Samson 08 - Spy Line by Len Deighton

Author:Len Deighton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-04-16T01:17:40+00:00

11

Once back in London it was easy to believe my trip to Central Europe had all been a dream. In fact I suppressed all thought of my meeting with Fiona from my mind. Or I really tried to do so. When Gloria met me at the airport, she gave a whoop of joy that could be heard across the concourse. She grabbed me and kissed me and held me tight. It was only then that I began to see the full extent of the terrible emotional dilemma I had created: or should I say dilemma that Fiona had created for me.

Gloria had left her new car — an orange-coloured Metro — double banked outside Terminal Two, a place where the parking warden charm school invigilates its ferocity finals. But she got away unscathed: I suppose it was tea time.

The car was brand new and she was keen to demonstrate its wonders. I sat back and watched her with delight. The awful truth was that I felt relaxed, and truly at home, here in London with Gloria in my arms. She was young and vital, and she excited me. My feelings for Fiona were different — and more complex. As well as being my wife, my colleague and my rival, she was the mother of my children.

Werner Volkmann’s caustic wife Zena once told me that I’d married Fiona because she was everything that I wasn’t. By that I suppose she meant educated, sophisticated and moving in the right circles. But I would have claimed otherwise. My education, sophistication, and the circles I moved in too, were radically different to anything Fiona had known, but not inferior. I’d married her because I loved her desperately but perhaps it was a love too coloured by respect. Perhaps we’d both married believing that it was the combination of our talents and experience that really mattered; that we would prove to be an invincible combination and our children would excel in every way. But such reasoning is false; marriages cannot be held together solely by mutual respect. Especially when that respect depends upon inexperience, as respect so often does. Now we knew each other better, and I had discovered that Fiona’s love for me was sober and cerebral, like her love of learning and her love of her country. Gloria was not much more than half Fiona’s age: Lord, what an oppressing thought that was! But Gloria had an irrepressible energy and excitement and curiosity and contrariness. I loved Gloria as I loved the exhilaration she’d brought to my life and the boundless love she gave both me and the children. But I loved Fiona too.

‘Good trip?’ She tried to demonstrate the self-seeking radio and the auto-reverse tape player while overtaking a bus on the inside. She was an unrestrained driver as she was an unrestrained lover and an unrestrained everything else.

‘The usual routine. Salzburg and Vienna. You know.’ I felt no pang of conscience at saying that the trip had been routine. This was not the right time to sit down with Gloria and hear what she thought about Fiona.

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