39

Peggy was positively buoyant when Liz met her for coffee in the conference room late on Monday morning.

“You were going to speak to Judith Spratt about her domestic situation.”

“Yes,” said Liz, though she had been dreading talking to Judith, who was, after all, a friend whom she felt reluctant to interrogate about her personal life.

“I think I’ve found out why he’s no longer living there. I had a Google Alert tied to his name, and I got a flash this morning. There’s an article in this morning’s Financial Times.”

Peggy pushed a newspaper clipping towards Liz and kept talking while Liz scanned the piece. “Apparently Ravi Singh and an associate were being investigated by the OFT for insider share dealing. But that’s not all. The Serious Fraud Office has been called in, because they think Ravi and this other chap may have been involved in an identity-fraud scam using other people’s credit card numbers.”

Liz pointed to the clipping. “It says here some of the victims are American, so the FBI is taking an interest. It’s possible they’ll want to extradite them.”

It would be a lot worse for them over there. She handed the clipping back to Peggy. “This is terrible,” she declared. And silently she asked herself, What on earth am I going to say to Judith?

It wasn’t simply that they were friends. Over the last decade, as both of them moved into their thirties, Judith had seemed to Liz the epitome of a woman who had it all—a successful career, a happy marriage, a much-loved child. Everyone knew that was a tough balancing act, yet Judith seemed to manage it with an elegant grace that Liz admired in spite of herself. She would normally find it hard to like such a paragon of virtue, but Judith did everything impeccably, never took anything for granted, and had an impish sense of humour.

Liz had been to her house in Fulham for dinner several times over the years. They were happy occasions, low-key and relaxed. What always struck Liz was the calm efficiency with which Judith ran the household. Ravi had helped, but he worked long hours in the City, so most of the onus was on Judith. What a juggling act: finishing the dinner, getting her guests a drink and simultaneously comforting her daughter, Daisy, who kept getting out of bed to see the guests. And Judith was always so utterly unflappable. I can’t even get the laundry done, Liz thought, as she dialled Judith’s extension. A surprise visitor to Liz’s flat in Kentish Town would currently find two bed sheets stretched to dry on the dining room chairs along with three pairs of tights and an assortment of underwear—all thanks to Liz’s failure to fix a date with the repair man to mend her tumble dryer.

Throughout the morning there was no reply from Judith’s extension, but at lunchtime Liz found her sitting alone at a table in the far corner of the Thames House cafeteria. Her expression made it clear that she did not want company. Liz joined her, sliding her tray along the table and sitting down opposite her.

“I see you didn’t fancy the bolognese either,” said Liz lightly, pointing to their respective salads. Judith managed a wan smile. She looks terrible, thought Liz; Judith was usually the epitome of elegance. Unlike Liz, she never looked as though her clothes had spent the night on a chair. Though she dressed conservatively, she was a careful shopper with a keen eye for quality and style. Now she looked drab.

“I’ve been looking for you,” said Liz.

Judith raised a mild, uninterested eye. She had her hair tied back, which usually complimented her sharp, strong features. Today, despite a lot of makeup, it only highlighted her drawn face.

“I haven’t said anything, because there hasn’t been a need to. But you know the vetting updates the Security Committee ordered?”

“Yes,” said Judith. Liz thought she sounded slightly wary.

“Well, I’ve had to do some of them. My turn to draw the short straw. It’s why I haven’t been around all the time, in case you noticed.”

Judith didn’t say anything, but just waited for Liz to continue. “It’s meant to be largely a paper exercise and I don’t need to interview people…”

“Unless,” said Judith impassively.

“Unless,” said Liz, a little doggedly, wishing her friend would make this easier for them both, “there is some discrepancy. Something that needs explaining.”

“And you want to know about Ravi?”

Her voice was flat, toneless. It made Liz feel she was persecuting her friend, but she knew she had no choice. “Well it is in the papers. Is he still living with you?”

“No, he left before Christmas.” And she never said a word, thought Liz. “I’m still living there,” said Judith a little defensively. She was poking her salad with her fork.

“I know,” said Liz. “But we’re supposed to inform B Branch if our circumstances change. You know that, Judith,” she said, as gently as she could.

For the first time Judith’s voice showed animation. “‘Circumstances change’?” she said sarcastically. “You can say that again. You say you’ve seen the papers. I mean, your talking to me isn’t a coincidence, now is it?”

“No,” admitted Liz, “it’s not. Though I was going to need to talk to you in any case.”

