Elliot frowned dismissively.
‘You were there with me in St Petersburg. You heard what Gorshkov said. That’s as near as we’re going to get to any official confirmation. Yes, we were wrong not to tip Ros off about the story, but our facts were right. Now, what do you think about Provence?’
‘What about Ros and Dominic?’ said Abby, feeling as if all the romance had been sucked off the terrace.
‘What about them, Abby?’ he said, putting his fork down in annoyance. ‘What do you want me to do here?’ She could hear a familiar tone in his voice. The fractious souring between couples.
‘She thinks Dominic is innocent. She’s convinced he wasn’t working for the Russians and she wants us to find out for sure. She’ll even pay us for any investigation, though I’d feel uncomfortable taking money from her.’
Elliot gave a small shake of his head.
‘You’re connected, Elliot,’ pressed Abby. ‘You know how easily your dad got in touch with Jonathon Soames. He probably has a hotline to the Prime Minister if you ask him. A few calls and we could sort this out, clear Dominic’s name. Then you can write another piece in the Chronicle with the real story.’
‘Abby, how do we prove that Blake wasn’t KGB? Send Putin an email and ask him? Break into the Kremlin HR department to have a peek at their records? Besides which, it’s not a story I would want to write even if we found out that he was just a journalist and explorer after all.’
‘Why not?’ asked Abby, shocked.
‘Because I’ve just filed a bloody four-thousand-word article saying he was KGB. How’s it going to look if a couple of weeks later we admit that we were wrong and our original story was completely bogus? How credible is that going to make me look as a journalist?’
‘But someone’s reputation is on the line here.’
‘Yes, mine,’ he said fiercely.
Abby wasn’t hungry any more.
‘So you don’t want to help me?’
‘Abby, stop. Listen to yourself. Think about it. We wanted to find out about Dominic Blake. And we did. Not how and where he died, but we did find out that he was a Russian spy and we had good sources to back that up. The Last Goodbye was a beautiful photo, and Blake was a romantic, charismatic character. Anyone remotely interested in him was going to be disappointed about what we found out – us, the readers, certainly his friends, and especially Rosamund. But it doesn’t mean it’s not true just because you want him to be something else, something different.’
She found herself thinking about Nick. She’d found out a truth about him and it wasn’t something that she’d wanted to hear.
‘I trust Dominic,’ she said with feeling.
Elliot sighed and threw down his napkin.
‘Abby. Grow up.’
She shook her head with frustration. ‘You really don’t care, do you? It’s job done. Story filed. Glory received. You don’t care about what you’ve left behind in the slipstream. Don’t care who you’ve hurt.’
Elliot’s voice softened. ‘Maybe you should see someone.’
‘Someone who could help us?’ said Abby, perking up.
‘A therapist, Abby. I mean a therapist. You know, I think I know what this is. Your marriage has broken down. You’re looking for meaning, for some romantic truth, some vindication that love exists. I think this could be depression.’
‘You think I’m depressed?’ she said, trying to control her emotion.
‘I’m saying it’s possible. You’ve been under a lot of stress. Hell, this story was a roller-coaster ride. I got quite
an adrenalin rush from it myself.’
She took a breath to compose herself. She did not want to put herself under the microscope. She had come here to talk about The Last Goodbye, and Elliot was making her feel like some sort of fruitcake. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. It was as if every emotion she had experienced over the past eight weeks was crystallising into this one moment of rejection.
‘Abby, don’t get upset. It’s only work.’
‘Is it?’ she choked. ‘You know, I thought that what happened in Russia might have meant something.’
‘We had a great weekend, and we’re here now, aren’t we, taking it slowly. I’ve just invited you to Provence, for goodness’ sake. I don’t do that with everyone.’