Free The Tamarind Seed by Evelyn Anthony Page A

realised soon afterwards that he had shared this experience with many of his friends. Margaret came into his life when he first joined the Foreign Office. She was the female counterpart of the man at Cambridge. Very physical, with a strong colouring, robust spirits and fearsome energy. She hunted, swam, skii-ed like a professional, was a most stimulating companion on every level. She dazzled; Fergus blinked in the glare of her personality, drawn to its dominance as he had been towards that other, terrifying sexual partnership. He had thought he was in love with her, and that the other episode could be forgotten. Many of his seducer’s victims had married and as far as he knew were ordinary heterosexuals. But it had not worked.
    Their relationship had faltered, broken down, emerged again in a desperate attempt on both their parts to escape the truth. He had impregnated her often enough to produce two or even three children, but Margaret was not the woman to be deceived for ever. And one night, shamed and frantic for her understanding, Fergus had committed the ultimate mistake and told her about Cambridge. From that moment she was finished with him. They went on together in public; the marriage would last till death for the benefit of the world outside. Inside, their relationship was a charade, played out with cruelty and contempt on her part, with shame and humiliation on his. He didn’t find out about her first lover. He would have preferred never to know, but she sensed this, and took perverse delight in telling him. Their son was three months old at the time. She had seen the sudden question present itself in his mind, and burst out laughing. Fergus had never forgotten that laugh. ‘How long has it been going on? Is Julian yours or isn’t he—well you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you? I’m damned if I know.’
    He put the brush down and smoothed his hair back with his palm. It was thinning across the top of his head; he could feel the scalp underneath it. Whoever the man was this time, and there must have been hundreds, he had passed on confidential information to her.
    This in itself was a serious breach of security.
    â€˜Margaret,’ he said. ‘Whoever told you about Loder’s investigation had absolutely no right to do so. You know that, don’t you?’
    â€˜Of course I know.’ She had come out of the bathroom; she was a tall woman, elegantly dressed, her blonde hair bleached to a metallic white because it had begun to go grey. She had piercing blue eyes; they were large, heavy lidded, cleverly made up. At forty-five she was still over-poweringly beautiful. In ten years she would be a formidable matron, perfectly cast in the role of Her Excellency the Ambassadress.
    â€˜It was very naughty of him,’ she said. ‘Pass me my bag, will you?’
    â€˜I want to know who it is.’ It took courage to say that, and she raised her eyebrows at him, exaggerating her surprise.
    â€˜Whatever for? You’d only get him into trouble.’
    â€˜I’d make sure he never gave away a confidential report again,’ Stephenson said. ‘That’s all I care about.’
    â€˜But it’s not important,’ Margaret shrugged, looking through her evening bag to check its contents. ‘Just a little affair. Men are always having them, darling. After all, it was a woman he was sleeping with. I thought it was buggery that was the big security risk these days?’ He didn’t wince; she had made that sort of remark too often and it had no more affect upon him.
    â€˜I’m not interested in what Paterson does in his private life. My interest is in seeing that the security among our staff is kept to the maximum. Especially at the moment. Something’s on with the Russians. Perhaps now you’ll realise that I’m not asking for any personal reason.’
    â€˜What’s on with the Russians? I haven’t heard