Li Hua that was modifying his anger, or something else.

He said stiffly: 'You say it takes three days for this drug to take effect? Have I been dosed with it?'

Li Hia nodded and replied: 'Yes. You are well on the way towards becoming a superior being.'

You and Barykov 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, 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. 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, an alcoholic?'

'He has suffered a great deal from the KGB. Its successor, the FBS, in Russia 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, he has assured us his drinking will stop..'

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 experienced an intense desire to make Li Hua angry by tearing off her clothes and raping her. By doing so he would prove conclusively that Pacem was incapable of curbing aggression. Whether that impulse was generated by lust, or an intellectual desire to win the argument he couldn't decide..

Li Hiua placed her tiny hands on top of his and said: 'I know what thoughts are racing through your mind. You must accept my assurance that you would make me very sad, but not necessarily angry, if you put them into action. Try to 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.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Rajiv entered the room as Peter wondered whether he should have attacked Li Hua and in so doing create some mind of diversion that would have enabled him to escape. It was too late now. He would have to listen to what Rajiv had to say. The only statement so far he had found convincing was that the world was in danger of destroying itself with nuclear weapons. The prospect of M.A.D (Mutual Assured Destruction) had saved the world during the Cold War; it worked for the reason that motorists keep to the correct side of the road – self-preservation. But now that suicide bombings were an established feature of warfare, the deterrent had disappeared. Barykov's statement that the world was in deadly danger could hardly be denied.

But it would be impossible to inoculate everyone in the whole world with Pacem, even supposing that it possessed the miraculous powers attributed to it. The scientific testing had been exiguous, to say the least. Testing the entire population of a small country would be necessary to ensure 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. Peter realized that he was thinking like a typical banker; but wasn't that precisely why his opinion should be respected? Bankers were practical men. They didn't throw their money around on untested and impracticable schemes. The problem now was how to persuade Barykov, a hopeless alcoholic, to abandon his mad scheme. But for the moment he would listen carefully to Rajiv. He had a shrewd suspicion that his father was a certain M.K. Patel, a pharmaceutical manufacturer, a former client of the bank. If that were the case, from what he knew of M.K. Patel his motives for supporting the Movement would have been for financial gain. Nevertheless, his involvement gave the scheme a certain plausibility

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 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 unethical. 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 from doing so.'

'Mr. Barykov told me you were forbidden by your bank from taking other directorships, Rajov said, dryly.. Nevertheless, you did..'

Peter glared at him.

'So that settles that,' Rajiv said airily. 'But I'm here to try to get you into a more reasonable frame of mind. Mr. Barykov is fully aware that it was unethical to have dosed you with Pacem against your will and agrees you have a genuine cause for complaint on that score. 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. 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 going to underpin our finances with a short-term loan?' Peter enquired.

'Yes. But his overriding interest is now in our New Enlightenment Movement and he is giving it every priority.'

'How is the 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 then agree 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 gave Rajiv the benefit of the doubt and allowed that perhaps the drug was working. In his own case, he felt it made him 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 their craving for a suitable mate and earthly possessions as well as 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 entirely on 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 people 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 psychotic people and persistent criminals.'

Which will probably include 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 much of 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 greater appeal for him than expanding the International Learning Institute. A supposed pause in the cash flow had been Barykov's excuse for recalling him to the company headquarters. But it was clear now his real motive had been to recruit him into their mad scheme. M.K.Patel, the chief executive of the pharmaceutical company that manufactured the drug, obviously hoped it would eventually turn into a money-spinning operation. The founders of The New Enlightenment Movement were no exception to the rule that self-interest was what motivated most people. If possible he must use that weakness in human nature to frustrate 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.'

'I promise that if I'm allowed to go home I will not discuss it with anybody.'

'When we are totally convinced of your whole-hearted conversion you will be allowed to move about freely. Jack Barykov has a very high opinion of you and believes that your involvement in our cause 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.'

' 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 inoculated 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 shall have to overcome your resistance.'

Peter suddenly thought: that damned drug seems to be getting at me. I should be extremely angry, to but I'm not. But thank God it hasn't stopped my brain working. I'm sure I shall find a way to turn these crazy guys against each other.

He said: 'It amazes me that Jack Barykov was able to interest your father in his mad scheme.'

'He has exceptional powers of persuasion,' Rajiv replied enthusiastically. 'Altogether a remarkable man. But he is not entirely without a sense of humour. My father once said to him when they were discussing politics. "Did you know that Betty Boothroyd, the former Speaker of the House of Commons, was once a Tiller girl. Mr Barykov replied: "Don't forget that other girl who always kept a firm hand on the tiller – Mrs Thatcher."'

'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.'

'I think I can manage nicely without a tattoo.'

Rajiv looked disappointed. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and then said: 'It is time to let you see the boss again,' and left the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

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 suggested 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 his own dangerous 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. 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 Free Will.'

'If we don't interfere with nature, nature will kill us all. As for Free will, nobody has produced conclusive proof that it exists. But there isn't enough 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. MPs would tear the whole idea to ribbons.'

'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 this other than by the method I have outlined to you.'

'If I could throw an atom bomb at you at this very moment, I would do so. That drug doesn't work. Give up the whole stupid idea, Barykov, and let me go home.'

Peter felt faint. His experience during the previous twenty-four hours and the series of frustrating arguments hd weakened him. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again Barykov was consulting his wristwatch.

