The Fault

by Kitty Sewell

  Mimi rushed to make the coffee and Eva fell back into an armchair she’d hauled from the living room to the kitchen and called her own.

  ‘Your Royal Blondness,’ said Mimi, handing Eva a mug of instant. She parked herself at the kitchen table, watching Eva quietly sipping her coffee. Her hair was braided into a French plait, and her face looked older than when they’d first met… that fleeting couple of meetings, engineered by Sebastian during her holiday in Dubai. She wondered what Eva had been doing when she was eighteen? Surely she’d been a rebellious teenager, like everyone else.

  ‘So…huh…tell me more about what you got up to, before you became a Luna affiliate?’

  Eva was startled out of her thoughts. ‘Me? I was a paramedic. I told you already.’

  ‘But you must have got a family, like, parents.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t see them anymore.’

  ‘That sounds weird. Are you hiding something?’

  ‘I wish,’ Eva said with a tired laugh. ‘I’m not that interesting.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re a terrorist, on the run from the CIA…and someone is on your tail.’ Mimi observed a twitch, ever so small, at the corner of Eva’s eye. ‘Did you kill someone?’

  ‘I wish I could have,’ Eva said pensively, ‘but no such luck. I just don’t really care for my past. Come on, slacker. You’re trying to distract me from the fact that we’ve got a job to do.’

  Mimi shrugged and tossed down the dregs of her coffee. She followed Eva to the hall. When they bent to pick up the box between them, she noticed that Eva’s hands were trembling.

  Mimi smiled knowingly. Dissimulation. Stuff in the closet.

  Guilt and regret not withstanding, it didn’t take her long to get used to inhabiting the dead woman’s private space. She had a good snoop around to see if there was anything that the lovebirds might have missed, but the massive freestanding wardrobe was empty. The two chests had drawers lined in newsprint dated 1949 and 1951, held down by historical thumbtacks. There was nothing but two ancient postcards addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Sol Cohen, one from Venice and the other from Tel Aviv.

  It was surprisingly hard to get used to lying on the bed with that hook in her sightline. Eva was right, how could you avoid seeing Mrs. Cohen hanging there? It was during such a moment – staring at the hook to try and imagine Mrs. Cohen’s thoughts and feelings at the definitive moment – that something flashed past the corner of her eye: the tip of a wooden object poking over the top of the wardrobe.

  Jumping up, she ran to get the paint-spattered stepladder from the larder. She reached for and pulled down the item. A violin! The bow followed and hit her on the head. She got down and, sitting on the bed, held the instrument reverently in her hands. She turned it over and over. It was well used, very dusty, but in beautiful condition. Examining it carefully, she noted a word scratched on the back with a knife or a needle… Socorro. She put the violin on her bed and looked up the word on her Ipad. Succour, help, relief. Who would damage an exquisite instrument in that way? That dire call for help had to be Esther’s.

  So… Esther Cohen and Imogen Luna had more than one thing in common.

  Dad had taught her to play, even bought her a baby violin. When Dad died and she had been forcibly shoved in with Jane and Gordon at their mansion, Jane complained that her playing sounded like two tomcats in a scrap and soon confiscated the little instrument. Mimi never saw it again. In any case, by then it had become too small, as well as being water damaged, and reminding her too much of Dad.

  She cradled the violin in her arms and felt in it more of Esther Cohen’s presence than any other artefact in the whole apartment, including the hook.

  Eva

  Eva looped her arm through Sebastian’s. They were walking on top of the Line Wall that ran along the western side of town. She was stealthily leading him towards the leisure complex housed within the King’s Bastion, a centuries old fortification that was set in the middle of the wall. It took some effort to get Sebastian away from his drawing board, and she’d not foreseen how intensely he would get wrapped up in this project. Of course, it followed that the beginning of a new job – and one as important as this one – would have him focusing all his energies on it.

  Sebastian, oblivious to her intentions, was enthusing about the construction of the fortification and the brilliant engineering effort that had produced such a structure over two centuries ago. Right now, she couldn’t give a damn about the engineering effort; she could really use an effort on his part to have some good, old-fashioned fun. A movie, followed by a few drinks in a nice bar, then dinner, a nightcap somewhere romantic and finally rolling around the (single) bed for hours, making love. Wasn’t that what an evening out with one’s boyfriend entailed?

  ‘Sebastian,’ she interrupted, ‘I was going to tell you over a drink, but I can’t wait. I did what you suggested. If I live up to expectations tomorrow morning, I might have a job at a diving centre.’

  He stopped. ‘Hey, sweetheart. Congratulations!’

  ‘Not full time, or salaried or anything, but it’s a start.’

  In plain view of other pedestrians he grabbed her around the waist and picked her up off her feet, swinging her around full circle. ‘Behold this gorgeous mermaid,’ he yelled. ‘She’s the best diver in the seas.’

  ‘Put me down, Sebastian,’ she pleaded, laughing. ‘We’ll get arrested.’ He kissed her loudly full on the lips several times. ‘Stop,’ she yelled, laughing. ‘Anyway, I have to prove myself first.’

