“How’s that relevant?”
“We want to know where she is, what she might be doing, who she might be meeting.” Albert rounded on Eddy. “What she’s … capable of.”
“Nothing bad, if that’s what you’re implying. Anna’s strictly one of the good girls.”
Another long silence.
“Why did we break up?” Eddy said suddenly. “Oh, all kinds of reasons. Blonde kinds. Brunette kinds. Redheads.”
“You were a womanizer and she was jealous.”
“You could say that. It wasn’t my fault she was frigid, now was it? You can blame that on her bloody mother. That and a whole lot of other things.”
Good, Albert thought to himself. Frigid … maybe even neurotic? Yes, he could tell Fox that Anna was neurotic.
“Her mother … I’ve met Mrs. Elwell.”
“Then you’re halfway to understanding Anna,” Eddy commented. “The wonder is how she survived. It puzzled me, the way she could be so strong.”
“Why is that puzzling? Isn’t a loving home supposed to be the best preparation for life?”
“Don’t you believe it. The best preparation for anything is hardship. Opposition. Everything else is just padding.”
“Why did you marry her in the first place?”
“Why did you marry your wife?”
Albert ignored the question. “Anna was pregnant.”
“So?”
“She was pregnant, you’d both just come down from Oxford, she with a first in Law, you with a third in PPE. You got her knocked up, her mother brought pressure to bear.”
“Pressure! Good God, more like the Spanish Inquisition.”
“How long did it last?”
“What, the marriage? A year, say.”
“A year that wasn’t all bad.” Albert stood staring out the window at the river. Sometimes it was possible to see for extraordinary distances, even on a day as gray as this one. “And you didn’t marry her just because she was pregnant, did you, you married her because she was a good woman, and fun to be with, and she had prospects, am I right, mm?”
Sigh, sigh, sigh!
“So now tell me … that year you spent together. What was she like”—Albert turned away from the window—“then?”
Eddy rested one elbow on the table and the other on the arm of his chair, interlacing his hands in front of him. “Like?” he said after a long pause. “She was like …”
Albert idly filled in the gap with possible descriptions. She was fun. Cold. Jolly. A real bitch.
“She was like a goddess, then,” Eddy said, and Albert, hearing his voice, hearing what lurked behind it, was catapulted out of his speculative reverie into an immediacy for which he had not bargained.
“Explain, if you will, what you mean by that.”
“When we were at Oxford, I thought of her as beyond my reach. I was nothing, came from nowhere. She …”
“Go on.”
“She … gave off light. Always a little joke, soothing away your troubles. I’ve seen people stand up when Anna came in. As if she was royalty, you know? And they wanted to get a better view, get close to her. She excited people. Was interested in them. She brought out the best in you, by listening.”
Albert remembered the photograph of Anna that he’d seen in the Lescombes’ drawing room. “I see.”
He was having to adjust his mental picture of Eddy Clapham. Until now he’d assumed that the man’s sole motivation was financial, which by itself caused no problems because Albert, too, had a healthy respect for money. What differentiated him from Clapham was his idealism, the principles that made life worth living; whereas the only convictions a man like Clapham had were criminal ones. Or so Albert had thought. Now he wasn’t so sure. He began to listen for the things that weren’t being said.
“When she said she’d sleep with me, I thought this was it, y’know, let’s do it and die, there isn’t any more to be had, not here, not in this life.” Eddy grunted. “Talk about a let down.”
“And on her side … what was it about you that Anna found attractive, I wonder?”
Eddy laughed, an artificially elegant sound. “That’s easy.”
“So enlighten me.”
“It was such a fabulous time to be at Oxford. Suddenly there was pot, and women, and no need to work if you didn’t feel like it. I used to play the hard man, I grew a beard. Anna was just … goggle-eyed. She’d never had any contact with someone like me before. Never been allowed any, in case she caught fleas, you know?”
“She was infatuated by someone radically different?”
“And dangerous. Somebody alive. Someone who cared about things—you’ll never believe this, but I had a social conscience then. Demos. Love-ins, I was into all that.”
“And was she?” Albert sneered.
“Only for my sake. Not that she didn’t have a conscience, hers was even better developed than mine. She didn’t care for the, how shall I put it, the stagecraft.”
“But in the end she found you … irresistible?”
Eddy shrugged. “We were both young, the genes with a G were singing and the jeans with a J were too tight, y’know the kind of thing.”
Albeit didn’t. “You wanted her to get pregnant?”
Eddy laughed self-consciously. “I’ve even asked myself that. Maybe I did, yes.”
“You were happy enough to get married, anyway?”
“Yeah. Except …”
“Except for what?”
When Eddy shook his head and continued to stare at the floor, Albert prompted him. “She was working too hard because she wanted to get to the bar …”
“The exams were tough.”
“And then there was the kid…. What were you doing at that time?”
“Nothing much. I thought I might qualify as an accountant, but—”
“Those exams also were tough.”
When Eddy shrugged, Albert reminded himself that first impressions were often the most reliable. Here was one of life’s losers. Albert could not envisage his funeral. Who on earth would give up an afternoon to mourn Eddy Clapham?
