The Russian Interpreter

Proctor-Gould stared gloomily at the floor for a long time when Manning translated this to him, no doubt wondering how he was going to put up with Raya for the rest of his stay without Nescafé to console him. With the money from the Nescafé Raya bought a black-market copy of Dr Zhivago. Proctor-Gould’s distress must have touched her, though, for she stole a volume of Nekrasov he had been given by the Art Literature Publishing House and bought back one of the tins of Nescafé, which she gave to him and made up whenever he wanted.

‘It’s got to stop,’ he told Manning, sipping at a cup which Raya had brought him unbidden. ‘I’m not joking, Paul. It can’t go on.’

He looked nervous. How Raya looked Manning could not tell. She was lying on her stomach on the bed, reading Dr Zhivago, her hair hanging down around the book like a curtain.

‘I suppose it’s intended as a practical joke, is it?’ demanded Proctor-Gould. ‘The Slavonic sense of humour?’

‘I don’t know, I’m afraid,’ said Manning.

‘I thought you were the great expert on the Slavonic temperament?’

‘I thought you were?’

‘I don’t understand the first thing about these people,’ said Proctor-Gould morosely.

It was the first time that Manning had seen him really depressed.

19

The next time Proctor-Gould sought Manning’s help with Raya it was nothing to do with either an infraction of the rules or theft. They were in the Chaika, being driven back from a meeting.

‘Paul,’ said Proctor-Gould suddenly, after a long silence, ‘May I ask your advice on a rather ticklish point?’

‘Ask away.’

‘It’s about Raya.’

For some time Proctor-Gould did not take the matter any further. He sat pulling at his ear, and looking out of the window.

‘What is it, then?’ asked Manning.

‘It’s rather awkward. I don’t know quite how to put it.’

He sighed. Manning suddenly had the idea that he was going to ask him to take Raya off his hands.

‘You were quite a chum of hers at one time, weren’t you?’ said Proctor-Gould.

Manning looked out of the window as well.

‘I suppose you might put it like that,’ he said.

‘I mean, I realize you think I’m rather a bastard, having to some extent horned in on you.’

‘No, no….’

‘Of course you do. It’s only natural. I should feel exactly the same in your place.’

‘Honestly, Gordon, there’s no need to feel …’

‘I mean, I know all’s fair in love and war …’

‘Gordon, there’s really no need to feel, you know …’

‘You mean, you don’t feel, well …?’

‘Of course not, Gordon. I mean, there’s no need to feel you know…’

‘Really? Well, I appreciate that, Paul. It shows a generous spirit, and I appreciate it.’

‘I mean …’

‘No, no. I appreciate it.’

They became silent again. They had both been looking at the back of the chauffeur’s head as they spoke, and they both now looked out of the windows again.

‘What I was going to say, as a matter of fact, Paul,’ resumed Proctor-Gould finally, ‘was – well – you were rather a pal of Raya’s, weren’t you?’

‘A great pal.’

‘Yes. Well. The point is, can you remember if she is – what shall I say? – suitably equipped?’

‘How do you mean, suitably equipped?’

Proctor-Gould essayed a man-to-man laugh.

‘You know,’ he said.

‘No?’

Proctor-Gould stopped laughing.

‘I mean,’ he said heavily, ‘does she take proper precautions in these cases against the possible consequences?’

At last Manning saw. He was so surprised that he uttered a little squeaking gasp of laughter.

‘God knows,’ said Proctor-Gould. ‘It’s an awkward thing to have to ask you. I appreciate that. But I’m in a rather tricky position. I didn’t bring any with me. Stupid of me, I see now, but it simply didn’t occur to me. And not speaking the language, I don’t quite see how to go about getting any.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘And of course I can’t ask her, either.’

‘No.’

‘It’s not the sort of thing you can really manage in sign-language.’

‘I see your point.’

‘And it has always been an inflexible rule of mine not to try any monkey business without some reliable form of contraceptive.’

‘Very sensible.’

‘I mean, when the occasion has arisen. I wouldn’t put myself down as a great Don Juan. But when the occasion has arisen …’

‘Quite.’

There was a silence. Proctor-Gould worked on his ear again, looking out of the window.

‘So,’ he said finally, ‘did she?’

‘What?’

‘Raya. Did she …?’

‘Oh. I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t …?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were great pals.’

‘Not as great as all that.’

‘No. I see. I’m sorry.’

They were silent again until the car was quite near the hotel.

‘Well, then,’ said Proctor-Gould, ‘I’ll ask the driver to stop at the next chemist’s we pass. Perhaps you’d pop in and get me a packet.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I don’t even know the Russian.’

Proctor-Gould sighed, and fell silent again. As the car pulled up in front of the hotel he made one last attempt.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘perhaps you’ll just slip upstairs and ask her.’

‘Now, Gordon….’

‘Even if you don’t know the exact word you could paraphrase it.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Gordon.’

‘If you think my presence might embarrass you I’ll wait downstairs.’

‘No.’

The commissionaire was holding the door open.