Through Every Human Heart (10 page)

‘Stop the car,' Feliks yelled, above the engine roar and the sound of car horns beside and behind, and the persistent dinging sound that told them no one was wearing belts.

‘No.'

‘We have to. This is pointless.'

‘I don't care.'

But to his relief she lessened speed.

He looked back. ‘They don't follow us. At least we should talk. Please.'

At last she eased her foot from the accelerator, enough to turn off into what looked like a disused depot of some kind. Red brick buildings with broken windows, long purple weeds sprouting from the roofs, thin grasses growing through cracks in the concrete. Corrugated fencing. No sign of life.

‘Drive over there behind those buildings,' he told her.

When they stopped, he got out, walked a few paces away from the car, and sat down against a wooden fence. His heart was still thumping. His neck was sore where her nails had dug into it, and his body was now telling him in how many places the blond man's fists had landed successfully. Nowhere to hide here, when the police came.

Try, though. Walk away.

Sure. I'll do that. Once I start breathing normally.

Let her do the explaining. Let them question her.

It wouldn't go that way. He saw himself, as in a line of reflecting mirrors, being quizzed by a succession of faceless men, his own face growing smaller and fainter in the distance until he dwindled into nothing. He would be lost. His friends, for whose sake alone he had agreed to do this, would be lost. It would all have been for nothing.

What had possessed her? She could have killed them both. She was staring straight ahead through the windscreen. Her face was ghostly pale, streaked where tears had run through the dusty marks. He saw her fall again, felt the shock, and the heat of her body beneath him, the terror in her eyes, and how tightly she'd clung to him once they began to move towards the ledge and safety.

He got up and walked slowly back to the car.

He opened the driver's door. ‘What possessed you?'

She didn't answer.

‘You could have killed us both. You are crazy,' he told her.

‘And you're normal.'

He dropped his head on to his arm on the door frame, forcing himself not to swear.

‘All you had to do was tell them what happened. Did you think I would deny it?'

Still she stared into space.

He didn't understand. She had done nothing wrong. Why didn't she want to talk to the police?

There was a half-full bottle of water at her feet. He reached in for it and drank till it was almost gone, pouring the last inch over his head and face. He flung it at the fence, startling a bird perched high and safe on the telegraph wire. Still no sign of police cars on the main road. Why had she wanted to run? Was it possible that she'd lied to him, that she did know the man in the suit? What
had
been going on in Miss Arbanisi's house?

He tried again. ‘I will not tell them what you were doing. That's your business. Although perhaps you would be best to tell her yourself, even if your friend isn't pleased.' And who was he to judge in any case?

She looked up at him.

‘I don't have to know, Miss MacLeod. I'm not interested in what games you three were playing, why you were screaming . . .'

‘I screamed because of Bebe.'

‘Who is Bebe?'

‘Irene's cat. I stood on him.' She put her hands over her face. ‘I don't know why. He said a man was killed. I can't do this anymore.'

She was sobbing properly, her shoulders heaving.

His brain felt as if it had been dropped, dismantled and badly put back together. Who'd been killed? The one with the knife wound? Who was this blond man if he wasn't known to either woman? What did he want with Miss Arbanisi? An intense weariness spread through him, as if the earth's gravity had suddenly trebled. He dropped back into the passenger seat.

‘If you don't believe me, ask Irene,' she said, in a whisper.

It was an excellent plan, if he'd known where Irene was. But he didn't. In time, the police would find her too. He would tell the police as much as he could, and let them do the rest.

They sat in silence for a long time. Beyond the rim of the yard, large birds, crows perhaps, were circling brokenly above a huddle of trees, wheeling and falling like torn pieces of black paper above a bonfire. And still the police didn't come.

She spoke first. ‘Was it true, all that stuff you told Irene? The ring and everything?'

He nodded. Did they shoot crows to avert bad luck in this country?

‘So you're really here from your government?'

It was an excellent question. Strange that he'd not thought of it in those terms at all.

‘So you can go to your Embassy. They'll talk to the police for you and . . .'

‘It's not that easy.'

‘But it would be. That's what Embassies are for. My friend Sophie lost her passport in Turkey and they were really nice to her, even though she'd just lost it, not had it stolen and they . . .'

How very simple her world was.

‘You don't understand.'

‘I understand enough. I understand you'd rather faff around like a headless chicken feeling miserable than actually do something.'

‘What exactly are we doing?' Irene said.

He didn't answer.

