Bitter Remedy (7 page)

She gave him an absent-minded smile, as if she had hardly heard him, her mind being too busy searching for a suitable simile. Eventually she smiled, and said, ‘The sun: early morning in the winter. Yes, that’s it.’

Blume playfully flexed his toes. She stayed where she was.

‘It cures mental torment and it’s especially good for people who like to put a brave face on it, but are suffering inside,’ said Silvana.

‘I’m not putting a brave face on it.’

‘Oh, but you’re suffering inside! And yet, I can see you don’t really believe in any of this.’

‘Any of what?’

‘Herbs, Bach Flowers, star signs, the essential goodness of people.’

Blume shook his head in exaggerated weariness. ‘I am now of an age where everything confirms my prejudices.’

‘I might surprise you.’

Silvana, he decided, would be lovely just to watch. Ideally, from behind a pane of perfectly clear and completely soundproof glass, because when it came to conversation, he felt his insides cringe in embarrassment. Then, again, no one else was there. No one would ever see him pretending to take her seriously, nodding at her wise little pronouncements, looking impressed at her poetic flourishes. He might feel a bit humiliated deep inside, but he felt a lot of things deep inside that he managed to suppress.

She was perched, sideways, on the end of his bed, below his feet. Her head was turned towards him, her neck was graceful and smooth, her breasts beneath the thin material of the dark blue dress were, well, big. And firm and upright and he could see the outline of the nipples.

‘Surprise me then.’

‘Are you Aquarius?’

‘Did I include my birthdate on the form?’

‘I am taking that as a yes.’

‘And I am remembering I put my tax code down, which would also give you my birthdate.’

‘I did not look at your birthdate.’

He told her he believed her, and lay back on his pillow. Silvana was saying nice things about him again, which was not as delightful as it might be, because he could not help but imagine Caterina listening to this conversation; she would use it against him for life. He imagined her imitating Silvana’s silvery voice.
Oh, but Alec! You’re so DEEP and BRAVE and INTERESTING
. To which Caterina, about halfway in age between Silvana and himself, would then add in her own hoarse, deep, Roman, and slightly masculine voice, and so
OLD and THICK and WITLESS
. Nystagmic Blume, Alec with the Roving Eye. He shook Caterina’s mocking voice out of his mind. She wasn’t there. He could allow Silvana to find him endlessly fascinating for a few moments while no one was looking or listening.

She smiled at him, stood up, and smoothed the blue dress against her body. He realized she might be leaving.

‘What about the crab apples?’ he asked. ‘What do they do?’

Silvana’s skin tone was too dark for her to redden, but he imagined she was blushing. She looked away for a moment, then back at him. ‘Crab apples, Alec, are for self-hatred.’

His name in her mouth was quite something. He felt himself beginning to blush, and resorted to banter. ‘Crab apples make you hate yourself?’

‘No! They are for people who . . . oh, you were joking!’

At least her comprehension could get that far. He probed a little further. ‘You believe in this stuff?’

‘Oh yes. It doesn’t seem likely, but you’d be surprised. There is another cure I’d recommend for you: rock water.’

‘What does that cure?’

‘Self-repression and rigidity.’

‘You think you know me pretty well, don’t you?’ He knew as soon as he had said it, he had struck too aggressive a note.

Silvana lowered her head, causing her hair to fall over her eyes, and stood there penitent. He felt like a monster.

They started speaking at the same time.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean . . .’

‘I’m sorry. It was presumptuous . . .’

‘Sorry, I’m interrupting . . .’

‘No, no – you go first. Speak.’ He put in an authoritative note, otherwise the mortifying to-and-fro might never end.

‘The books I read . . . I am always on the lookout for personality clues.’

‘I’m not saying you were wrong about me,’ said Blume, happy that the conversation had returned to him and his complex personality, ‘but some of these cures . . . I mean “rock water”. What is that about? Water basically, right? Same as in that plastic bottle beside me.’

