Alec Milius Spy Series Books 1 and 2: A Spy By Nature, The Spanish Game

‘Yes and no. I’ve had to learn a lot in a short space of time. It’s been a real eye-opener.’

‘An eye-opener,’ she says, as if she enjoys this expression. ‘So your background was in…?’

‘Russian and business studies.’

‘You just out of college?’

‘No. I worked in marketing for a bit.’

‘Right.’

Now Saul joins in. ‘How long have you and your husband been living here?’

‘Long time now. About four years.’

The Hobbit has cleverly started up a separate conversation with Bishop and Audrey, one that I cannot hear.

‘And you enjoy it?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ The heavy, interjectory way that Fortner comes forward, answering the question on Katharine’s behalf, seems to reveal something about the dynamic of their relationship. ‘We love it here. Spending time with the allies. What do you do for a living, Saul?’

‘I’m in advertising. Commercials. I’m an assistant director.’

‘And, what? That will lead into television, into movies?’

‘Something like that,’ he replies. ‘I’m working on a script at the moment, trying to get some development money.’

‘What’s it about?’ Katharine asks.

‘It’s a kind of spoof thriller. A comedy about a serial killer.’

‘No shit,’ Fortner says, laughing. ‘A comedy about a serial killer?’ He clearly thinks the idea is ludicrous. ‘I gotta say I prefer different kinds of movies myself. Old Bogarts and Cagneys. Westerns mainly.’

‘Really?’ Saul replies enthusiastically. He is, albeit unwittingly, playing his role to perfection. ‘You like Westerns? Because the National Film Theatre is doing a John Wayne season at the moment.’

‘Is that right?’ Fortner looks genuinely interested. ‘I didn’t know that. I’d love to catch one or two. The Searchers, Liberty Valance…’

‘Me too.’ I sensed immediately that I could use this as a way of establishing a bond between us. ‘I love Westerns. I think John Wayne is great.’

‘You do?’ Saul has screwed up his face in surprise. I have to be careful that he doesn’t undermine me.

‘Yeah. It’s a little fetish of mine. I used to watch them with Dad when I was growing up. Henry Fonda. Jimmy Stewart. But especially John Wayne.’

Katharine clears her throat.

‘So you like him too, Saul?’ she asks, as if it is a test of character.

‘Not as much as Clint,’ he replies. ‘But Wayne’s great. One of the best.’

‘The best,’ says Fortner with emphasis. ‘Eastwood’s just a pretty boy.’

‘Maybe it’s a generational thing, honey,’ Katharine suggests. ‘Sorry, guys. My husband has a weakness for draft dodgers.’

I don’t know what she’s referring to, and Fortner says, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘John Wayne didn’t fight in World War Two,’ Saul informs him. ‘He did everything he could to avoid conscription.’

‘Right,’ says Katharine triumphantly.

‘So what?’ Fortner replies. Although his tone is aggressive, he may be enjoying the argument. ‘Wayne did more for the war effort as an actor than he ever coulda done getting shot at on Omaha Beach. He was a patriot, an anti-Communist–‘

‘–Who hated riding horses, hated wearing his cowboy outfits, and actively encouraged American participation in the Vietnam War,’ Katharine interrupts him in full flow. She has a brazen, mischievous intelligence, a self-confidence not dissimilar to Kate’s.

‘But he made some great films,’ Saul says, perhaps as a way of defusing what he thinks is tension.

And then the idea comes to me. As simple as it is shrewd. A way of guaranteeing a second encounter.

‘Well, I have an idea,’ I suggest. ‘We should solve this by going to see one of these films at the NFT. I was going anyway. Why don’t you join me?’

And without any hesitation, Fortner says, ‘Great,’ shrugging his shoulders. ‘You wanna go too, Saul?’

‘Sure,’ he replies.

Katharine looks less enthused, a reaction that may be more instinctive than premeditated.

‘Count me out,’ she says. ‘I can’t stand Westerns. You fellas go right ahead. I’ll stay home with Tom Hanks.’

The Hobbit, Bishop, and Audrey have by now been pulled away into a larger group of six or seven people, two of whom are employees of Abnex. And, across the garden, David Caccia is coming down a short flight of stone steps, joining the party late. He catches my eye, but when he sees that I am with the Americans a mild look of concern passes across his face. In his right hand he is balancing a little pastry parcel oozing feta cheese.

‘Is that David Caccia?’ Fortner asks. ‘That guy looking at ya?’

‘That’s right.’

‘He and I had a couple of meetings back in the New Year. Tough negotiator. We were discussing the joint venture. You know about that?’

‘A little. Fell through, I hear.’

‘That’s right. Not a smart move if you ask me.’

‘I have to say–off the record–I agree with you.’

My voice is quiet here, collaborative.

‘You do?’ Katharine seems surprised by my candour. This may be a good time to leave.

‘Look, I have to have a word with him about something. Will you excuse us?’

Saul takes an instinctive step backward and Fortner says, ‘Sure, no problem. It sure was nice to meet you fellas.’