to Frans Hals’ Laughing Cavalier. My most vivid memory of it is from ten years earlier, hanging upside down from the seat belt of an army Land Rover which the two of us have managed to roll over on Salisbury Plain. But it’s lost much of its boyish charm since then.
‘Captain Seethrough, I presume,’ I say with genuine astonishment. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Pronouncing his name out loud makes me want to laugh. His real name is Carlton-Cooper, or something very like it, which in an environment such as the army is as problematic as being called Hyper-Ventilate or Slashed-Peak. When he first made captain, and became Captain Carlton-Cooper, someone had the idea of calling him C3. Not long afterwards a fellow officer in a waggish mood tweaked the name to Seethrough, and for its ragging value and suggestion of lewdness, it stuck firmly. He never liked it much.
‘Well may you ask, Ant, well may you ask,’ he says, rather as if he knows something I don’t. He has the same manner of talking through his teeth in clipped tones that lends a quality of determination to everything he says, and the same playful habit of flexing his eyebrows as if a conspiracy were afoot. ‘I’d say the question is what are you doing here?’ He smiles charmingly. It’s a strange way to greet an old friend after such a long time, and I wonder for a moment whether there isn’t an hereditary streak of madness in his very distinguished family.
‘I’m here,’ I explain tolerantly, ‘because a tractor was blocking the road on my way home.’ I can’t decide whether to tell him about my unexpected encounter with the Uzbek girl, so I add, ‘I was just dropping a friend off.’
He looks at me with a smile that borders on smugness.
‘Naughty boy,’ he says as if to admonish a child. ‘Telling porkies again.’ His tone of voice suggests I’m a complete fool. I feel a mixture of resentment and curiosity towards him, which grows as he says, ‘Nice girl, though. Can’t blame you for liking her. Knew you would.’ He takes a sip from his glass and sighs with exaggerated relish. ‘God, you’ve really got proper beer in the country, haven’t you? Here.’ He passes me the untouched glass of mineral water. ‘Shall we sit?’
We move to a table in a corner of the room, facing the front door. I’m too baffled to speak.
‘Father was actually a KGB colonel, would you believe it?’ he goes on. ‘Unthinkable a few years ago. Now she works for us. Didn’t even have to twist her arm.’
‘Do you mind if I ask what you’re on about?’ I interrupt him. ‘I met that woman ten minutes ago by chance.’
‘Powerful illusion, isn’t it, chance?’ He takes a slow sip from his glass. ‘You met her because you stopped for her. You stopped for her because she was beautiful and driving a sports car. You saw her sports car because you took the long way home. You took the long way home because the road you were on was blocked by a tractor.’
‘And I suppose you’re going to tell me you put the tractor there.’ It’s too far-fetched. He’s bluffing wildly, but my mind’s racing through the possibilities. I can’t figure out how he knows I turned off the road, because I haven’t told him.
‘Actually, yes, we did. A little cash for an obliging farmer.’
‘What if I hadn’t turned off where I did?’
‘I admit we had to choose the right spot in advance. But you don’t like to be thwarted, and you do like going off-road. We knew you’d take the dirt track.’
‘I didn’t have to bring her here,’ I counter, wondering who ‘we’ are.
‘She needed to make a phone call. This is the nearest place where there’s a phone.’
‘I could have let her call from my mobile.’
‘You haven’t got your mobile with you, Ant. We know you left it at home from the last time it talked to the network. It’s called a handshake, and the transmitter density gives us a pretty good idea of the location it came from. Pretty soon
‘Captain Seethrough, I presume,’ I say with genuine astonishment. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Pronouncing his name out loud makes me want to laugh. His real name is Carlton-Cooper, or something very like it, which in an environment such as the army is as problematic as being called Hyper-Ventilate or Slashed-Peak. When he first made captain, and became Captain Carlton-Cooper, someone had the idea of calling him C3. Not long afterwards a fellow officer in a waggish mood tweaked the name to Seethrough, and for its ragging value and suggestion of lewdness, it stuck firmly. He never liked it much.
‘Well may you ask, Ant, well may you ask,’ he says, rather as if he knows something I don’t. He has the same manner of talking through his teeth in clipped tones that lends a quality of determination to everything he says, and the same playful habit of flexing his eyebrows as if a conspiracy were afoot. ‘I’d say the question is what are you doing here?’ He smiles charmingly. It’s a strange way to greet an old friend after such a long time, and I wonder for a moment whether there isn’t an hereditary streak of madness in his very distinguished family.
‘I’m here,’ I explain tolerantly, ‘because a tractor was blocking the road on my way home.’ I can’t decide whether to tell him about my unexpected encounter with the Uzbek girl, so I add, ‘I was just dropping a friend off.’
He looks at me with a smile that borders on smugness.
‘Naughty boy,’ he says as if to admonish a child. ‘Telling porkies again.’ His tone of voice suggests I’m a complete fool. I feel a mixture of resentment and curiosity towards him, which grows as he says, ‘Nice girl, though. Can’t blame you for liking her. Knew you would.’ He takes a sip from his glass and sighs with exaggerated relish. ‘God, you’ve really got proper beer in the country, haven’t you? Here.’ He passes me the untouched glass of mineral water. ‘Shall we sit?’
We move to a table in a corner of the room, facing the front door. I’m too baffled to speak.
‘Father was actually a KGB colonel, would you believe it?’ he goes on. ‘Unthinkable a few years ago. Now she works for us. Didn’t even have to twist her arm.’
‘Do you mind if I ask what you’re on about?’ I interrupt him. ‘I met that woman ten minutes ago by chance.’
‘Powerful illusion, isn’t it, chance?’ He takes a slow sip from his glass. ‘You met her because you stopped for her. You stopped for her because she was beautiful and driving a sports car. You saw her sports car because you took the long way home. You took the long way home because the road you were on was blocked by a tractor.’
‘And I suppose you’re going to tell me you put the tractor there.’ It’s too far-fetched. He’s bluffing wildly, but my mind’s racing through the possibilities. I can’t figure out how he knows I turned off the road, because I haven’t told him.
‘Actually, yes, we did. A little cash for an obliging farmer.’
‘What if I hadn’t turned off where I did?’
‘I admit we had to choose the right spot in advance. But you don’t like to be thwarted, and you do like going off-road. We knew you’d take the dirt track.’
‘I didn’t have to bring her here,’ I counter, wondering who ‘we’ are.
‘She needed to make a phone call. This is the nearest place where there’s a phone.’
‘I could have let her call from my mobile.’
‘You haven’t got your mobile with you, Ant. We know you left it at home from the last time it talked to the network. It’s called a handshake, and the transmitter density gives us a pretty good idea of the location it came from. Pretty soon
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