“How many other people are you vetting?”

“A lot,” said Liz, happy to let Judith prevaricate provided they got back to the point eventually. “I’m doing Oxbridge people first. There were several up with you.” Judith didn’t reply, so Liz went on. “Were you friends with any of them?”

“Like who?” she said.

“Patrick Dobson was there.”

“Was he?”

One down, thought Liz. “Doesn’t matter. Michael Binding was at Oxford, too.”

“As he never ceases telling me,” said Judith sourly. Liz knew she shared her own irritation with Binding’s condescending treatment of his female colleagues. “When he wants to show his intellectual superiority he always says”—and here Judith mimicked Binding’s bass tones—“‘When I was at Oxford…’ As if I hadn’t gone there myself, and as if it meant that much anyway. If you have to interview him, please do me a favour.”

“What’s that?”

“Pretend you think his college was St. Hilda’s. It’s the only all-women’s college. He’ll be mortified.”

Liz smiled at the thought of Binding’s sense of outrage. Then she asked, “What about Tom Dartmouth? He was there at the same time.”

Judith nodded but didn’t say anything. Liz prompted her. “Did you know him then?”

“No. Though I knew who he was.”

“Why was that?”

Judith gave a small conspiratorial grin. “Didn’t you know the names of the best-looking boys at college?”

Liz laughed. “By heart,” she said, but came back to her question. “But you didn’t know him?”

“No,” said Judith simply. “However much I may have wanted to. Not that I’d say I really know him now. He’s a bit of an enigma. Funnily enough, I saw his wife a few months ago.”

“Aren’t they divorced?”

“Yes.” She sighed, seemingly at the comparison with her own shattered ménage. “She’s Israeli, and absolutely stunning. Her father was an Air Force general in the Seven Day War.”

“I thought she lived in Israel.”

Judith shrugged. “Maybe she was visiting. I saw her in Harrods Food Hall, of all places. I waved but she didn’t wave back. She may not have recognised me. I only met her once or twice, and it was years ago.”

Time to get back to the point, thought Liz. Slightly hesitantly she asked, “Have you spoken to Ravi?”

Judith shook her head. “Not for weeks. We are communicating strictly through lawyers now. He hasn’t even come to see Daisy. It’s been incredibly hurtful, but after today’s news, I wonder whether he’s just been trying to spare us.”

“So you’ve only just found out about his problems?” Liz had been half assuming it was precisely his “problems” that had led Judith to throw him out.

“Yes,” said Judith. She looked at Liz, at first quizzically, then with outright disbelief. “You don’t think I had anything to do with them, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” She knew Judith too well to doubt her sincerity. “But I’m sure they’ll want to talk with you about it.”

“Who, B Branch?”

“Well, yes, but I was thinking more the Fraud Squad.”

“Happily,” said Judith. “I’ll tell them everything I know. Which, in fact, is absolutely nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nothing…” She suddenly seemed on the verge of an hysterical outburst, so Liz reached over and put her hand on her forearm. “Steady,” she said calmly.

Judith stopped speaking at once, nodding with her chin down. Liz was afraid Judith was going to cry. It was touch and go for a moment, then Judith pulled herself together. Putting her fork down and looking at Liz, she demanded, “What happens now? Do I get disciplined?”

“It’s not up to me,” Liz said, very grateful that it wasn’t. “I can’t see it as a very big deal. After all, it’s not as if we couldn’t have got hold of you. With any luck, they’ll just put a note on your file.”

“A reprimand,” said Judith.

“I shouldn’t think so. More like a slap on the wrist.”

Judith smiled faintly. “The thing is, Liz, I know how it looks. People will think either ‘Why didn’t she stand by her husband when he got in trouble?’ or ‘No wonder she threw him out—the man’s a crook.’”

“Possibly,” said Liz, not sure what Judith was trying to say.

“But don’t you see?” and for the first time there was passion in Judith’s voice. “I didn’t throw him out. He left me.” Liz tried not to show her own surprise, as Judith collected her cutlery and laid it neatly on her plate, then folded her napkin. It was as if she were trying to control her emotions by paying attention to the most pedestrian detail. “Look, Liz, I’m married to someone who doesn’t love me any more. And today I’ve discovered he’s a crook. But do you know the most terrible thing about it all?”

Her voice faltered and this time Liz thought she really would break down. She felt helpless watching her friend’s distress. But again Judith seemed to catch hold of herself. “It’s that I’d have him back tomorrow, crook or not. Isn’t that pathetic?”