‘Water, yes, but fresh from a spring, preferably without a shrine or any human construct.’

‘Does your father believe in any of this stuff?’

‘No. He laughs at it. Except when it comes to the question of the holy water.’

Blume gave her his best sceptical look.

‘What’s that look supposed to mean?’

‘Scepticism,’ said Blume.

‘Then stop looking at . . .’

‘That’s involuntary. A problem with my eye.’

‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you couldn’t help yourself.’

‘Just tell me about the holy water.’

‘Surely you’ve heard of it? It is, or was, one of the most famous things about the gardens.’

‘Not me,’ he said in a tone that clearly indicated he was uninterested, but she missed the cue.

‘OK, well, the Romanelli gardens . . .’

He interrupted her. ‘Why don’t you sit down again?’ Blume glanced at the foot of his bed, but, disappointingly, she pulled up a plastic chair. She crossed her legs and anxiously clasped her right ankle with her left hand, and allowed her sandal, a complicated affair with lattice work and even jewels of some sort, to hang loose from her heel.

‘Dr Bernardini told me you were a policeman? From Rome?’

‘I think Bernardini might need reminding of patient-doctor privilege.’

Silvana’s surprise was such that her almond eyes turned momentarily circular. ‘Why? Is it a secret?’

‘No, not a secret,’ said Blume.

‘Actually, I asked him not to say anything to anyone else, because I thought maybe you would not want people to know. Perhaps I was wrong?’

‘No, no, that’s good, though,’ said Blume.

‘Maybe you won’t mention to my fiancé, Niki, that you’re a policeman?’

‘Why not?’ said Blume sharply. He hadn’t wanted to break the mood, but her comment had caught his attention. Now he felt a different more familiar type of arousal, more intellectual and aggressive than the soft sexual feelings he had been inappropriately luxuriating in until now. ‘What’s he got to hide?’

She looked at him, fright written all over her lovely features, and he began to relent. ‘I didn’t understand your comment about not telling Niki, though it’s unlikely I’ll be meeting him.’

‘I phrased it badly,’ she said. ‘Are you leaving so soon?’

‘Yes. Though the doctor wants me here for a few days.’

‘Do you have to listen to him? Wouldn’t you be better off back home? Bernardini is a very nice man, but whatever made you sick is gone now.’

‘I agree,’ said Blume. ‘You still haven’t told me about Niki.’

‘He runs a nightclub and a discotheque.’

‘Uh-huh. And?’

‘Well, you know.’ She clasped her ankle again and stared at the floor.

‘Drugs?’

‘And girls,’ she said, staring at her manicured toes. ‘Not quite pole dancers, but the ones who get up on those flashing platforms, topless and that sort of thing? East European girls. Fifty- and hundred-euro bills stuffed into their panties . . . maybe they sleep with some clients?’

‘This is your fiancé?’

She nodded sadly. ‘He works in an environment where – people in his situation . . . dealings with the authorities, the police can be complicated. He would be angry with me if he thought I spent so long talking to you knowing you were a policeman.’

‘Well, don’t tell him you knew, then,’ said Blume.

Her face brightened. ‘I hadn’t thought of that!’

‘I am not sure I like the sound of Niki,’ said Blume.

She stood up to go. ‘Your car is in the car park, and maybe you’ll pop in and say goodbye to me before you go back to Rome – when did you say – the day after tomorrow?’

‘Maybe, or the day after. Soon. Here, let me accompany you.’

He peeled a monitor off his chest, it was attached to a switched-off machine anyway, and started to clamber out of bed.

‘Don’t be silly! You can’t get out of bed like that! I’ll see myself out. I’ve arranged to meet Niki outside. He’s giving me a lift home.’

‘I need to see how I feel,’ said Blume. ‘If I can’t make it across the room, I’m hardly likely to be able to drive.’