She couldn't believe how easily persuaded she'd been, allowing him to take the driver's seat so that she could lie back for a little in the passenger one because she ‘looked upset'. Well, she was well and truly upset now. She'd expected an apology, some kind of explanation. Instead, the moment her eyes closed he'd turned the key, letting the powerful engine move them quietly down the lane away from the newly arrived police cars and everyone else towards the open road.

‘Trust me,' he'd said, ‘I'll explain in a moment.'

A great many moments had now come and gone. She didn't feel they had done something criminal exactly, but she suspected the police would not be best pleased. Most of all she disliked his assumption that he was in control. Perhaps that was what Dina found attractive in him, but she certainly didn't.

‘D'you hear me? Stop the car now.'

‘I'd rather not, but feel free to ask me anything else.'

His voice was so untroubled, so bloody carefree, she felt as if she was biting into candyfloss.

‘What're you doing?' he glanced at her.

She was unzipping her bag. ‘I'm phoning the police.'

‘No, not now,' he stopped her with his left hand, grasped the bag and dropped it into the back of the car.

She was so angry she couldn't speak. Who the hell did he think he was?

‘Is this the way you always handle a crisis? Dina's upset and confused, and you've just made everything worse.' He tried to talk over her protests, but she was having none of it. ‘You should have been comforting her instead of going after that foreign man. I knew she'd be all right. He told me that, twice. But then you jump in, and start behaving like the playground bully. That man was merely trying to explain . . .'

‘Your secretary has nothing to do with any of this. I met her yesterday for the first time.'

‘But you said . . .'

‘I'm sorry. No, just listen to me. This is complicated, so you'll have to bear with me.' They were approaching a speed camera. He glanced at the speedometer and slowed. ‘I met Dina at your house yesterday. My colleague and I were there, dear lady, to protect you, to prevent you from being kidnapped.'

‘Kidnapped?'

‘We were waiting for them, but her unexpected arrival messed everything up. My priority remains the same, so I'm not going to stop until we've put a little more distance between us. All right?'

Did the foreign man really want to kidnap her? She sat back into her seat. Was this possible?

‘You're a very important person, Miss Arbanisi.'

The great emerald sparkled at her, the only constant light in the present confusion.

‘But he gave me this. It's the Sisi emerald.'

‘It certainly is. He'd have taken it back from you soon enough. I'm sure you know your Macbeth, Miss Arbanisi.
Sometimes to win us to our harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths.'

‘If you're not a friend of Dina's, who are you?'

‘I can't tell you that, not just yet. You'll have to trust me. But I assure you, I'm not her boyfriend. Men in my line of work aren't good boyfriend material, I'm afraid. I had to say something when I was trying to find out what had happened to her. And I had to have some powerful justification for wanting to come here with you, when you said you'd been told to come alone. She's a nice girl, I'm sure, but not exactly my type.'

‘Well I'm not having the police chase me halfway across the country. Turn the car round.'

‘You're not thinking clearly.'

‘I'm thinking very clearly. Turn round please.' She didn't care whether Dina was his type or not. She'd lost patience. All this about-turning and confusion and nonsense, she'd had more than enough.

 

He pulled off the road into the first convenient place, a tractor entry into a field, and switched off the engine.

‘Miss Arbanisi,' he paused for a moment, as if he was considering exactly what to say, ‘let me elaborate. First of all, this conversation isn't happening. You asked who I was. The short answer is, I don't exist. And I work for people who don't like it to be known that they exist either.'

She had to stop herself from laughing out loud. It sounded exactly like something out of a TV series or an airport paperback thriller.

‘The man who was stabbed in your house was my colleague, Dan Reid. We've worked together for about three years. Try to imagine how I felt when I came to and found him. And your secretary had been taken hostage. The last thing I wanted was police involvement. Don't you realise how very important you are?'

It was said with such intensity, she had to look away. The police still assumed there was only one burglar. Now he was telling her . . . what exactly was he telling her? The foreign man had been waiting for her, Dina had arrived instead, and he and another man had intervened?

‘How could he have known I was going to come home?'

‘He was waiting. You would have come home eventually.'

She supposed so.

‘And the two of you knew he was there, waiting for me.'

‘Exactly.'

‘But who was the burglar? They took valuable stuff . . .'

‘There wasn't a burglary. He wanted it to look like a burglary. You're the object of value.'