'My fellow Centurions and I admire your spirit,' Barykov declared with an engaging smile. 'Pacem will eventually overcome your recalcitrant nature. In a few hours time you will feel very different. I will not give up on you. In the meantime 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. By contrast we are offering 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 what's the point if to achieve it we have to give up our basic freedom and be 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 kinds of specious arguments.'

He wondered why Barykov was wasting his time trying to convert him. Why was he 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 all 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 drank a 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 learn from him?'

Peter shook his head again.

Barykov drank yet 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, which is entirely your fault.'

He topped up his glass and went on: 'Peter, she loves you. She has confided in me that you are exactly the type of old-fashioned Englishman she likes to write about in her stories.. She told me she dreamt about you before she even met you. You don't believe it, because, typical banker, you don't believe in anything that doesn't fit in with your preconceived view of the world. You're blinkered. You have a closed mind. Nobody believed it when sailors spoke of twenty-metre squids, until hundreds of years later remains of their huge carcasses 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 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 drastically narrows your horizons.

'You laughed at Heidi because she dreamed of you before she had met 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. and knew 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 said with a sarcastic grin.

'Yes, my friend, 'Barykov declared, spilling a few drops of vodka as he waved his glass. 'As I told you before, I am aware all the time that an angel is guiding me, making sure that I achieve my goal. It has 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 demons. One of them is preventing you from becoming a Centurion. Don't let him tempt you into doing the Devil's work.'

Peter then had an intuition that Barykov was about to take another swig of vodka. When seconds later he did, he thought for a moment he had experienced prescience. Common sense then returned, as he realised that Barykov was taking a swig approximately every two minutes and he had been unconsciously monitoring the measure of time between each intake of liquor. It was a perfect example of how one's ideas could be manipulated by plausible charlatans like the man sitting opposite him.

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 misguided 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 seems to have a very short attention span. Instant gratification is the order of the day. and failure to plan for the future is turning the world into a very unhappy place. Pessimism is the curse of our age. Our Movement will return us 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.

Instead of taking it, Peter enquired dryly: 'And who will decide who has won?'

Barykov gave a huge guffaw. 'Heidi! We will let her decide.'

He motioned towards the unopened bottle of Famous Grouse on the desk .but Peter 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. 'So what are you going to do now? – Throw me back into your KGB torture chamber?'

Barykov grimaced. '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. Don't you want the threat of imminent destruction lifted from the lives of your children and grandchildren?'

'My imprisonment is the immediate issue, not some hypothetical threat of nuclear warfare. The police will soon locate me and you will be put in jail, which you richly deserve.'

'That wouldn't worry me, because I know that I am acting correctly.'

'You are committing a criminal act by keeping me here.'

'The ends in this case fully justify the means.'

'I doubt if a judge wouldf 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.'

'You believe in a next world?' Peter enquired, incredulously.

Barykov laughed.

'Of course. Remember in Shakespeare's Twelth Night 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?'

'Did they not teach you as a boy in the Soviet Union that religion is the opium of the people?'

'Yes. But the communists failed to realise that religion keep us ahead in the evolutionary game. However, in our Movement we make no distinction between Creationist and Evolutionary thinking. Both points of view deserve respect.'

'That 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 into doing something I'm not absolutely convinced is right. 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 on the bottle and declared: 'It's a good whisky,' and added with a frown: '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, it's our total conviction that everything will come right in the end that keeps 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 evidence to the contrary. We live in an cruel world, red in tooth and claw. But the force that created it also stamped it with a magnificent form of optimism. I ask myself: are we victims of a giant hoax? Or are we 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. Another example of the way science can turn mental somersaults. Today's received wisdom is tomorrow's myth. Black Holes are good example. They were originally supposed to swallow everything up. Now it has been shown that this is not entirely true. They are a source of mysteries yet to be revealed. Allow me to tell you something, Peter .... '

He leaned across– Peter smelled the vodka on his breath– and continued: '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 harbouring doubts about God's existence.'

Peter took this as further proof, if any were needed, of Barykov's madness.

Barykov again pushed the bottle of whiskey towards him. In the hope of of gaining some concession, 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.'

'What circle are you talking about? Peter enquired, politely.

'The eternal circle.'

Barykov laughed, poured whiskey into his own glass by mistake and swallowed it without apparently noticing the difference. He then enquired slyly: 'Peter, wouldn't you like to square the circle?'

Peter remained silent, thinking there was no point in encouraging his maniacal outpourings.

Barykov, motioning with his hand said: 'Music does exactly that – it squares the circle. When I was a child, the sound of the cello assured me that Heaven exists. It hints at the truth which lies tantalisingly on the other side of the keyhole through which we must all eventually pass. It grants us a glimpse of a magnificent symmetry. Art truly truly conquers all. 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. It tells us that life progresses by trial and error. Which is exactly 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 at first, you keep trying until your instinct tells you it is complete. Life being so short we can never achieve perfection. But Creation is the one-ongoing artistic masterpiece which must eventually achieve perfection, the reason being that it has eternity on its side. That is why the stupid clown in Twelth Night 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? Evolution is completely random and aimless.'

'It may seem like that but it cannot stop that irresistible urge that lies within all of us to create a perfect world. Every art form expresses such a longing, which is why the notion of a Heaven first entered our minds.'

'Scientists say only Evolution can eventually answer the question as to why we are here on this earth.'