  He put his arm around her shoulder and they walked on. ‘Oh, you’ll prove yourself, all right! Now, what shall we do with this glorious evening…would you like me to take you on a tour of the fortresses and batteries along the west side of town and you can tell me about your job on the way?’

  ‘No thank you.’

  He glanced at her. ‘What do you want to do?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘I want to celebrate my appointment with a magnum of champagne, and there is a film I want to see.’

  ‘A film,’ he said in confusion. ‘But it’s sunny!’

  ‘Yes, it tends to be that here. But films are still made and played in movie theatres across the continents, no matter the climate.’

  He laughed. ‘Is that a fact, smarty-pants?’

  She knew he was too restless a man to sit still watching a film, but just once in a while she should be able to have things her way. She steered him firmly toward the King’s Bastion, feeling the slight physical resistance, as if he were being cajoled into a trap.

  After a moment of mooching along in silence, he asked, ‘So how are you getting on with Mimi…after the suicide setback?’

  ‘She helped me move our stuff around yesterday. We’re talking.’

  ‘Good, good.’ He slowed his step further. ‘What about?’ Do you talk about me?’

  She heard a twinge of anxiety in his voice and turned to look at him. ‘Is there something you don’t want her to tell me? Something you don’t want me to know?’

  He drew her closer. ‘Of course not. I told you, I’ve never been married or engaged up till now. I was madly in love with a girl when I was eighteen, but she turned out to be a faithless little witch. After that I gave up on women and concentrated on my work. So there is nothing to tell, really.’

  ‘I wasn’t necessarily referring to other women.’

  He had told her about what he called the pivotal moment of his life – waking up one night at the age of nineteen to a vision. He’d seen his own future, a long and difficult path to become a famous structural engineer, a vocation he’d never even considered before. And he’d told her how difficult it had been to juggle a sky-rocketing career with being responsible for Mimi.

  Sebastian interrupted her thoughts. ‘Have you figured out what she’s doing with the Bible thumper? Has she told you anything?’

  ‘Oh God, no,’ she said, distracted, ‘but at least she’s on the pill.’ As soon as she’d said it she cursed herself. She had no business divulgi
ng this. There had been no need for Sebastian to know.

  He stopped. ‘Really? She actually told you that?’

  ‘No, of course not, and don’t you go questioning her.’

  Sebastian grabbed her arm to retain her. ‘So how d’you know about it?’

  ‘I found them accidentally when I was moving us into her old room. I shouldn’t have told you. It’s none of our business.’

  He didn’t seem to register the firmness in her voice. ‘So she’s having sex with someone.’

  ‘Not necessarily. It’s probably just a precaution. Girls her age have usually long since lost their virginity, as I’m sure you know. She’s being sensible and responsible and you should count your blessings.’

  ‘But him?’

  ‘Oh, come on, honey. I think they’ve only met two or three times.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He’s probably gay. Gays tend to collect safe girlfriends, too big, too young, too old, or precocious and clever like Mimi. That could explain the attraction.’

  ‘But what the hell does she see in him?’

  Eva shrugged. ‘Safety, maturity. Think about it. She’s been brought up by older men.’

  The sun was still high in the sky and the heat shimmered above the concrete of the rampart. It did seem crazy to watch a film in this gorgeous weather, but the coolness of the building beckoned to her.

  Once they got inside, it had already started, but they went in anyway and sat down in the darkness. On the screen a couple were exchanging wedding vows in front of two witnesses. Eva glanced at her lover. His eyes were on the screen but his mind was clearly elsewhere. His profile showed deep furrows across his forehead, and his full mouth was thinned to a grim line. Her hand found his and she turned back to the screen. The bridegroom leaned forward to kiss the bride with barely disguised passion.

  How would Sebastian react if she told him the simple truth about her refusal to marry him?

  Only days after the fateful diving incident in Dubai where her hair had become entangled in coral, Sebastian arranged a visit to the British Embassy as a surprise. She had no idea how he’d swung a marriage licence with only her passport, but it was presented to her all ready to sign. According to the registrar, all they needed was to post a notice of the pending marriage at both their embassies, provide blood tests for the U.A.E. authorities and, after three weeks, they could get married in the Anglican church.

  She’d been so taken aback that she didn’t know how to react. ‘How could you…without asking me?’ she whispered to him, aware that the registrar was waiting. ‘It’s a huge decision. I’m not ready for it. I told you already.’

  Seeing his dismayed reaction, she took him aside and tried to reason with him. ‘We’ve only known each other for a matter of weeks. Why can’t we just live together?’

  ‘Because as you well know, in Dubai it’s illegal,’ he said quietly but forcefully. ‘Cohabitation outside of marriage is forbidden. Put yourself in my position, I absolutely can’t afford any mistakes or scandals.’

  ‘We know more than one couple living in sin and nobody seems to give a damn.’