He stood up, paused, and leant down to allow the blood in his head to catch up with the unexpected movement. He was in a hospital gown, which was unbecoming. The machine that he thought had been switched off started beeping, like in one of those American TV shows, except without the team of fast-talking, quick-walking, joke-cracking medics rushing in to save him.

‘I feel fine,’ he said. ‘I just realized, I haven’t eaten either. I think I had better put that thing back on my chest to stop the beeping. Look out the door and tell me if the mad Dr Bernardini or some evil nun is on the way.’

Silvana opened the door, then swung it half-shut again, just as Blume regained his bed. Her voice sounded a little shaky. ‘No, but Niki is.’

‘Niki is what?’

‘Coming up the corridor,’ said Silvana. ‘Play nice. Ignore him if he says things that offend you.’

‘I am not easily offended,’ said Blume.

‘Oh yes, you are,’ said Silvana. ‘It’s sort of your most noticeable characteristic.’

‘
Ma vaffanculo
. You don’t even know me.’

‘See? Don’t let him provoke you about being a policeman.’

‘If he even tries . . .’

‘Or about not acting the policeman.’

‘Huh?’

‘If he says anything about you not knowing your job. Not caring. He might do that, too.’

‘Why are you with the bastard?’

She sighed. ‘I wish I knew.’

Chapter 7

On the ferry across the Black Sea to Istanbul, Olga kept poking her big dyed head into the cabin and checking if the girls were all right. She told them to go up on deck if they were feeling seasick. She even offered to buy sandwiches and Coca-Colas for anyone who wanted. The two youngest girls did, and went giggling out of the room together, and, like two ducklings, followed Olga’s large backside as it waddled its way down the corridor.

‘Istanbul,’ said Nadia. ‘You know what’s going to happen there, Alina, don’t you?’

‘We’re going to stay a few days, then we move on.’

‘That could happen. What about sex with a Turk, do you think you could do that? Turks are Muslims.’

Alina shuddered, but did not reply. A few minutes later, Nadia returned to the attack. ‘You’re very pale. Apparently they like redhead pale girls. And blondes. Ukrainians in particular.’

‘How come you’re the expert? Have you made this trip before?’

‘No, but I’ve heard things. The police are in on it, too. And if we ever go home, they’ll just say we were asking for it.’

Alina looked defiant. ‘Not everyone . . . I know some girls end up in dance clubs and bars and worse, but a lot end up in domestic service and doing ordinary stuff, too.’

It was a relief to hear Alina hint at what might lie ahead. Nadia was beginning to fear her friend really had no idea, which made her feel guilty, as if she were the corrupting influence. Guilty and lonely. ‘Listen, I have been thinking about this, Alina. We’re going to stick together, right?’

Alina slipped her arms around Nadia’s neck. ‘Oh, please, yes.’

Nadia detached herself gently. ‘I don’t know how it works yet, but I am pretty sure that if they see we are close, they will separate us. Like in the factories? The bosses don’t want solidarity. So maybe sometimes we are going to have to pretend not to be together, not to care. I might be wrong, but be prepared to do that.’

‘What about Italy? Will we go to Italy together?’

Nadia put her arm around Alina’s thin waist. ‘I don’t think that is up to us any more. From here on, for quite a long time, other people will be making the decisions.’

‘But they could send us to Italy?’

‘Of course they could. And someday we’ll be free to do what we want.’

‘What about the Vidal Sassoon Academy?’

‘I am sure it exists, Alina. And maybe you’ll be working in it someday soon. But between now and then, be prepared for some things you won’t like.’

Alina turned her face into Nadia’s shoulder. ‘Just make sure you stay as near me as possible.’

Nadia stroked Alina’s long straight hair, red in the sun, purple down here where the walls were painted green and the light came from a porthole looking out over a blue sea.

They spent the rest of the journey up on deck. Nadia thought it might be good idea, or at least morally rewarding, to hide from Olga and make the fat bitch worry, but Olga never came looking for them. She did not need to. She had their passports.