“Stop! You drunken idiot! Sasha!”
“What’s that? Pistols at dawn? God, no, old man. You can have her. I’m a goner, anyway, right? Big red bull’s-eye, right smack—”
At last Iris snatched the receiver away. He stumbled and crashed to the floor.
“Philip? Philip? No, I’m all right, I’m fine, he won’t hurt me. He’s just drunk.”
“Iris, I’m jumping in the car this instant, I’m driving up—”
“No, don’t—”
“You’re not staying with him. Iris, do you hear me? Iris?”
“I’m here. Look, I’ve got to take care of him, all right? I’ll sober him up. He’ll be fine, he’ll be very sorry. We’ll get him help. That’s all he needs.” She was crying, for some reason. “All he needs is some help. A hospital or something. Good-bye, Philip.”
“Iris—”
She hung up the receiver and dropped on the floor. She lifted Sasha’s sobbing chest and cradled him—smoothed his tarnished hair—they wept together.
“I’m so sorry, darling,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Iris bathed her husband and settled him into bed in fresh pajamas. Maybe Burgess was smart, leaving him on the floor like that, so he wouldn’t soil the bed. Although the sheets didn’t seem to have been changed in ages, now that Iris examined them. Well, what more harm could it do?
When he was asleep, she cleaned up the mess. She started with all the empty bottles, then found the broom and swept up everything else on the floor. She threw out the spoiled milk, washed the dishes, wiped everything down with vinegar and hot water. Opened all the windows to let in the fresh September air. She put the soiled clothes to soak in the washing tub and sprinkled baking soda on the bedroom rug. Not spick-and-span, but it was a start.
Before she left, she checked on Sasha, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully. She put on her hat and gloves and took her pocketbook from the hall table. She made sure to lock the door when she left—she would remember that later. She took the stairs instead of the lift.
The lobby was cool and empty, except for the porter, who nodded at her with an expression she couldn’t make out. When she stepped outside, she paused to adjust her gloves and hat, and as she did so, she looked carefully around—the other blocks, the sidewalk, the street, the garden in the center of the drive. The few people about were all in motion, hurrying in some direction, except for the man in the dark suit on the bench in the garden, reading a newspaper. He looked up just as she looked away. For an instant their eyes met, and Iris knew she’d seen him before.
If only she could remember where.
Ruth
July 1952
Moscow
The children shout and squeal with delight at the sight of their new brother. Gregory starts to bawl. Fox takes me gently by the arm and leads me to the small, dirty window overlooking the street below.
I speak softly, because I expect the room is probably bugged. “How was your walk?”
“Exactly what I needed.”
I put my arms around his waist and lean against his shoulder, like a wife who’s had a difficult day. I glance at the children, busy creating a convenient cacophony a couple of yards away, and turn my face to speak near his ear.
“Listen, I took a taxi to Digby’s place.”
“You did what?”
“I was worried. Something was off. Sure enough, when I got there, he was dead drunk in his own piss. Kip was taking care of everybody. Said there’d been a break-in.”
“Anything taken?”
“Kip said no, but he was only talking about valuables. Digby wouldn’t say. But he was a mess, Fox. An awful mess.”
“But they didn’t arrest him.”
“No. They broke in while he was at the hospital and the kids were at school. Fox, I’m not taking them back there to that apartment. I wouldn’t trust Digby with a dog right now, for one thing, and for another—what if the KGB comes back? I mean, God knows what they’re capable of.”
“No, you’re right.”
I wait for him to say something more, but he stares out the window and holds me gingerly in his arms, as if I’m a mannequin. He’s warm and taut, and I haven’t slept more than four hours in the past forty-eight, and for a moment there I nearly doze off, even though my brain hums like a live wire. I start to step back but he draws me close again.
“How soon can she be ready to go, do you think?”
“I don’t know. She’s just had surgery. Probably lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if they gave her a transfusion or anything or how much pain she’s in.”