Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

 “It says here, ‘finish it’.” That is all.  So that is what I propose to do, ladies and gentlemen.” Dmitri beams, and tucks the telegram back into his pocket. The temperature seems to have risen by twenty degrees in the cabin, and it’s not only due to the afternoon sun piercing through the porthole windows.  The air is rapidly becoming fetid; sweat and fear overpowering the aroma of cigarette smoke. At Dmitri’s signal, Johnson sits, perched on the edge of his seat as if ready to bolt. I wonder where he thinks he’s going to run to.  We are like rats in a trap in here.  The curtain at the front of the cabin is pulled back and it takes me a moment to recognise Charlie Markman, cool in a crisp white pilot’s shirt, complete with epaulettes and braid. I stifle a smirk; this plane is an absolute crate.  Charlie nods at the Creightons and I see James bristle, his fingers gripping the arms of his seat.  Charlie sees it too and grins, ...

Only a thin linen shirt – and it’s still unbearably hot and sticky. ‘R’ is one of those career spooks who insists on having his cake and eating it. He’s as Machiavellian as hell and you’re just supposed to roll with it. Well I’ve had enough. Yes I’ve said it before, countless times, but now I mean it. Dmitri assured me that the visa would be no problem. Normally getting into the Soviet Union at such short notice would be out of the question. Gazing out towards the Nile, I don’t want to move an inch – except to retrieve my Martini glass. Valerie – can’t get her out of my mind. Who is she? How is it that I can forgive her for the way she’s treated me? Where is she now? It’s far too hot to smoke I tell myself, lighting up yet again, absent-mindedly turning the cigarette case over and over on the table-top. This place has changed so much since I was last here. Well, after the debacle of ‘56, that was inevitable. When the man sits down on the seat at the other side of the table...

Alan stretched out his hand in greeting. ‘Good morning, Bernard.  Great to see you after all this time.  How’s R? Is he still hopping mad?’ ‘Good to see you, too.  Yes, he is, unfortunately.  He’s waiting for you.  Go straight in.’ Alan pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into a plain but expensively furnished office.  Its occupant moved swiftly from behind the desk.  He took Alan’s hand in both of his and shook it firmly and repeatedly. ‘Alan.  Good of you to come.  Let’s cut to the chase.  We can exchange pleasantries later.  Perhaps over a beer.’ ‘Bernard said you were angry.  I was intrigued.’ ‘Yes.  That’s what I led him to believe.  Actually, I’m delighted.’ Alan raised an eyebrow. ‘Sit down my old friend.  I think I need to explain something to you.’ ‘I’m all ears.’ ‘We have, of course, been following your every move. Using a number of our best agents. Y...

I come to slowly. There’s a ringing in my ears and my head’s pounding. I open my eyes cautiously. Light floods in, blinding me for a moment. Eyesight adjusts as I take in my surroundings. I’m in my hotel room, but the place has been thoroughly turned over. The mattress has been stripped of its cover and pulled half off the bed, the dresser drawers are upturned on the floor. The chair next to me is lying on its side. I am sitting on its pair, my arms hanging by my sides, feeling heavy as hell.   What time is it? What day is it? I shake my head, trying to dislodge the ringing noise but it only seems to get louder. I stare at the prone chair beside me and then I remember. Where is Valerie? … I’d been out early, getting provisions. On my way back, I’d spotted her. She was walking arm-in-arm with a man, heavy-set, dark suit. I sped up after them - there were a few choice things I had to say to her.  It had not been easy, getting back to the city from the apartment ...