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 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 their actions show that they believe we are travelling towards Heaven.'

Peter shook his head in bewilderment. 'You sound like Voltaire's Dr. Pangloss, who kept saying: "Everything is for the best in this the best of all possible worlds."'

Barykov railed at him: 'A very respectable philosopher called Leibnitz first propounded that optimistic notion and was much pilloried for it. But you are a banker and bankers, like logicians, often fail to 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: another session of physical discomfort will help to 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 of 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 that robotic quality he thought, although he could sense no diminution whatsoever in his own capacity to hate. Given the chance, he would cheerfully tear Barykov limb from limb. Pacem, he was convinced, was a figment existing only in Barykov's confused mind and might well be just a cover for some fraudulent plan.

Heidi came in, wearing a navy skirt and a peasant blouse, tied at the neck. He would have liked to kiss the tiny oval of white skin at her throat. Instead he took her hand and said wih a smile: 'Barykov says you're going to convert me.'

'Why don't you accept what he says?' she replied brightly. 'He told me to remind you that our planet is in danger from other factors besides nuclear weapons.. 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 indicated the door to warn him that their conversation was being monitored. If she really loves me, Peter thought, she will find some way of helping me escape.

'Heidi, if you love me, why did you let them put me through that horrible ordeal?'

A baffled expression appeared on her face.

She answered: 'I've been through it. 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. Nuclear bombs will soon be as numerous as Kalashnikovs and in a crisis people will use any weapon that comes to hand 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. Jack likes to quote a former Soviet Union foreign minister who used to say: "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 says it is not guns that kill people; it's people and 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 realised.

'How can you believe everything that Barykov tells you? He's completely mad. He's a Darwinist who also 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.'

'Yes it does.'

'Jack has his own way of arriving at the truth.'

'There is only 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 make 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 hypnotised him. 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.'

How had he managed to fall in love with such a naive, unsophisticated girl, Peter asked himself.

Heidi went on: 'Jack says Jesus Christ's most important miracle was that he held fast to his message.'

'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.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Recumbent on the bed in the cellar, his hands and feet again tightly bound, Peter told himself it is absolutely clear now that I was set up by Barykov so that he could exploit my financial connections. I have fallen like a simpleton into a time-honoured honey trap. Exactly what he is up to I still don't yet know. My best guess is still that he wants me to hand over to him my share of our business.

There was, however, one bright spot – Heidi had promised to visit him in the cellar. Barykov had probably instructed her to use her sexual charms on him again. But he was determined not to succumb. To take his mind off the nagging pain in his wrists and ankles, he tried to analyse Barykov's motives. A possible alternative explanation for Barykov's actions flashed through his mind that seemed so far fetched that he rejected it out of hand.

Barykov's most obvious weakness was his alcohol addiction, which allowed him the deluded notion that he could persuade billions of people to take a new pharmaceutical drug. Barykov's drinking should have been a warning when he first considered him as a business partner. But he could hardly have predicted this bizarre situation. Peter's eyes wandered upwards, but could see only dark shadows where once he had imagined seeing a chink of light Heidi's response when he asked her to help him escape had not been encouraging. Nevertheless, if she still loved him it might be possible to purge her of Barykov's baneful influence. In the unlikely event of a successful escape bid, their lives together would undoubtedly be difficult. Their affair during Barykov's criminal prosecution would become generally known. His family would be appalled. However, there was no point in thinking that far ahead.

It wasn't easy to admit to himself that Heidi, by insisting that he resembled Sir Peter Crawford, drawn him like a callow youngster into the trap she and Barykov had set. Oddly, it occurred to him that only by emulating the daredevil deeds of his fictional counterpart would he be able to escape from his present situation. "And then with one mighty bound he was free!"He smiled as he remembered the lines from a Victorian melodrama: If only it could be that simple!

He tried to make excuses for Heidi's treacherous behaviour. She was as much a victim of Barykov's persuasive powers as he was himself. Had he really made that six-foot-seven-inch hulk, Charlie, dance like a fairy; or had Barykov hypnotised Heidi into believing it had happened? The latter explanation seemed more likely. Barykov possessed Rasputin-like qualities which enabled him to dominate other people's minds.

Typical was the way he made the placing of old-fashioned biblical Creationism on an equal footing with Evolution sound perfectly plausible. It was true, of course, that the majority of people were capable of carrying such contradictions in their heads without worrying too much. Albert Einstein's proof that time is elastic and light is bent by gravity doesn't stop his admirers from going to church. Billions of Muslims who accept that E=Mc2 gives a true picture of nature's laws still believe that the Prophet Mohammed went up in a straight line to Heaven on his steed. The Uncertainty Principle of quantum physics doesn't stop Roman Catholics from believing in the chastity of the Virgin Mary. People are quite content to carry contradictory ideas in their heads. But then perhaps since quantum mechanics itself carried irreconcilable contradictions it didn't matter. Nevertheless, for an intellectual like Barykov to propagate ideas that could not stand up to scientific rigour was disgraceful. Having convinced himself that Barykov was wicked, misguided and fraudulent, Peter decided to seek out his weaknesses and exploit them for all their worth, without, if possible, provoking him into excessive anger. He no doubt still had plenty of nasty KGB tricks up his sleeve.

