The Rocket Man by Maggie Hamand Page B

He said, ‘So you think people like me should have protested, do you, have refused to dirty our hands. Well, it was easy for people like you to turn your back on it, to say this was nothing to do with you, you disapproved of it, but what were you risking? What kind of a choice do you think we had? It wouldn’t even have occurred to us to try to avoid our military service or refuse to do what we were told. Anyway, it was our patriotic duty. You have to realise that at the time I was doing my military service we had less than 600 missiles while the US had over 1,700; it wasn’t till 1971 that we overtook them in actual numbers. So we were definitely able to think of them in terms of defence –’
    Katie said, ‘Stop. I understand. You don’t have to try to justify yourself to me.’
    â€˜I am not justifying myself.’ He put out his hand and touched her tenderly. ‘So, you went on peace marches, did you? I wouldn’t have thought it.’
    â€˜It was the thing to do,’ said Katie. ‘I suppose when it comes down to it that’s why we do most things.’
    â€˜And that’s why you’re here with me.’ He was not looking at her as he said this; as always Katie didn’t know if he was being ironical or not. She felt uncertain; he seemed at that moment so distant, foreign. To overcome this feeling she put her arms around him, and said, ‘Make love to me.’
    â€˜What, again?’ He looked astonished. Katie rolled on top of him, and the look in his face, so intense, so pleased, stirred her; she could feel, too, that he was aroused again. Then she said, suddenly, she didn’t quite know why, ‘Do you think Hans
did
have a mistress?’
    He said, emphatically, stubbing out his cigarette, ‘No, I don’t. Do you believe all that business? I don’t think he was like that.’
    Katie said, ‘You sound so disapproving. What about me? Aren’t I doing the same thing?’
    Dmitry said, ‘No, you misunderstand. I didn’t mean that. I meant that the whole thing sounds wrong. I talked to his secretary the other day and she said it was the first time she had heard of it. I think that’s a bit strange. Usually when someone is having an affair his secretary is the first to know.’
    Katie said, mischievously, regretting that she had raised this question and trying to turn his attention back to her, ‘Does your secretary know about us?’
    â€˜Hilde? No, it’s too early. But if you ring me at the office, she’ll soon know, of course, won’t she?’

V
    N ihal had arranged to meet Katie at the Café Central; they hadn’t seen one another for two weeks. For once she was later than he was, so he sat in the corner and made notes in his black pocket-book.
    He had spent the morning ringing round his contacts on the newspapers but had received a disappointing response. One said that the story sounded too improbable and asked him to check it out more fully. A second said that Nazi rocket scientists were too old hat, they didn’t think it was sufficiently interesting. Only finally, when he spoke to his old editor Martin Dudley, now with a magazine called
North-South
, purporting to be the Third World’s answer to
The Economist
, did he get some genuine interest and a commission. However, it was only for a short piece, about 600 words, for the technology section.
    When Katie arrived he was surprised at her appearance. She looked miserable, had dark shadows under her eyes and seemed listless as she sat down opposite him, pulling off her shawl and draping it over the edge of the chair; nor did she seem as pleased as usual to see him. Yet despite this, she looked, as he thought she always did, lovely, with her clear skin, thick hair and that indefinable aura of sensuality which emanated from her.
    He felt sorry for her and wanted to cheer her up. He put his hand on her arm and squeezed it. She