Inheritance

by Ellen Kefferty

  Eventually he let her go. “Will you marry me?”

  “What?”

  “We could buy a ring, right now. Just say you will.”

  “Why? Why now? Are you mad?” She flattened her hands on his chest, her face in disbelief.

  “I don’t know that we’re going to win, Edith. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Everything is crazy today. Just say you’ll marry me. I can make you so happy. You make me happy. I love you, you know that. Ash tave myliu.”

  “I know you love me, Andrius, but this isn’t the time. It just isn’t the right time.”

  She bolted into King Street. The boutique shops crowded her sight, their windows crammed with luxuries. She could have them, she knew that, but only with his money and by his gift. Yet his money was the last thing she wanted, she wasn’t sure she even wanted his love. What did she want?

  “I just can’t think about such a thing right now.” She spoke without looking back, knowing that he would be right behind her.

  “Fine. As you wish. Let’s just do what we have to do, and maybe we can talk about it later.” He quickened his pace and drew up to her. “Though there never is a later, is there?”

  “Andrius!” She gasped in exasperation. “Why now?”

  “Look at these people!” He swung his arm out toward the end of King Street where it met Deansgate, at the crowds pressed against the barriers. “How many of them have a later? They could be dead in a couple of hours, smashed to pieces. Collateral fucking damage.”

  “Andrius, don’t say such things. You can’t speak like that!”

  They stole down a side street, the silence heavy between them. Then another, and another, unspeaking. They emerged at the corner of Albert Square. Crowds were quickly growing there too, the Town Hall was the beginning of the parade route. A huge video screen entertained the crowd with a medley of bland royalist puffery and pop music.

  Edith and Andrius tracked along the edge of the square and cut into Southmill Street, dominated by the grand old police station despite the efforts of property developers to knock it down for a quick profit. At Peter Street they crossed toward the Free Trade Hall where Henry Hunt’s arrest warrant had sparked a massacre, where Bob Dylan had been Judased in 1966, where now wealthy women sat at their tea parties.

  “I’m sorry.” Andrius broke first. Beneath the hall’s arcade he grabbed Edith’s wrist and pulled her toward him. “I’m nervous.”

  “I know.” She looked into his eyes; they were lost in fear. Could he read the same in hers? She laid her head on his chest to hide from his gaze. She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Dad’s plan won’t work, will it? There are too many ways it can go wrong. This is madness, Andrius. What are we doing?”

  “I know what I’m doing.” He kissed her forehead like a child. “I’m following the woman I love. To the ends of the earth. Or to madness, if needs be.”

  “Andrius.” Her head resting of his warm chest, she shut her eyes and for a second pretended she was anywhere else. “I wish I had a choice.”

  “Would you take it? Would you make any other decision than to fight?”

  “I wanted to give up. I wanted to let it be somebody else’s problem.” She shook her head. “Now I know what they’re after, it will always be my problem. I can’t escape that. I can only delay it.”

  They stood in silent embrace. Women watched them from the tea room, enjoying the vicarious intimacy. Andrius searched their faces.

  “Let’s get to the skybar. We can have a drink.”

  “Just one.”

  They broke off the embrace and wandered into Watson Street, overshadowed by old warehouses blocking out the city around them.

  The lift ascended to the skybar. The interior clad in rich, dark wood and metal finishes polished to perfection. Several couples, in formal suits and gowns, filled the elevator. The doorman had checked their tickets before they entered the lift, which served the skybar alone. He inspected their clothes surreptitiously. Usually his role was to keep out the underdressed. No chance of that today.

  Andrius slid his hand into Edith’s as they watched the floors count upward. Regret ached in her chest for a day they could not enjoy, for love that would have to wait. She should have said yes to him. It was too late now. She raised his hands and kissed it with a smile.