Should he, then just try to prove to Barykov by sheer logic that his plan could never work? The parallel Li Hua had drawn between using chemicals to control aggression and the pill to control fertility was clever and had a certain superficial plausibility. But those who took Pacem would be exploited and bullied by those who didn't, thus defeating the object of the whole exercise. On the other hand, Ghandi, who behaved exactly as if he had taken Pacem, had won the day against the whole might of the British Empire. That, however, was because the British government of the day lacked the ruthlessness of the Nazis. Still, even if Barykov's idea had some merit it would fail, because it was totally impractical. His attempt to base a world-wide movement on such an utterly absurd idea was doomed from the very beginning.. His alcoholism had given him a totally distorted view of reality.

Heartened by his analysis. Peter decided that in order to win his freedom he should consider giving Barykov a majority of shares in their enterprise, although having to promise not to bring criminal charges against him as part of the deal would be very difficult. Nevertheless, he would make that promise if it would save his life.

He glanced at his wristwatch. It was eleven o'clock p.m. Barykov had threatened him with a forty-eight hour imprisonment this time. Another forty-five hours without food or water was a dismal prospect. But he now felt stronger, buoyed by the conviction that he had Barykov's measure. He wondered how angry it would make Barykov if he pointed out that greed was motivating the Indian financier, M.K. Patel into making his huge investment in Pacem. And he would also point out that Pacem had not diminished own aggressive instincts in the slightest.

To help pass the time, he decided on some preposterous questions put to Barykov., which would expoase his true nature. 'You are in a sinking boat and there's only one life jacket. Whom do you save, your wife or your mother? Would you press a button that will kill an elderly Indian dying from cancer in the Brazilian rain forest and simultaneously lodge a million pounds in your bank acount? Asking himself the hypothetical question: would he press a button that would kill Barykov and simultaneously release him from captivity, he gave a resounding Yes! He relished it so much he kept repeating it.

Then his intense thirst returned.. How many more hours before they gave him something to drink? A tankard of beer loomed in his mind.. He remembered a publican calling in a sonorous voice: "Time, gentlemen, please." To which a customer responded: " God wasn't parsimonious when he made Time, Taffy. There's no shortage, so pull us another pint."

The Welshman was right. Time was endless. Especially when shackled to a bedstead.

Barykov, he told himself, is suffering from a Messianic complex. His Movement will get nowhere. Aggression is an integral part of human nature and always will be. People aren't going to tamely take a drug that will curb it.. Christians rarely turn the other cheek. Even if the dose of Pacem Barykov put in the wine had worked, I would hate him. I shall hate him for ever more. Hate him! Hate him! Hate him!

He felt better for his outburst. Expressing hate can be cathartic, he thought. And then tried toremember the psychiatrist's face who had made this statement at a dinner party. Gradually, a broad, earnest visage with a coarse complexion and a deeply-cleft brow surmounted by untidy grey hair came into his mind. She had resembled George Elliot. Gratified by this feat of memory, he fell asleep.

When he woke up, he caught a glimmer of the thin ray of light in the ceiling he had noticed during his previous spell of imprisonment and it cheered him up. There is a way out of here, he told himself. The possibility that a hatch exists that was once used for coal delivery will give me the strength to resist Barykov. I won't let him break my spirit. I shall do my best to appeal to Heidi's better nature and she will help me. It may even be possible to shake the Monster himself out of his psychopathic delusion. His spirits rose. But soon afterwards the gravity of his situation impressed itself on him once more and he fell into a deep depression, intensified by a conviction that his mental processes were beginning to deteriorate. Nevertheless, he told himself, when Barykov comes to interrogate me,I shall make it absolutely clear that I won't give up.

Hours later the cellar door squealed. His former partner strode in, wearing a barbour jacket and corduroy trousers looking incongruously like a Scottish laird about to embark on a shooting expedition.

'Good morning,' Baykov 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 returned to the half-opened door. Barykov lowered his considerable bulk onto the chair, which creaked under his weight.

Peter gazed steadily up at the ceiling.

Looking down at Peter, as if he were a consultant examining 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 will bear that in mind, we can dispose of this whole issue in a few minutes. You will then be free to resume your normal life. All I shall ask of you is that you become a Centurion and make a few speeches in support of The New Enlightenment Movement when you go home. 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 converts we have made, you will enthusiastically evangelise our cause.'

Peter didn't answer.

Barkov glanced round at the dark walls and said brightly: 'You may like to know that I have deposited a thesis entitled Origins and Ends in a metal canister in 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 to publish it when I die.'

'Has it ever occurred to you that you're suffering from delusions of grandeur?' Peter enquired scornfully.

'You may be right, Barykov replied, nodding sagely, 'but you will never know until you have read what I have written.'

'Why don't you write about something else you are familiar with, pimping for prostitutes?' Peter sneered.

'If you are referring to Heidi's mother, I can assure you that because of me several of her girls came off the game, which they would have found impossible to do without my help and expertise.'

'Since you insist you always act 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 all about ending the causes of war ...'

Peter interrupted him:: 'Why the hell should I listen to your rantings when you've got me lying 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. Suddenly, 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 and then swore at Barykov. When he had recovered his composure, he said: 'Anyway, your stupid, bloody scheme is doomed to failure. How will you persuade governments to administer Pacem to billions of people?'

'Some governments will take it up with enthusiasm. Others will show caution but will eventually follow the example of more advanced states. In the end good sense will prevail. The people of the world are even more aware of the dangers of nuclear proliferation than their politicians who have access to bomb-proof bunkers.' He smiled and went on: 'Our researches in America, Europe and Russia fully support our beliefs that people will welcome a solution that is 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 you have been told 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.'

