the Kremlin’s matchet diplomacy with rapier subtlety that was the envy of other ambassadors. He looked curiously at Mortimer who looked as gauche as he had once been.
‘I gather you are a cricketer,’ he said.
‘I played a bit, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary.’
‘You won’t get much chance to play cricket here. Do you ski?’
‘Not terribly well. I never really got further than the nursery slopes.’
‘That’s all right. It’s mostly cross-country ski-ing here. At least you don’t break your leg. And then there’s skating. A lot of the junior staff go skating. And they play a game called broomball. Rather like hockey only it’s played with brooms.’
The Ambassador stopped talking and gazed across the dying garden. Mortimer desperately searched his mind for an adequate reply. ‘I expect I shall like that,’ he said.
‘You’ve got to have some sort of relaxation,’ said the Ambassador. ‘It’s vitally important. How’s your Russian coming along?’
‘Not too bad, thank you, sir. I can read a bit. I just need practice talking to Russians.’
‘I’m afraid you won’t get an awful lot of practice. You’ll meet a few Russians at parties and official functions. But most of them want to practise their English.’
‘I expect I’ll manage to meet a few socially,’ Mortimer said.
The Ambassador sketched a Union Jack with a slim gold pencil on his pad. ‘I think you’d better talk to Mason about that,’ he said; and diverted the trend of the conversation. ‘You’re not married, I gather.’
‘No, sir. I haven’t had any time for that sort of thing.’ Everything he said seemed to crystallise into incongruity.
‘Every diplomat should marry. Not necessarily when you’re as young as you are. But certainly before you’re thirty.’
‘I expect I’ll manage that. I realise that a good wife is a tremendous asset.’ He was annoyed to hear himself saying what he thought the Ambassador would like to hear.
The happiness of the Ambassador’s marriage was a wonderful and self-evident phenomenon envied by friends and enemies. He had married young and taken his bride to a succession of steamy outposts where the character of potential ambassadors is tested and jealousies and gossip thrive as lushly as lilies, and unworn clothes become mildewed within a week. Their experiences had deepened their love which had transcended the marriage experience of the majority and become a distillation of trust and devotion. And when young diplomats and their wives lay in bed blaming Moscow for the friction in their marriages one or the other would point out that the Ambassador and his wife had jointly conquered far worse hardships.
The Ambassador said: ‘I think you have the makings of a good diplomat. But never be too obvious.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Now at least we know each other’s faces. We’ll have another chat soon. Mason will look after you.’ He turned to the garden where the roses had cringed, at the touch of frost, into ragged balls like ladies’ handkerchiefs crushed in the hand.
In the lobby the men at the reception desk in their homely suits watched him as they would watch a passing car. He smiled at them and they nodded. ‘That’s all right, then,’ he said. They nodded again.
The embassy reminded Mortimer of his public school. Certain places such as dollar bars and Russian homes were tacitly understood to be out of bounds; games were not compulsory but if you didn’t ski, skate or play tennis in the summer you were unsociable; any individuality was synonymous with eccentricity which was noted by the security officers; the non-diplomatic staff had much the same standing as the bursar’s clerks; obscenity met with a reproof and junior diplomats were kept in their place.
Henry Mason, a first secretary in the political section, laid down the rules for Mortimer in his office.
‘Always travel with someone,’ he said. ‘Especially on the trains. That’s when they try to compromise you. And never stray outside the forty kilometre area.’
‘How do I know when I’m outside it?’ Mortimer asked.
‘You’d know soon enough. The militia would nobble you. The answer is not to go more than thirty kilometres unless you’re going to the airport or somewhere special.’
‘But I can visit other parts of Russia, can’t I? Leningrad for instance. I thought I’d like to go there.’
‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t,’ Mason said. ‘With permission of course. We might send you up on some sort of job when you’ve learned the ropes. But you’ll have to go with someone of course. Even then I expect you’ll be followed. I went to Kazan the other week with a chap from the Canadian Embassy. We were followed everywhere we went.’
‘I didn’t realise it was quite as bad as that,’ Mortimer said.
Mason nodded. He had a keen, refined face, silken hair receding at the temples and bristles of virile hair in his ears. He always spoke with great intensity. ‘And steer clear of the Press as much as possible. Leave them to us older chaps. We know how to handle them. They’re only interested in bad news anyway.’
‘They warned me about the Press at the FO,’ Mortimer said. ‘Are there many British correspondents here?’
‘The Times, Telegraph, Express, Mail and Reuters have staff men. Not bad chaps but they’re inclined to make mountains out of molehills. In any case they have a briefing with the Minister once a fortnight. He tells them all he thinks they should know. Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘No thank you,’ Mortimer said. He wondered if there was much that he should not do.
‘And of course don’t get involved with any Russians. You’ll find they’re very friendly people but it doesn’t pay to get too close to them.’ He paused. ‘You’re not married, are you?’
Mortimer thought: Here it comes. ‘No,’ he said.
‘I don’t quite know how to put this,’ Mason said. ‘But it is my duty and I’m sure the Ambassador would want me to mention it. Avoid the Russian girls like the plague. You’ll probably have a few approaches made to you. Be polite but firm.’
Mortimer said: ‘Everyone has been on to me about this. I don’t understand really. Obviously I’m not going to get tangled up with a beautiful spy. But haven’t there been lots of cases recently of Englishmen marrying Russian girls?’
‘Not diplomats,’ Mason said. ‘Journalists and businessmen and people like that. Not diplomats.’
‘But it isn’t a crime to go out with a Russian girl, surely.’
Irritation sharpened the intensity of Mason’s voice. ‘It may not be a crime,’ he said. ‘It’s just not done. Now perhaps you could look through these and mark up anything you think might interest us.’ He handed Mortimer a stack of provincial editions of Pravda.
Later Mortimer asked Giles Ansell, with whom he shared an office, if Mason was inclined to exaggerate the hazards.
Ansell said: ‘He’s obsessed with them.
