Free Dead Line by Stella Rimington

acquired a boyfriend, Edward, and now she seemed contented and less dependent on her daughter.
    Liz knew she should be pleased for her mother, but when she thought of all those weekends she had forced herself to drive down to Wiltshire when she would much rather have stayed in London, the anxiety when her mother had had a cancer scare just as Liz was in the middle of a complex and worrying case, she felt a flash of resentment. It was irrational, she knew it was, but she felt it just the same.
    Liz tried to picture this new boyfriend of her mother’s, whom she’d never met but knew she would not like. He’d wear tweeds and be ex-army, a major perhaps, or even a colonel. He’d go on and on about the Aden campaign or wherever. God, how boring, thought Liz, and possibly venal - she was sure part of her mother’s appeal to Edward must be the creature comforts she could provide for him in her cosy house in Bowerbridge. Still, she thought grudgingly, her mother seemed to be enjoying this late romance of hers.
    Whereas I’m just stuck in a rut, Liz brooded, watching as the woman in the cardigan yawned and closed her eyes. The only men she met were at work, and yet at work she found her emotions already engaged. By Charles, a man she only saw in the office and who was unavailable anyway.
    It suddenly seemed ridiculous. I can’t go on this way, thought Liz, surprised at how obvious this realisation was. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself - it wasn’t as if Charles had ever encouraged her, or asked her to wait for him. She supposed he’d made his feelings clear, in his discreet and dignified way, but equally, he’d never pretended he could do anything about them.
    All right then, thought Liz, cut your losses, and move on. Time’s a-flying, however young I feel. There must be men I can meet. The image of Geoffrey Fane flitted briefly through her head. There was something undeniably attractive about him - he was good-looking in an arrogant way, clever, quick-witted, amusing when he wanted to be. And best of all, Fane was no longer married.
    But it wasn’t for nothing he was known in MI5 as the Prince of Darkness, and she knew she could never altogether trust him. No, like Peggy, she needed to meet someone outside the service, and she cheered up briefly at the prospect. There was just the small matter of how to meet this new someone.
    A hissing noise of escaping air came from the tunnel, and the train slid forward as if on ice. The builder looked up from his sports page and briefly met Liz’s eyes. Across the carriage the older woman was sound asleep, her hands clasped in her lap.

THIRTEEN
     
    It was nearly seven in the evening when Hannah Gold got off the Underground at Bond Street station and started to walk slowly towards Piccadilly. She could have changed lines and got a lot nearer to her destination, but she loved walking in London on these late summer evenings. The weather had been a surprise - she had come to England armed with sweaters and a raincoat and umbrella, but so far she had needed none of them. She might still have been in Tel Aviv, to judge by the climate.
    Now, as she walked down Bond Street, she stopped from time to time to admire the clothes and shoes in the smart shops and, as she got nearer to Piccadilly, the watches and jewellery and the paintings in the windows of the galleries. She still found it hard to get used to the idea that she had enough money of her own now to buy practically anything she liked, and the independence to spend it as she pleased.
    She hadn’t seen Saul for more than a year - not since she’d sold their home in Beverly Hills, banked her final settlement from the divorce and upped sticks and left for her new life in Israel. Looking back on it all, she could see that she’d been in a state of shocked anger when she left America for good. Thirty-three years of marriage had been suddenly ended by one late-night conversation with her husband. She couldn’t believe her ears.