'We have tried that. But history shows that it is impossible to eliminate aggression from people's hearts and minds. We are attempting a dual-track solution to the problem. Religion – and that includes science, which is also a kind of 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 and I'll get one.'

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. If it failed, it would result again in his being manacled to the bed. A new 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 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 support the New Enlightenment Movement, 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 promising that soon a new Messiah will arise who will save the world. We shall announce that the Messiah has endorsed Pacem as the only means of stopping the fearsome weapons in the world's armouries from being used. Eventually everyone will know 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: 'If the Messiah already exists in people's minds why not use him in the service of world peace?'

Peter, struck by Barykov's extraordinary capacity for deceit and self-delusion, said in an attempt to make him see reason: 'Why include religion, which is rapidly losing influence, in your campaign.'

'Because it has played an indispensable role in our past. A new religion will inevitably come about eventually that will embrace all other religions.'

'That's a childish pipe dream,' Peter said irritably. '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,' Barykov 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 my politics.'

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 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 into 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 have dropped off. I was obliged to ask Rajiv to manipulate the statistics in order to exaggerate our revenue. His father agreed this was the best thing to do in the circumstances. He manufactures Pacem. Without his involvement the New Enlightenment Movement would not exist. Rajiv obeyed our instructions, in order to avoid the company being put into liquidation. Our Movement meanwhile 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 float 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.

He 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 a longing for purity. I vowed that when I grew older I would keep faith with the ideals of my youth. But eventually I was corrupted by the brutal regime under which I was born. 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 had a sudden flashback and recalled a schoolgirl called Catherine, She wore a red blazer, had a striking profile and long blonde hair. Determined not to allow his opponent to strip down his emotional defences, he said: 'What's all this about, Barykov? Don't tell me that after colluding with the KGB all those years you've had a spiritual awakening.'

Barykov looked baffled and shook his head.

'No. This is a practical matter. If I can't appeal to your conscience, I'm entitled to ask you save yourself and everyone else in the world.'

Peter asked bitterly: 'What the hell has all this to do with our partnership '

'As two privileged beings, we are just discussing our obligations to the rest of humanity.'

'I'm a banker,' Peter declared flatly. 'I make money for myself and other people by channelling money into productive businesses which give employment. That is what I have been trained to do 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 vigorous exercises, congratulating himself on having won a significant victory.

Later, as Peter dressed, Barykov told him about his indoctrination under the Soviet Union schooling system. He also told of a series of secret meetings with a Russian Orthodox priest while he was at university. Intensive reading sessions after coming to England had crystalised his world view.

Peter interrupted his flow of words and said: 'Get to the point. What exactly do you want of me?'

Barykov said calmly: 'The electronic code numbers of two of your wealthiest client's bank accounts.'

THIRTY-ONE

He is asking me to me to bring down the sacred pillars of banking. That's something I will never do. I'm just an average man – what the French call an homme moyen sensual. But by God I have my principles and I do my duty as I see it. I'll never give him the code numbers.

It was now clear that the whole elaborate plot was just a cover for an electronic bank robbery. Barykov's high sounding talk about world peace was sheer hypocrisy. But why had he fallen so easily into the trap? The answer must be that he was a living, breathing example of the Peter Principle at work – the bank had promoted him above his competence level. All he could say in his own defence was that Russian criminals like Barykov had been trained to the highest degree precisely in order to be able to manipulate people like himself. These former apparatchiks from the Soviet Union had stretched their tentacles deep into Western society.. The only way he could redeem himself was to stand fast and refuse to allow the electronic transfer of approximately three-point-seven billion pounds into his former partner's bank account. Did he have the guts to stand up to the kind of refined torture Barykov was capable of inflicting? He doubted it, but vowed to delay the inevitable outcome until the last possible moment.

The International Learning Institute, it now appeared, was a ghost company. Rajiv, a computer engineer, had sent electronic robots crawling around the Internet, tricking the accountants into believing that millions of people visited the web sites and that they were were making huge profits. He would be held responsible for the huge losses that the bank would sustain if he gave them the code numbers. He would be personally, and in every other respect, bankrupt. The only comfort in this ghastly situation was that for once in his lifetime he had summoned up the courage to take 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 do it in order to save the lives of billions of people.'

Peter said: 'I have no knowledge of these bank account code numbers.'

'Wrong,' Barykov replied. 'We know you have them.'

'What makes you think so?'

'Rajiv examined your BlackBerry PDA while you were out playing golf the last time you were here and it contains a reference to the bank accounts of Sheikh Abdulah of Saudi Arabia and the Sultan of Brunei, 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 decipher 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. 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. Ask yourself 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 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 protect the bank accounts of two men who won't even be impoverished by what we are asking you to do. They will simply make up what they have lost by pumping 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 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 I have my clothes, Peter thought. And two hours in which to devise an escape plan. My experience 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, that allows interrogators to squeeze the truth out of people. They beat the shit out of you 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 he is, 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 influence. I'll find out if and when she keeps her promise to visit 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 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 I don't know it.'