  The skybar ran the whole depth and width of the tower. The space structured into separate areas to effect both grandeur and intimacy. The centre, wide and open, looked out north onto the city with bars to either side. Tables lined the windows, some with chairs for couples, others for small parties. Above them hung daring chandeliers seemingly made from nothing but floating rods of light.

  Turning left or right the edges of the space were divided up with soft curved partitions and screens. Each with its own style, breaking up the skybar into cosy and semi–private lounges. Many already filled with guests, yet so well set apart that the parties didn’t intruded upon each other.

  The north western corner of the skybar overlooked the junction of Deansgate and Liverpool Street. The best views for the parade. The corner had been cleared so that onlookers could gather. A television on the wall showed a news feed of the day’s events. The royals greeted local worthies at the town hall, ready for the obligatory tour. Nobody in the skybar watched.

  Edith peered to the streets below and the still growing crowds. They stretched from below her feet, northwards for over a kilometre, to Andrius’s apartment building. The coolness of the day outside seeped through the glass into her splayed hand. The attack invaded her thoughts. A truck driven through these crowds would kill dozens. Too many images offered themselves to her. They lingered behind closed eyes when she attempted to shut them out.

  “Come over here.” Andrius beckoned to her with his hand. He stood at a side window, looking to the south east.

  They pressed together and as conspirators, wrapped in whispers.

  “The truck will come from that direction, from the Mancunian Way or beyond.” He pointed. “It could be miles away. It could be parked round the corner awaiting its operator. We simply can’t know.”

  “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?” His back was tense beneath the stroke of her hand.

  “It’s better to try and understand it all. Wherever it comes from the first part of its journey will be self–driven. The roads to the south are open.” He nodded as he delivered his reasoning. “Maybe there’s another operator, or helper, somebody to ensure that nobody interferes with the truck.”

  “If only we knew where the truck was. We could get to it earlier.” Her forehead lined with doubt. “We’re going to be cutting it fine here, aren’t we?”

  “Whoever is in that hotel room will be controlling it for only a few minutes. Just for the override, to keep it going through the crowds. He might make a final adjustment to its course, to hit the target precisely.”

  “Target? I just can’t...they’re people.”

  “Not to the attackers.”

  He drew her loosely into a hug. He spoke into her ear.

  “We need to go.”

  They strolled along the width of the building. The far corner was empty. An unassuming door stood away from the nearest booths, the frame surmounted by a green box: ‘Fire Exit’. They looked around them and, on seeing that there was no staff watching, they ducked through the door and into the stairwell.

  The cold, grey, and undecorated stairwell was meant for one function, built in the hope it would never be used.

  Down a single flight, Edith headed for the exit to that floor.

  “No, let’s go down another couple of floors.”

  “Why?”

  “The top two floors are the most expensive suites. The guests are likely to be known by sight. We’ll stand out too much.”

  “Okay.”

  Another few flights satisfied Andrius and he stopped.

  “How do you want to do this?”

  “What Dad said,” she had nothing better than the
plan her father had outlined, “I guess.”

  “Are you sure? It’s stupid. And degrading.”

  “Of course I’m not sure. You have a better idea?”

  He shook his head, defeated.

  There were no sounds from the hallway outside. He cracked the door open. Nobody there. A moment later he strolled along the hallway. He shook his body loose. As natural and calm as possible. The hotel’s newest guest.

  He sighted his target. A cleaning trolley parked outside a room with the door wide open. Stealing what he needed straight from the trolley was the first prize. Ben’s charade could go to hell.

  Nothing was visible in the few moments before the cleaner emerged from the room.

  “Good morning.” The cleaner nodded her head, the barest bow an English person would ever agree to perform.

  Middle–aged and thin, the cleaner bordered on underweight and would make an easy mugging. As she rummaged through the innards of the trolley her keycard hanging loosely from her waist.

  Andrius shook the thought from his mind. He could never live with the guilt of hurting an innocent person. Instead he would have to live with the shame.

