Charlie M Read Free Page B

said.
    He heard footsteps and turned to the door expectantly, looking forward to the meeting with the Russian.
    He liked Alexei Berenkov, he decided.
    The Russian entered smiling, a shambling man with a bulging stomach, a tumble of coal-black hair and ready-to-laugh eyes set in a florid, over-indulged face. The cover of a wine importer, which had allowed frequent trips abroad, was well chosen, thought Charlie. Berenkov had had his own private wine bin at the Ritz and Claridge’s and a permanent box at Ascot.
    â€˜Charlie!’ greeted the Russian, expansively. He spread his arms and moved forward. Muffin made to shake hands, but Berenkov swept on, enveloping him in a hug. It wasn’t a sham, remembered Charlie. They’d kept the man under observation for six months, before even beginning the concentrated investigation. Berenkov was a naturally exuberant extrovert, using the very attention he constantly attracted as a shield behind which to hide. Charlie stood with the man’s arms around him, feeling foolish.
    Thank God Snare and Harrison weren’t there.
    â€˜It’s good to see you, Alexei,’ he said, disentangling himself. He looked beyond, to the warder who stood uncertainly inside the door, frowning at the greeting.
    â€˜You can go,’ dismissed Charlie. Cuthbertson had arranged the meeting with his child-like interpretation of psychology and insisted just the two of them be in the room.
    â€˜I’m quite safe,’ Berenkov told the official. He thought the assurance amusing and shouted with laughter, slapping Charlie’s shoulder. The warder hesitated, uncertainly. After several minutes, he shuffled away, flat-footedly. He’d stay very close, guessed Charlie. Cuthbertson would insist on a report from the man, despite all the recording apparatus.
    Berenkov turned back, still smiling.
    â€˜The only thing missing is some wine,’ apologised the Russian, playing the host. ‘It’s a pity. This year I’d selected some really sensational Aloxe Corton.’
    Charlie smiled back, enjoying the performance.
    â€˜So they’ve sent you to find out what you can, thinking I’ll be off-guard after the trial. And probably shocked by the sentence,’ attacked the Russian, suddenly. The smile had gone, like a light being extinguished.
    Charlie shrugged, sitting in one of the padded chairs by the table. Berenkov was very clever, he decided.
    â€˜T’m sorry,’ said Charlie, in genuine embarrassment. ‘I know it’s bloody ridiculous. But they wouldn’t listen.’
    Berenkov moved to the table, glancing up at the heavy light fitting.
    â€˜Probably,’ agreed Charlie, following Berenkov’s look and recalling his earlier thoughts. ‘It’s the most obvious place.’
    â€˜Who are they, these fools who employ you?’ demanded Berenkov.
    Charlie settled comfortably. This was going to be enjoyable, he decided.
    â€˜It’s no good, Alexei,’ he said, wanting to prolong it. ‘I made the point, saying you were obviously a professional who wouldn’t break, even now. But they insisted. I’ve said I’m sorry.’
    Berenkov puffed his cheeks, indignantly. Aware every remark was being relayed, he rose to the meeting, like the actor he was.
    â€˜They’re cunts,’ he said, offended. ‘I’m a loyal Russian.’
    â€˜I know,’ agreed Charlie, sincerely. ‘But it was easier to come than to argue that you wouldn’t give anything away about your system …’
    He smiled, genuinely. ‘Anyway,’ he added, ‘I wanted to see you again.’
    It was an odd relationship between them, reflected Charlie. It was basically deep admiration from one professional to another, he supposed. Berenkov had realised, months before his arrest, that he was under observation. Charlie had made it obvious, in the end, hoping to frighten the man into an ill-considered move. Berenkov