Barykov sat on the chair, drank noisily from a silver flask he took from his side pocket and leaning towards Peter, who was sitting on the bed, 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 hnd of my time in the Soviet Union I was stationed in Kabul. We were fighting the mujadeheen in Afganistan. I was doing interpretation work for the KGB. We usually 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 something of an exhibitionist then and 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 concerned 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 neuro-sciences have recently made great advances in that area. During one of these discussions someone asked the question familiar to sci-fi addicts: can an android could be described as immoral if it leaves 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 hookers who 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 I do, 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 his 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, comrades, is the essential difference between a human being and an android.'

'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 wicked 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 rewound?

'Maybe. But there is no scientific evidence that such a happy 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, looked uneasy, 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 that you don't believe in a benevolent God.'

'Barykov, for my part I find it very hard to believe that you hold such pathetic 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? The obvious inference being that every creature on earth has its own concept of God, which means in effect that there is no God. You are extremely naive. And yet you behave like a criminal and 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 had hoped his outburst would silence Barykov. He was astonished when Barykov threw out his arms 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 religion's 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 teleogical process. We learn from our failures in order to survive. The trouble with you, Peter, is that you have lost sight of the ball because you have been too busy counting your money. We are not talking about unimportant matters. Ideas are real and potent forces And the way we think controls our destiny. It appears that the only debate these days is whether 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. 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.'

'It will this time,' Barykov said. 'The last one we gave you was a placebo. We were testing the psychological reactions of someone who thinks he has taken Pacem.'

'You filthy bastard!'

Peter spat out the tablet Barykov forced into his mouth. He did so again when they put it back. 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 Charlie poured water 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. They tell me that there is an antidote, so I shall eventually be able to return to normal. In years to come I shall remember this moment when I managed to retain my essential dignity, in spite of being assaulted and abused.

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 Pacem would weaken his power to resist. When they returned, he would try to squeeze the code numbers out of him again, with the confidence of a man who had watched many hundreds of other victims subdued by drugs and torture.

An alarming thought then came to him. Instead of Pacem, had they administered a truth drug? 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 perhaps the message will penetrate his brain later on. Every man has his price. In the meantime, I'll conserve my energies. During the night I'll test my theory as to whether 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 it down to the pill they had forced him to take. Oddly, he now felt less rancour towards Barykov and his fellow conspirators. Was Pacem influencing his emotions already? While asleep he had been dreaming that he was suckingling copious drafts of human kindness from snow-white breasts. A feeling of universal beneficence flowed over him. He remembered expressing hearfelt expressions of love and good will to his family and the world during Christmas celebrations. Perhaps the pill wasn't so bad. Even though he had been defeated by a superior intelligence, he no longer hated the man who had once seemed an unredeemable monster.

He registered this with a kind of numbed resignation. Barykov had conquered him. It would be wrong to refuse to decipher the bank account numbers, since the net effect of doing so would be the elimination of weapons of mass destruction. He would be joining a team that would remove the scourge of war from the world. It would be wicked to resist Barykov. As a born Christian, it was his duty to love everybody and help bring peace to the world. He could do so by divulging the code.

But then he asked himself did he really believe in the Bible and its supposed account of how the world came into being? Old fashioned Christianity was humbug. Science had proved that religion was as dead as the billions of species that had died out during the past few hundred million years – quite a few of them as the result of man's predatory nature. So why accept Barykov's specious argument that would cause him to become a thief on a massive scale.

Pure scientific reason, on the other hand, demanded that he should give overwhelming to his Peace Movement. But something is wrong – I feel it in my bones. That's because Barykov is a foreigner and his thoughts are not my thoughts, nor his ways mine. That's not a good argument, of course. But something else, a fragile wisp of an idea which I can't even articulate, prevents me from acceding to Barykov's demand. The thing is now I no longer hate him, so why don't I take the easy way out and give him what he wants?

Probably because I dislike intensely what he has done to Heidi. In addition, robbing a bank, which goes against the whole grain of my training and upbringing, fills me with abhorrence. Nevertheless, that shouldn't stop me from appreciating that the idea he pursues with such fanatical zeal might save the world..

What I do know is that I should get the hell out of here as soon as possible. For that I need Heidi. I bitterly resent her loyalty to Barykov. Her excuse about the Centurion oath doesn't wash with me. If she loved me, she would never have allowed Barykov to imprison and abuse me. I'll confront her with that when she comes. If she comes. In the meantime, she remains my one and only hope. Without her I'm lost.

Logically, it is open to me now to give Barykov what he wants. But if I do, my last shred of dignity and credibility will have been lost. Barykov will have won. If I give in I shall be ruined; if I don't I shall be tortured and the likelihood is that at the end of it all I shall give in, anyway. Haven't I suffered enough?

If Heidi and I could escape, we could leave it all behind us and make a good life together abroad. George Bernard Shaw wrote that a man can grow a new reputation like a lobster can grow a new claw. Perhaps 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 feverishly up and down the uneven, concrete floor of the cellar, occasionally glancing up at the ceiling, trying to look for the elusive ray of light he thought he had once seen.

The door squealed on its hinges and Barykov appeared, accompanied by a guard.

'Listen outside for trouble,' Barykov told the guard,. When the door closed, he said to Peter with a smile: 'Don't try to bribe them. They are totally devoted to the Cause, as I hope you soon will be.

Peter asked in an offhand manner: 'II have just thought – isn't there a possibility that Pacem will have long-term, harmful genetic effects, besides controlling aggression?'

'They have carried out extensive trials in M.P.Patel's laboratories on rats and mice and none have shown up.'

