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private conversation. It was a clear night, and there was no sign of the local boy gangsters.
    The public bar was crowded and full of smoke, the saloon much more sparsely populated. ‘So what are their plans for you?’ Effi asked, once they’d settled in a secluded corner.
    Russell told her everything that Nemedin had told him.
    ‘You’re going back,’ Effi said, with traces of both resentment and wistfulness.
    ‘For how long?’ she asked.
    ‘God knows. I can’t see them running out of useful things for me to do.’
    ‘So they’re expecting you to finger any independent-minded German comrades, and then spy on the Americans for them?’
    ‘That’s about it.’
    ‘Oh, John.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘And they spelt out what will happen if you say no?’
    ‘They didn’t have to.’
    ‘Are you sure of that?’ She wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been as bad as this.
    ‘Ninety-nine per cent. Nemedin made sure to mention my contribution to their atomic research, just in case I’d blocked it out. If he tells the world, my credibility as a journalist will be shot to pieces. And that’s the very best I could expect – the Americans might charge me with treason.’
    ‘Okay,’ Effi agreed, ‘but how would it help the Russians to publicise your involvement? And maybe they don’t want the world to know that they’ve got those German secrets. Perhaps they’re bluffing.’
    Russell smiled. ‘Perhaps. But if they are, and I call them on it, I don’t think they’ll hold up their hands and say “ah, you’ve got us there.” They’ll just find some other way of exerting pressure, and invite me to think again. None of us would be safe. At least while I’m doing their bidding in Berlin, the rest of you will be able to get on with your lives here. And once I’m there, maybe I can find some way out of it all.’
    She gave him an exasperated look, and reached for his hand. ‘I don’t want to get on with my life without you.’
    ‘I was hoping you felt that way, because the bastards have invited you too.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    He told her about the imminent offer of a film role.
    ‘What sort of film?’ she asked, both pleased and suspicious.
    ‘They didn’t give me any details.’
    ‘Oh. But why, do you think?’
    ‘Who knows? Perhaps they think I’ll be happier in Berlin with you. Or just more vulnerable. And both would be true.’
    Could she leave Rosa with Zarah, Effi wondered. And if not, could they take her with them? She couldn’t shake the feeling that Berlin was the last place on earth this girl would want to live.
    ‘And there’s another thing,’ Russell told her. ‘They want me working as a journalist. The Soviets will feed me good stories, and probably the Americans too. And if either of them try to stop me from telling the truth, I can tell them that an independent voice is the best cover a spy could possibly have. So at least I’ll get my professional life back. Which is something. Not a lot, but something.’
    ‘Yes,’ Effi agreed, though she found herself thinking he was clutching at straws. If so, there were probably worse straws to clutch at. But what did she want herself? To act again? Yes, she did, but more than anything else she wanted some sort of resolution concerning Rosa’s father. For the girl of course, but also for herself. And in Berlin she could find out what had happened to him. ‘We always knew we’d go back,’ she said, trying to cheer him up.

Absent fathers
    R ussell arrived early at his namesake’s Square, and found the mobile canteen. A dozen or so metal tables were spread out across the threadbare grass, and he chose what seemed the most remote. The Imperial Hotel was visible through the trees to his right, but no Dynamos were leaning out of its windows.
    The morning papers were full of praise for the Russian tourists. The no-hopers of the previous morning had become ‘the greatest side ever to visit this island, playing