  “Yes. Good morning.” The accent he adopted, who was that? Did anybody ever sound like that? In his mind a chorus of his countrymen sighed at the crass portrayal. They would not be the spectators of his act, however. His play had an audience of one. “My room. There is problem.”

  The cleaner stopped mid bend, hand still inside the trolley.

  “There’s a problem with your room?”

  “There is problem. Yes.”

  “What kind of problem? Can I help you?”

  He shrugged. “Problem.”

  He twirled his hands around. In his mind he was twisting the head of a weasel and pulling out its entrails. The performance had its effect. The cleaner watched intently and in silence.

  “There is a problem with your shower? Is that it, your shower? You can’t get it to work?”

  “Shower?”

  “Yes, shower.” It was the cleaner’s turn to play. One hand above her head she imitated the sound of running water. ‘Tsshhh!’

  She furrowed his brow and stared at the cleaner like she was an idiot. “Zhebenkshtie?” The weasel gutting was reprised.

  “Okay. Maybe not your shower.” The cleaner tried a new charade with added loudness. “Is it your television?”

  “No television.” He shook his head wildly. That was enough, it was time to strike. “You speak Lithuanian?”

  “No, no, no!” The cleaner laughed in relief. A gentle tap on his forearm and she drew out her radio. “Just hold on, let me get somebody for you.” The radio crackled. “Jen, this is Sharon on nineteen, is Monika on today?”

  A staticky reply came in its own time. ‘No, why do you want her?’

  “I have I guest here with some kind of problem. I think he’s Lithuanian.”

  ‘Oh, right. Monika’s not on today. Maybe send him down to reception?’

  “Do they have somebody?”

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s not your problem.’ Another delay. ‘Gabi’s on. I could get her.’

  “I don’t know her, do I?”

  ‘The quiet one. You know, with the blonde hair?’

  “I probably know her, can’t place the name though. Will you send her up to room 1917?”

  ‘I’ll tell her to come right away.’

  “Five minutes.” Sharon held up five fingers widespread. She designated a spot of carpet for Andrius. “Wait there.”

  Andrius obeyed. His watch said it was eleven thirty. Still an hour and a half to go. Plenty of time.

  He thought of Edith waiting for him in the stairwell. Why did he have to propose like that? Wasn’t it mean to special? He laughed. Could he really wed a woman who had gotten him into more trouble than he ever knew? What would a lifetime be like? Maybe a lifetime of standing in hotel hallways doing stupid shit because he loved her. And believed in her.

  “Sveikas, my name is Gabija, how can I help you?”

  It was an uncommon pleasure to hear anybody speak Lithuanian nowadays. Yet Gabija was a plump, moon–faced young woman with blonde hair, and the cutest rustic accent he had ever heard. She could have been plucked straight from the village. Maybe she had just come from milking a cow. You could take her home to mother and walk her to church on Sunday mornings. Manchester was a long way from home.

  Andrius coughed and readied his best city accent.

  “Yes, thank you. There’s a problem in my room.”

  “What is the problem?”

  “Well, it’s a little hard to explain but there’s this control panel on the wall and...it is best if I show you. My room is just round the corner.” He motioned with his hand for Gabija to follow.

  “The panel which controls the air conditioning? Guests often find that...”

  “Let me show you.” He spoke with a finger raised. He hated to make her feel uncomfortable. But she had to be parted from the English cleaner.

  “Of course, of course.” Gabi found her place in the trail of his footsteps.

  Round the corner he slowed to let her draw even. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. She seemed smaller, minimizing herself. A lifelong practice.

  At the fire exit to the stairwell he glanced to check nobody was looking. He swiped her with his arm and yanked her through the door. She stifled a squeak. Once unhanded she bore herself silently, eyeing the scene before her. Andrius, suddenly not a hapless hotel guest. Edith, rising from a her seat on a step.