'Curbing people's aggression will inhibit them from striving for better things?'

'What has been called the "divine discontent" is not affected in any way. Pacem sublimates aggression into higher forms of activity.'

'What about libido?'

'It enhances it.' Barykkov 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 aspire 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 ideals she shares with me.'

'Torturing someone does not conform to any 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 moneylender?'

'If the cap fits, wear it.'

A glimmer of a smile appeared on Barykov's face.

'Breaking faith with my bank and its shareholders is not something I can do lightly. "Thou shall not steal?" is a time-honoured commandment.

'The Decalogue served us well. That's partly why I sympathise with religion. We shall miss it when we don't have it any more, just as we miss water and electricity when it is cut off. But the Decalogue lacks the important eleventh commandment which demands tolerance towards other people's religion.'

'I am half-persuaded by what you say. But I should like a final discussion with Heidi. If I join the Movement, it will obviously improve 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. 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. 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. And we cannot foresee what will eventually happen when everyone fully understands its implications. The likelihood is that evolution will progressively filter out those people who cannot apprehend that there are other dimensions. Incidentally, 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. She will get rid you 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. Peter shook it, but regretted doing so afterwards.

He guessed, as he waited impatiently for Heidi to appear, that allowing her to visit him was just another of Barkov's psychological ploys. He began pacing up and down the cellar again, wondering what to say when she came in. 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 might be, money would be channelled from the owners of the bank accounts into the hands of other people equally flawed and fallible. Even if Barykov's motives were entirely honourable, 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 mean that he must blindly follow his grotesque, unworkable plan.

The hatch in the ceiling, if it existed, was his last hope. If he could persuade Heidi to help him escape, they would drag the iron bedstead towards where he had seen a faint crack of light, stand on it and inspect the ceiling closely to see if his theory was correct. The main danger would arise from the noise of the bed being dragged over the floor. He and Heidi would have to raise their voices to drown it out, in order to let the guard outside think that they were quarrelling. The plan was worthy of Sir Peter Crawford, he thought ruefully. Whether it would work was another matter. It was still extremely doubtful whether Heidi would co-operate. The big question if she did was whether, if there was a hatch, would it be possible to open it after many years of disuse.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, when she appeared, wearing the peasant blouse and skirt he had seen her wearing on a previous occasion. Her sheer 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 you disclose those secret numbers. If necessary, he said I should make love to you.'

'What an old humbug! Much as I'd like that, it still wouldn't make me cough up the code numbers.'

'He said he's prepared to strip you down to the last layer, whatever that means.'

'Would you allow him to do that?'

'I would prevent it if I could. Darling, I'll do anything possible to help you.'

'And yet you stood by and did nothing when I was shackled to this fucking bed.'

'I couldn't do anything.'

'Why not?'

'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 when he's in the mood. It's impossible to deny him. I thought 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. But 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. Not enough to kill him, which I would have been only too happy to do before I took the drug. However, I'm still not prepared to become a thief.'

'Even though the money will save the world?'

'He's just another egotistical bastard who thinks he alone 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 faint ray of light he had seen at dawn, he pointed to the shadowy area at the rear of the cellar. 'The big problem,' he added in a low tone, 'is that we would have to shift the bed over there to find out. But it will make a grating noise and alert the guard.'

He then added: 'But if we raise our voices loudly as if we're quarrelling, it might drown out the sound.'

He raised his voice and shouted: 'Why are you supporting Barykov?'

Getting the idea, Heid responded in an even louder voice: 'It's a perfectly good scheme! 'It'll save billions of lives. Billions!'

'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 they''ll never be able to persuade everyone to take them.'

The heavy bed inched towards the back of the cellar.

Heidi shouted: 'I love you, you stupid bastard. But to me Jack Barykov is a hero. No politicians would have 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 ....'

Mouthing the words: 'Keep it up,' he looked up and felt the ceiling

Heidi continued:' Oh, how wonderful! More, more. Do it 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.'

Heidi shouted: ' Oh, darling, that's lovely' and followed this up with a shrill scream of pleasure, which convinced him that she had gone too far.

Pushing hard against the panel, he dislodged a mixture of earth and soot, which fell on his face, nearly blinding him. Then with a supreme effort, accompanied by a muffled grunt, which he hoped might sounded 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 supreme 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 faked orgasm of yours wouldn't fool anyone. Let's get out of here.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

'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 opened a rusty gate that squealed alarmingly. They entered a field where Peter could vaguely make out in the distance some sleeping cows.

'Are we out of the manse territory?'

'Not yet, this is a field he leased to a local farmer.'

Peter, remembering that his wallet had been removed, asked Heid if she had any money. When she shook her head, he said: 'Not to worry. We'll be all right as soon as I can get to a telephone.' A depressing reminder that he was now totally bankrupt came to him. But he thrust it from his mind.

He whispered after a while: 'We'll go to America or Australia and make a fresh start, that is, after I've told the police about 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's late boss, Sir Charles Goldstein, had once remarked; "Nobody, but nobody, is more than a hair's breadth from madness at any one time." How right he was. Barykov was, another false Messiah convinced that he could save the world. Perhaps the judge would take his madness into account when sentencing him for his criminal acts.

Concerned 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 had even met in the Suzie Cue pub. There must have been some reason.'

'I only know I had this sense of déja vu as soon as I saw you.'