Irene felt very odd. She had never felt ordinary, not in the way that other people were. She'd always had so many dreams clamouring to be realised, yet she'd held back, afraid she'd not be understood. Even in the middle of the most exciting project, something was always lacking, something inside her. Inside her soul, it was as if she lived in a world with only two dimensions, a landscape of dull colours, half-heard sounds and false power. Now she was on the brink of something real, something wild and frightening and glorious.

‘We're not playing games, Miss Arbanisi. That man with the scarred face is a ruthless killer. Fortunately the other one's not nearly so dedicated.'

‘Which other one?'

‘The one travelling with us in the boot.'

‘What!'

‘Oh, don't worry, he can't hurt you. But if he wakes up and starts thumping . . .'

‘Why is he in the . . .?'

‘I put him there. He was at the tower. I believe he'd gone to relieve himself. I'm not altogether sure what to do with him. Use him as bait, I think. If that fails, I'll have to think of something else. Maybe I'll just let him go. I'm so sorry. I've shocked you with all this, haven't I?'

He had taken her hand.

‘Why would anyone want to kidnap me?' she said. How squeaky she sounded, like a hysterical teenager. Being told she was important was one thing. But the thought that someone was intent on hurting her was unnerving.

‘I don't have a lot of money,' she said, forcing her voice down. This wasn't exactly true, she reflected. It was just that she'd always considered that other people, including those she worked for, generally had a lot more cash in hand.

‘I only know what I'm told. But anyone who wants to get to you is going to have to deal with me first. That much I promise you.'

Dina got out of the car and, opening the rear passenger door, took her two plastic bags and began walking towards the main road. Thank God. No more crazy driving. No more imminent death experiences. With a sigh of relief he followed her, but he was in no hurry to catch up. They'd covered quite a distance in their mad escape, and the tower was a long way off, but he thought it was pretty much a straight road back. She couldn't get lost.

He'd assumed they were in the middle of nowhere but once he reached the main road he saw that there was a small building on the other side. She'd crossed over and was now going inside. He shook his head. What the hell was she playing at now?

On the grass outside the building stood a sign.
Teas Coffees Light Snacks.
The lettering was hand-painted. It looked like an ordinary small house which had been transformed into a place to eat. The door tinkled as he went in. There was a counter with glass shelves, a large glass-fronted fridge with bottles, and half a dozen tables, covered with red cloths. A dark wood long-case clock stood against the end wall. Two women in white bib aprons were busy behind the counter. The air was fragrant with coffee and the sweet smell of warm bread.

‘My friend . . .' he began, his hand gesturing half way up his chest.

‘She's in the ladies' room,' one of the woman said, gesturing to a door.

He sat down near the door, next to an unlit fireplace. Across the room in a window alcove, was a curly-headed child in a high chair. An old woman and a younger one were adoring him. The young one was noticeably pregnant. Grandmother and daughter, he thought. A man in a red checked shirt, sleeves rolled, sat at another table, studying an unfolded map. Heavy walking boots and a large rucksack. Not police.

A boy in a dark blue apron emerged through a curtain of bright plastic strips. He stopped at the table.

Feliks said, ‘We will have coffee, please. And water. And something to eat. What do you have? Something smells very good.'

He sounded just like his first English primer. How odd to be using those phrases at last.

The boy said he thought it might be the cheese scones. Though he wasn't sure what these were, Feliks asked him to bring some. The police might come at any time, but he was hungry and thirsty, and the smells had settled it.

‘Would you be wanting cups or mugs?'

‘What is the difference?'

‘Mugs are bigger.'

‘Mugs, then. Thank you.'

A few more years,
he thought.
When you've been around for a few more years, boy, you won't stare at faces like mine. You'll master the quick sideways look – the controlled, polite glance that comes with maturity. That sweet, white-haired grandmother over there, she did it perfectly.

When Dina emerged he caught her lightly by the arm. ‘I've ordered coffee,' he said.

She didn't struggle. She looked exhausted, but her face was clean, her hair tidied, and her hands and nails had been washed.

She said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the trio at the window, as if she wished she could change places with the young mother.

Bottled water was brought, and glasses with ice, and coffee in tall white mugs. A jug of hot milk, butter in small silver foil packets just like the ones on the plane, and with them a plate bearing four large round fragrant cake-like objects, flecked with orange.

Behind them an old clock on the mantelpiece began to chime. Four times for the half hour.

