Read Online Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John le Carré - Free Book Online

was nothing exotic about Irina’s presence in Hong Kong and no reason why Thesinger should have known of it, Tarr explained. Irina was a member of the delegation in her own right. She was a trained textile buyer: “Come to think of it, she was a sight better qualified than her old man, if I can call him that. She was a plain kid, a bit blue-stocking for my taste, but she was young and she had one hell of a pretty smile when she stopped crying.” Tarr coloured quaintly. “She was good company,” he insisted, as if arguing against a trend. “When Mr. Thomas from Adelaide came into her life, she was at the end of the line from worrying what to do about the demon Boris. She thought I was the Angel Gabriel. Who could she talk to about her husband who wouldn’t turn the dogs on him? She’d no chums on the delegation; she’d no one she trusted even back in Moscow, she said. Nobody who hadn’t been through it would ever know what it was like trying to keep a ruined relationship going while all the time you’re on the move.” Smiley was once more in a deep trance. “Hotel after hotel, city after city, not even allowed to speak to the natives in a natural way or get a smile from a stranger—that’s how she described her life. She reckoned it was a pretty miserable state of affairs, Mr. Smiley, and there was a lot of God-thumping and an empty vodka bottle beside the bed to show for it. Why couldn’t she be like normal people? she kept saying. Why couldn’t she enjoy the Lord’s sunshine like the rest of us? She loved sightseeing, she loved foreign kids; why couldn’t she have a kid of her own? A kid born free, not in captivity. She kept saying that: born in captivity, born free. ‘I’m a jolly person, Thomas. I’m a normal, sociable girl. I like people: why should I deceive them when I like them?’ And then she said, the trouble was that long ago she had been chosen for work that made her frozen like an old woman and cut her off from God. So that’s why she’d had a drink and why she was having a cry. She’d kind of forgotten her husband by then; she was apologising for having a fling, more.” Again he faltered. “I could scent it, Mr. Smiley. There was gold in her. I could scent it from the start. Knowledge is power, they say, sir, and Irina had the power, same as she had the quality. She was hellbent maybe, but she could still give her all. I can sense generosity in a woman where I meet it, Mr. Smiley. I have a talent for it. And this lady was generous. Jesus, how do you describe a hunch? Some people can smell water under the ground . . .”
    He seemed to expect some show of sympathy, so Smiley said, “I understand,” and plucked at the lobe of his ear.
    Watching him with a strange dependence in his expression, Tarr kept silent a stretch longer. “First thing next morning, I cancelled my flight and changed my hotel,” he said finally.
    Abruptly Smiley opened his eyes wide. “What did you tell London?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because he’s a devious fool,” said Guillam.
    “Maybe I thought Mr. Guillam would say, ‘Come home, Tarr,’” he replied, with a knowing glance at Guillam that was not returned. “You see, long ago when I was a little boy I made a mistake and walked into a honey trap.”
    “He made an ass of himself with a Polish girl,” said Guillam.
    “He sensed her generosity, too.”
    “I knew Irina was no honey trap, but how could I expect Mr. Guillam to believe me? No way.”
    “Did you tell Thesinger?”
    “Hell, no.”
    “What reason did you give London for postponing your flight?”
    “I was due to fly Thursday. I reckoned no one back home would miss me till Tuesday. Specially with Boris being a dead duck.”
    “He didn’t give a reason and the housekeepers posted him absent without leave on the Monday,” said Guillam. “He broke every rule in the book. And some that aren’t. By the middle of that week, even Bill Haydon was beating his war drums. And I was