Skydancer by Geoffrey Archer

life, just so that I can put my suspicious old mind at rest and cross you off my list of people who need investigating.’
    â€˜Yes, well, of course, that sounds perfectly reasonable,’ Mary replied uneasily.
    He smiled briefly, as a reward for her answer, then waited for her to continue.
    She looked back at him anxiously, hoping that he would ask her questions and so reveal his hand. He did not however.
    â€˜Well, there’s not a lot to say,’ she began uncomfortably. ‘I er . . . I lead a pretty quiet sort of life. I er . . . live here alone, as you can see, but I have lots of good friends whom I see from time to time.’
    She stopped and shrugged her shoulders as if there was no more to be said. Black looked at her icily.
    â€˜How much do you drink?’ The question was hardly audible.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜One bottle of wine a day? Two?’
    â€˜Oh, nothing like . . .’
    â€˜Whisky? Gin?’
    â€˜Well, yes. From time to . . .’
    â€˜How much? Two glasses a day? Half a bottle?’
    â€˜Now, look here . . .’
    â€˜Ever had treatment for it? Alcoholism?’
    â€˜No!’
    â€˜Are you sure? I can easily check.’
    She shook her head in disbelief, but found herself putting down the wine glass she had been holding.
    â€˜Go to pubs, do you?’
    â€˜Sometimes, but . . .’
    â€˜On your own? Sitting in a corner hoping someone will come up and talk to you and buy you a drink?’
    â€˜No! I . . .’
    â€˜Is that how you get your men? Pick them up in the pubs, do you? Tell them they can come home with you if they bring a bottle of scotch?’
    â€˜For God’s sake! You can’t just come round . . .’
    â€˜Don’t you like men then?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Lesbian, are you? A student of Sappho?’
    Mary found herself trembling uncontrollably. She was dumbfounded, and felt that at any minute she would be sick. Through the mist of tears clouding her eyes she could no longer clearly see the monster of a man who was taunting her. Part of her wanted to get up and run away, escape from her own home, but the rest of her felt incapable of movement, like a rabbit mesmerised by a stoat.
    She was aware that Black had stood up from his chair and was now wandering round the room. She heard the click of a cigarette-lighter behind her, and then smelled the Virginia tobacco smoke that swirled around her head.
    â€˜Interesting books you’ve got, Mary.’
    The man’s voice was softer now, less aggressive.
    â€˜You’ve done a bit of travelling in your time, judging by the number of guide-books on the shelf here. France, Spain, Morocco. Oh, and here’s the Soviet Union.’
    Mary was breathing deeply, trying to steady her racing heartbeat and to bring herself back in control of her voice. She knew the interrogation had a long way to go.
    â€˜You have been to Russia, have you?’ Black asked pointedly.
    â€˜Yes, I went to Moscow and Leningrad in 1984. It was a holiday organised by a civil-service travel club. We looked at museums and art galleries.’
    She breathed a silent sigh of relief at having given the answer without a quaver in her voice. She heard Black chuckling to himself behind her. Another cloud of smoke swirled past her head. He is doing it deliberately, she thought to herself.
    â€˜Interesting titles you’ve got here, though, Mary.
Marxism Today
must make good bedtime reading.
The Spread of Socialism in the 1980s
can’t be a bad yarn either. Good heavens, we’ve got a whole shelf of such treats here.
The Long Road to Freedom, Socialist Progress,
they’re all here.’
    She heard him take first one book from the shelves and flip through its pages, then, with the occasional chuckle and a whistle through his teeth, he would replace it and take another.
    â€˜I’m sure there’s something you’d like to tell me about all this, isn’t there,