  The registrar was overhearing their conversation and butted in, ‘Sebastian is absolutely correct in his unwillingness to break Sharia Law. He’s hired by a high-profile government agency and his face in the business sector is known.’ He gave her a stern look. ‘The embassy will take no responsibility for the consequences of any charges laid against people breaking the local laws. The consequences can be harsh; brutal, even.’

  Sebastian turned her around so that he could look into her eyes. ‘You are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and that new life can start right here, right now, with your signature.’

  She glanced away from his insistent gaze. ‘I am so sorry. I’m not ready. It’s too soon.’

  Sebastian lifted her hand to his lips, then leaned over and whispered in her ear. ‘Are you enjoying this?’

  ‘I guess you’re not,’ she whispered back, realising what a bad choice of movie this was.

  ‘I’d rather go home, crack open that magnum and pretend we’ve done what that couple just did,’ he murmured, taking a strand of her hair and combing it out through his fingers. ‘Look at you, with your hair spilling gold. Come on, Queen of the Deep. The bathtub awaits.’

  Mimi

  They’d arranged a meeting on the Line Wall – next to the old cannons – as the starting point for a tour of the town. She was waiting on a bench in the full sun, since any bit of shade could not be found on the promenade. Looking to spot Carlo, to her surprise she saw Sebastian and Eva walk towards her, arm in arm in intense conversation. She prepared herself for some awkward exchange – what was she doing here? – but they continued right past, almost looked through her. She peered down at her getup. God, was she that invisible? She had toned down her appearance, wearing regular jeans (with rips and holes but everybody wore those, even housewives) and a black shirt tied at the front showing a little skin but not her be-ringed navel. She’d washed the gel out of her hair and it flopped clean but untidy over her forehead.

  ‘Hello, Imogen.’

  She smiled and stood up, and he kissed her on both cheeks, Gib fashion. His suit was a glaring reminder of their age difference. He looked very good though, slim and elegant, but mature. He flinched slightly when he noticed her precious silver safety pin. She’d put it through her eyebrow and connected it by a delicate chain to the ring in her nostril.

  ‘I didn’t just stick it in,’ she reassured him. ‘The holes were there already.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ he exclaimed, clearly casting around for something positive to say. ‘You do look truly unique, and underneath it all you’re…quite beautiful.’

  ‘Cheers,’ she said and plucked the gum from her mouth. She rolled it between her fingers and tossed it into the bin next to the bench. ‘I hope I didn’t take you away from your work.’

  ‘How could I not take you up on a tour? I’m a guide, after all. Ask me and I’ll show you.’

  ‘I’m looking for more stuff to stimulate my descriptive powers.’

  ‘Aha, I know where to take you.’

  ‘Can we start with a drink?’

  He didn’t answer but led her down the steps, crossing the big carpark and then following the South Bastion wall. Five minutes on, as they were nearing Ragged Staff Gates, he suddenly took her by the elbow and pulled her through a door into a hole in the wall. It was a grotto of sorts, but as her eyes adapted to the dark she saw that they were in a tiny pub. It had no windows, was grimy and squalid and utterly without appeal. It seemed an appropriate place to take someone you were embarrassed to be seen with.

  The publican was a surly Scotsman whose enormous gut strained the buttonholes on his shirt to breaking point. By contrast, his wife was skeletal, clearly waging a losing battle with alcohol. Her bony hands trembled as she poured them both a vodka – so much so that she could hardly stop pouring – and she offered them Sprite since there was no tonic.

  Not surprising, they were the only customers. Taking her drink off the bar, Mimi looked around at the five Formica tables. Where to sit was a tricky choice, but the blistering draft coming in off the street won over the cool interior, because even for someone who enjoyed a smoke, the stench of urinal and cigarette butts soaked in stale beer was overwhelming.

  ‘This tavern is well on its way towards a change of hands,’ Carlo commented bluntly, not bothering to keep his voice down. ‘Pity to see it like this; it’s been patronised by sailors for centuries.’

  They sat down at the table closest to the door and sipped their drinks in silence. Mimi fought with an urge to giggle. Carlo looked so out of place in this setting, perched on the rickety chair. From time to time, he stroked his silver crucifix with one long, well-groomed hand, a habit he seemed unaware of.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, gesturing around the hovel. ‘I didn’t realise…’

  ‘I know why we’re here,’ she said.

  ‘Because thi
s is a truly historic drinking establishment, hundreds of years old. Perhaps the oldest in Europe.’

  ‘Because here nobody who matters will see us.’

  He looked hurt. ‘I’m not the least concerned about being seen with you, Imogen. Why should I be? Besides, you’re a very attractive young woman –’

  ‘– from outer space,’ she added.

  ‘Who says I’m not from outer space? I feel like it often enough,’ he replied.

  The first sip of the almost-neat vodka had gone to her head and she felt bold. ‘When did you last have a girlfriend, Carlo?’

  He laughed stiffly. ‘What kind of question is that?’

  ‘A straightforward one.’ She smiled, enjoying her advantage.