  “I wondered if you were going to ask me to find a whore. Now I see your wife that can’t be what you’re after, is it?” Gabi put her hands on her hips and smiled at the insult.

  “She’s not my wife.” He was glad they were still speaking Lithuanian. Edith couldn’t follow their conversation with the few phrases that she knew.

  “So, do you want drugs, then?”

  “Ne.” He crooked his head toward Edith. He spoke in English. “For her benefit...”

  “Okay. But tell me what you want.”

  Edith stepped forward. “We’re from the security services. We need your key card.”

  Andrius winced.

  Gabi grinned. “No you’re not.” Her smiled broadened even more. “But everything has its price.”

  “Name it.” He gripped the handrail and leant over Gabi.

  “No.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “The person who offers first loses most. Isn’t that the way?” Her expression was shameless. Jackpot, and she knew it.

  He fixed his countenance to hide his thoughts. Inward he was furious. He had negotiated plenty of business deals in his life to know the score. This little peasant girl was set to screw him over. Maybe he should hire her.

  “Two hundred and fifty.” Edith nodded toward Gabi, then she turned her head to Andrius. “That’s a fair price, right?”

  He placed two fingers on his forehead. Deep breath. He definitely wouldn’t hire Edith as a negotiator. Gabi stared at Andrius in expectation. She folded her arms..

  Eventually he snapped and threw up his hands. “What? What do you want? Two hundred and fifty is a good offer. Buy your mother a new washing machine!”

  Gabi chuckled. “Maybe she wants a dishwasher too?”

  Edith glanced at Andrius then nodded toward Gabi. He threw up his hands again. “Okay! Five hundred! I’ll give you five hundred for the key card.” After making his offer he began to pace the landing, refusing to look at Edith.

  “Now double it,” Gabi pointed, “for lying to me.”

  “What?” Andrius shouted, but quickly stopped himself. That could have been heard in the hallway. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you were from the security services.” Gabi looked at Edith. “Your wife said that. She wanted it for free. So it’s double.”

  “Christ!” He sank onto a step, his head hanging down. He muttered to himself. “She’s not even my fucking wife.”

  Shame flushed through E
dith’s body. Then fear that Andrius might refuse out of sheer anger. It wasn’t the money, he could afford that and more. It was the principle. He had lost. That would hurt him the most. She watched him, sat on the step, staring blankly at the floor.

  “So, what’s your answer?” Gabi stepped toward the door. “I have work to do, and am happy to walk.”

  “We’ll pay.” Andrius mumbled.

  “Good choice. The best. My mother will be so happy. I want cash, of course. There are bank machines on Deansgate, so meet me back here in twenty minutes.” She turned to leave. “Actually, make it half an hour, the crowds will be terrible out there.”

  Andrius raised his wallet. “We have the money.” A bunch of fifties were in his fist. “Here.”

  She held up the flat of her hand to decline the money. “I have to get the card first. You can’t have mine, as it is linked to me. I’ll get you an anonymous one. It will take fifteen minutes.”

  Edith interposed herself between Gabi and Andrius. “Will it still let us into every room?”

  “Every guest room, yes. But I can’t get you access to rooms cleaners can’t access. It will be the same keycard as mine. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Gabi hesitated at the door, turning back.

  “So, what do want the keycard for? Can you tell me?”

  “There’s a terrorist plot to kill the royal family, and we’re their only hope.”

  Gabi laughed outrageously. It faded as she strode down the hallway.

  Edith sighed. The step next to Andrius was harder than five minutes ago.

  “Oh, god.” He bawled into his hands. “Look at us. We’re their only hope.”

  Five minutes of silence was not unbearable. Except when it was ten minutes. Or fifteen. Edith checked her phone. Still over an hour left until the parade began. Her body felt lighter. Something grew inside. It needed to be let out. Still over an hour away.

  “I’m sorry. That could have been the ring money.” She tentatively tried conversation.

  “Your ring money.”

  “Our ring money.”