Legacy by Alan Judd Page A

to put one foot before another.
    He was almost sure it was Viktor running clockwise around the pond, slowly, a genuine jog rather than a run, gazing at the water. Charles headed anti-clockwise, hoping that Viktor would not
break off for the Soviet Embassy before they met since that would involve a too deliberate-looking, and perhaps exhausting, chase to overhaul him. ‘By the time I caught up,’ he imagined
reporting, ‘he was too near the embassy and I was too exhausted to speak. We exchanged glances. I think he recognised me.’
    As they drew closer he became more certain of Viktor’s neat controlled figure and of his almost delicate features, hardened by a suggestion of order, purpose, discipline. He reminded
Charles of a self-conscious and newly promoted young army officer, a subaltern made early captain and adjutant.
    They closed with surprising rapidity over the last few yards. In Charles’s imagination the actual encounter had become infinitely postponable by another day, hour, minute or second. He
would always have time to reconsider what exactly he was going to say just before he said it. When it happened it was like military parachuting: you found yourself through the open door and out
into the slipstream while still trying to anticipate, leaving your fear behind because there was no longer time to indulge it. As in the course exercises, he fell back on what he’d mentally
rehearsed then put aside because he was sure he could improve upon it.
    ‘Viktor?’
    They both stopped. The grey eyes, though not fearful, were alert and wary, as if it had been one of the park squirrels that had spoken.
    ‘Viktor – I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure of your surname – Korlov? Koslov? Koslov, yes. We were at Lincoln together. I’m Charles Thoroughgood.’ He held
out his hand, knowing how difficult it was to refuse a proffered hand. Viktor took it passively, saying nothing. ‘Lincoln College, Oxford. Four or five years ago. We used to talk
sometimes.’
    ‘Yes, Charles, I know you. I am surprised. This is a very great coincidence.’ His diction, precise and deliberate, was slightly slurred by the attractive liquidity of his native
Russian. He looked only a little older, but firmer, than when Charles had known him.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ Charles asked.
    ‘I am a diplomat with Soviet Embassy in London. I am second secretary. And you? What are you doing? Do you live near here?’
    ‘Another coincidence. I am in the British Foreign Office, but I’ve only just joined.’
    ‘Yes, another great coincidence.’ Viktor’s smile, though not unfriendly, was as careful as his manner. ‘Which is your department?’
    ‘I’m awaiting assignment. I’m still on the induction course. Perhaps it will be Hawaii, who knows? Or maybe Moscow. Though I have no Russian.’
    Viktor shrugged. ‘It is no matter. You would learn it.’
    ‘It would be nice to see you again. Perhaps we might meet, if you are allowed.’
    ‘I have to seek permission.’
    ‘Of course. May I ring you? Have you a telephone number?’
    ‘You must ring Soviet Embassy.’
    Charles had a Foreign Office number he could use but Viktor seemed conveniently incurious. Charles was already elated; an agreement to meet again was the most he could realistically have hoped
for. ‘It won’t be a problem for you if I ring?’ Hugo had told him to say that, since it could represent the beginnings of joint conspiracy.
    Viktor shrugged again. It seemed that shrugging was part of his conversation. ‘It is not a problem. Why should it be?’
    ‘Of course not, no. I just didn’t know how things were in your embassy, that’s all.’
    ‘It is not a problem.’
    Charles’s legs were lighter on the run back across the park. He thought about showering and changing in the flat, then decided it would be wiser not to see it. He considered, too, driving
to Hugo’s house, but instead set the Rover’s Viking head towards the M4. His mother was up when he