‘This is very fine coffee,' Feliks told her. No response. She wouldn't even look at him. Would she feel differently about him if by some magic he could turn back time, go back to who he'd once been, or swop faces with the endearing Lazslo, or the even more lovely smoothly-suited burglar? His grandmother would have had an incantation to do such a thing, she'd had them for every other ailment. Lighted match after lighted match, dropped into a bowl of water till some subtle alteration in the hissing satisfied her that evil had been dealt with. He could not imagine the old lady at the window, so clean-looking in her flowered dress and white cardigan, doing any such thing.

He poured milk into her mug, stirred in sugar, pushed it closer to her. After a few seconds she lifted it to her mouth.

‘You should eat too.'

‘I'm not hungry.'

‘You will feel better with some food inside you.'

Warily he tasted some of the cheese bread. It was delicious. He broke one of the rounds in half and put them on her plate. How surreal all this was. Any moment the door would open and this illusion of normality would end. Possibly this was why the bread and the coffee tasted so good.

Each passing car seemed faster and more furious than the last. Hard, gleaming shells, with soft bodies inside, they boomed past, like so many crustaceans hurtling across the surface of an alien world.

‘How did you get the car keys?' he asked. He wanted to ask why she had run, but it seemed better to begin elsewhere.

‘I left them. They're in the ignition.'

‘No, how did you first get them?'

It took her a moment to recall. ‘They were lying on the grass.'

‘When you and Miss Arbanisi first left the building, did you see Lazslo?'

She shook her head. The coffee seemed to please her, now that she'd tasted it.

‘But the keys were on the ground? Was this before or after the police arrived?'

‘Before. I saw them when Irene went back to speak to you.'

It made no sense. Why would Lazslo leave on foot? If the keys were so easy to spot, why hadn't Lazslo seen them?

‘Something has happened to him. I was thinking he saw the police and hid somewhere or ran away, but whatever happened, it was before that.'

‘When Irene came with that man?'

He nodded.

‘But he could easily have run away before that,' she suggested. ‘He wasn't . . . He didn't seem . . .'

Happy? No, Lazslo hadn't seemed happy. And from the look on her face, it seemed possible that Lazslo might have mentioned his unhappiness, as if he'd had a great deal to say for himself in the times when they'd been alone together.

‘You felt sorry for him? And you believe everything he told you, of course. What did he say about me, I wonder.'

‘Nothing, really.'

She was a poor liar.

‘Let me explain something, Miss MacLeod. In my country, when I was conceived, it was still legal to have an abortion. But it was not legal by the time Lazslo was born.'

‘What's that got to do with anything?'

‘Lazslo was unplanned, and unwanted. His family was poor, and there were too many children already. He has always known this. He was given to his grandparents when he was three or four, and they were only a little less poor, so they begrudged every meal they gave to him. This was not uncommon,' he added, watching the small distressed changes in her listening face. ‘There are many in my generation bitter in their hearts, because their parents told them the truth.'

‘Why are you telling me all this?'

Why
was
he telling her? Lazslo's childhood miseries had nothing to do with the present situation. What did it matter if Lazslo had portrayed himself as the victim and Feliks as the villain? He cut the second cake in half and added butter, but the little rectangle was too cold to spread properly.

Unable to leave the silence alone, he went on, ‘Lazslo and I used to be school mates. He was a little younger, but we played a lot of football together. They made me Captain, in fact, but I wasn't very good. I ran about a lot, but I never knew where the ball was. And I fell over a lot. Mostly over my own feet.'

‘My sixth year report said, ‘Donaldina still has to find her sport.''

‘Donaldina?'

‘My name. It's a Highland thing. Traditional among the Gaels. I was supposed to be a boy.'

‘It's a pretty name.'

‘God, you must be the only person in the world who thinks so.'

She wiped crumbs away from her mouth, then said abruptly, ‘Now I need to go to the toilet. I'm not going to do anything stupid, I just didn't go before. Ok?'

Just as the door swung shut behind her, he heard a car draw in to the small space at the front of the building. It might be the police. It might be Miss Arbanisi and the suited man. It might be no one at all. He took out his wallet, extracted notes enough to cover the bill and laid them in the middle of the table. Then he wiped his own mouth clean of crumbs with a paper napkin, got back into his jacket and zipped it up.

The man who entered was the man who had stood talking with the guard at the castle. In his mid to late thirties, clean-shaven and fit-looking, with close-cropped dark hair. He wore blue jeans. Sunglasses with gold rims dangled by one leg from the neck of his navy sweatshirt. He met Feliks's eye, nodded, and came over to the table.

‘Can we have a word?' he asked.