'But it wasn't déja vu, Heidi. You've admitted you had already seen a photograph of me in the Financial Times.'

'I am certain as certain can be that I had already met you in a previous life.'

It was pointless to argue with such a ridiculous notion. Peter's attention was being 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 moonlight. Heidi moved along the hedge until she found an opening. The vegetation tore their clothing as they pushed through. Peter suddenly remembered that his miniature handheld computer, the source of their present troubles, was also called a BlackBerry.

They ran along a narrow, winding lane, the moonlight throwing grotesque shadows in front of them, his bulkier form merging with Heidi's slighter figure running beside him. He decided that her incurable romanticism didn't matter. The simple fact was 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 a 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 then fell back again onto the wet ground. He grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder and staggered towards the bridge. 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.

The guard pulled off his dog and said deferentially: 'Sorry, sir. But orders is orders. Mr. Barykov says we have to bring you back to discuss your financial arrangements.'

He would say that, wouldn't he, Peter thought.. 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 and pulled her from the stream.

Peter followed them, the guard 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.'

CHAPTER-THIRTY-THREE

The police were questioning the guards in the main entrance hall, as Peter sat facing Barykov in his office. They were both waiting to be interviewed. Barykov's brooding, dark-stubbled face, looked positively evil by the light of a single reading lamp. But Peter did not feel any hostility towards him. It must be the Pacem he thought.

Heidi's body had been taken by ambulance to a local hospital. The paramedics were not sure whether she had died from a broken neck or from drowning. Barykov had just told Peter, in a matter of fact way, that their partnership was at an end and that the International Learning Institute would be placed in the hands of the Official Receiver.

'Why didn't you alert me earlier to the fact that we were in financial difficulties,' Peter asked.

'I had other, more important, things on my mind,' Barykov said in a lofty tone.

'Like robbing a bank.'

'It was necessary,' Barykov 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 planned to rob my bank. Incidentally, why didn't you approach me directly when you read of my promotion in the newspapers?'

'I tried several times. But when I telephoned your office, your secretary wouldn't put me through.'

'As a result of your wicked scheme Heidi has lost her life.'

'She shouldn't have run away with you.'

'Was she supposed to watch you torture me!'

'I was just trying to change your mind set. I wanted you to become my deputy.'

'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.'

'Tell me, then, why didn't she intervene when I was tied up in the cellar?'

'I have no idea.'

Barykov rubbed his stubbled chin, and then looked blankly 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.

'Are you going 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 necessarily at a slower pace. I am going to canvass rich men, asking them to pay substantial funds to advance the cause of world peace. Their names will be inscribed on a huge plaque at the United Nations. I won't 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.'

'You bloody hypocrite. She's dead,' Peter said bitterly. 'Thanks to you.'

'She shouldn't have helped you to escape. But incurable romantics often seek a romantic death.'

'She would much prefer to have lived.'

'Be that as it may, romanticism is an essential part of the dynamics of life.'

'What on earth are you talking about?'

Barykov smiled and wiped his unshaven face with his hand. 'Look at how she managed to turn a tired, boring middle-aged banker into an adventurous entrepreneur of heroic proportions simply by showing you another side of yourself in her novel.'

Peter said disdainfully. 'It was the callous way you used her as bait that resulted in her death.'

'You wanted to become rich.. 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.'

'Bullshit! No one comes back from the grave.'

'No one can know that for certain.'

'You're a sorcerer, Barykov. You just twist words for your own purpose.'

'Mathematics, the purest of the sciences, uses a sign that means infinite. If we accept, as the finest mathematical minds do, the reality of infinity, then the inexorable laws of chance means that every possible combination of circumstances must eventually 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 recognise how abominably you have treated me.'

Peter touched the plaster which covered the wound in his calf and said: 'You certainly deserve to go to prison.'

'The prospect of 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 Hargreaves.'

'Your so-called Movement will go nowhere. But if you had stuck to the Internet business we both might have become 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.' Peter continued brokenly: 'You still haven't explained how you managed to stop Heidi from trying to help me 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 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 politely.

They got up from their chairs and in their haste jostled each other in the door-opening. Peter pulled back to 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. Did you know she had a child?'

'Yes, she had it adopted.'

'No,' Barykov said, curtly. 'She killed it.'

'What!'

Barykov 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 the living proof of my contention 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, among his other less reputable activities, an avid weapons collector.'

'I see you have a crossbow by the side of those claymores. I'm very interested in crossbows. I have two 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 close 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 contorted face, a word that sounded like 'Eternity.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Some months later, after Bess had written to inform him that she had erected a memorial stone to Heidi, Peter and his wife visited her grave. A sculpted book at the base of the marble slab was inscribed with the words: "Her writing and her life were tragically cut short." He felt uncomfortable, remembering the heroic portrait Heidi had painted of him in her novel. Nor did his victory over Barykov give him much comfort.

Rachel had been surprisingly forgiving. The events had been given considerable prominence in the press and she was proud of his part in thwarting an attempted electronic bank robbery.

The official verdict on Barykov's death had been 'Death by accident.' Peter had retained his job. As one newspaper put it, his heroic resistance saved the bank billions of pounds of its clients' money. There was even a possibility that he might be awarded some assets from the defunct International Learning institute, including, ironically, the Creative Writing School.

Rachel was not over-concerned by the fact that he was not as rich as he had hoped to be.

'You'll recover in time and make up for it,' she assured him. And he supposed he would.