“And then someone told you about the gold,” he said. ‘A world where every so often, just two or three times a year, people need to buy the physical stuff, in bars. And because there’s so little about, and because hardly anybody knows where to find it, there’s this exclusive club, isn’t there, which can fix that, mm? Everything from chartering the plane to bribing customs to working out how many Heckler and Koch submachine guns the guards will need when they land in Benin. Or Belize.”
“It’s a dicey world, friend.”
“I don’t doubt it. But profitable, very.”
“If you get it right.”
Albert suppressed irritation. Clapham’s milieu resembled his own in enough ways to make him wonder whether there might not be other, distinctly off-putting similarities between them.
“And did you get it right,” he rasped, “you with your contacts and your drinking in nightclubs, while Anna was feeding the baby before staying up half the night to study, mm, did you?”
“What’s with all this moralizing? Have you got something going with Anna, or what?”
Albert smiled, although he didn’t feel particularly jolly. The picture that Eddy was painting of Anna left much to be desired, from his point of view. Perhaps if they moved forward in time … “Anna passed her exams, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“And wanted support, someone to look after the child while she practiced.”
“That kid always was a pain. She’s not much better now.”
“Ah. The devoted father.”
“Look—”
“I’m looking.”
“It wasn’t my fault Anna got frightened she might kill herself. I didn’t give her PND, now did I?”
Albert slipped into overdrive, don’t think, don’t pause, act your heart out, make him think you knew that, “PND meaning postnatal depression?”
“Yeah,” Eddy said, and—“Miracle!
” Albert thought to himself. A copper-bottomed miracle …
“By the time Juliet was born I wasn’t having much to do with Anna. She was way over the edge before I came along. She’d got ripped up over finding out about the adoption, changing schools and that. Then after the brat was born, she got this, you know, this terrible downer some women get. Kept on saying, ‘I’m going to kill Juliet, I’m going to kill myself, if somebody doesn’t help me.’”
Way over the edge … all ripped up … “I’m going to kill myself” …
“Would she have done it, d’you think?” Albert asked.
“No. Definitely not. She had too much guts for that. But she wasn’t responsible, according to the doctor.”
“What happened to Anna after that?”
Eddy was looking at Albert now, really looking at him, making assessments. “Liking this, are you?”
“What happened!”
“I heard she was seeing a shrink.”
“Who did you hear that from?”
“Mrs. Elwell told me. Meant to rub it in. Blame me.” He slipped into a silly voice, “‘Edward, I felt you had a right to know, Chappy didn’t want me to say anything, but …’ Christ all-bleeding-mighty.” Sigh!
“Do you know which psychiatrist Anna saw at that time?” Albert asked.
“No. I mean, Lydia Elwell may have mentioned the name, but I can’t remember now, offhand.”
“Was his name Kleist, by any chance?”
Eddy pursed his lips. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
No matter, Albert thought. I’ve got more than enough. “If you should remember, give me a ring.” He started searching through his pockets for a piece of paper but Eddy forestalled him.
“Here, use this. Appropriate.”
“This” was a photograph extracted from Eddy’s wallet. Albert flipped it over to see a color print of Anna’s upper half. She was holding a baby, smiling away from the camera at the child. The snapshot had faded a kind of rusty color and there was a crack across its top left-hand corner.
Albert scribbled a number and handed the photo back to Eddy. “The only other thing I need to know is how I get out of here without your sidekicks taking their revenge on the way.”
“I’ll call ‘em in.”
Eddy picked up the phone and spoke soft words of Arabic. The door opened to admit the bodyguards. Albert put his hand on the Browning in his pocket, but the newcomers concentrated on their master, two dogs awaiting a command or a biscuit, there was no way of telling which.
As Albert reached the door Eddy said, “If you find her …” He uttered a high-pitched laugh, mocking himself. “… You might … give her my love. Or something like that, yeah.”
CHAPTER
25
Anna awoke late on Friday with a blinding headache, doubtless caused by the foul stuff Gerhard had injected her with the night before. The house seemed unnaturally quiet. As soon as she had dressed she went to the kitchen. Barzel was there, reading the book he’d carried off the ferry the previous day. When he put the book down her eyes followed it, to be ensnared by another object lying on the table.
Anna gazed at it, fascinated. The weapon’s surface bore a faint sheen, as if greasy. It was so obviously metal, serious. On television, at the cinema, the guns might as well be bits of wood, for all the sense of realism they conveyed. This was different. This had a function.
She looked away to find Barzel examining her with detachment, rather like an attendant in the better class of ladies’ room, standing ready to hand you a towel, aware of what you’d been doing behind the locked door but wholly impassive.
Anna marched across to the sink, meaning to fill the kettle, and in doing so somehow managed to dislodge Barzel’s book. It fell to the floor with a crash. She ignored it. But then suddenly his cruel face was inches away from hers, he had both her hands in an unyielding grip, and she was paralyzed.
He stared at her for a long time, as if she were some particularly repulsive insect. Then he said, in a soft voice she hadn’t heard him use before, “Pick it up.”
He released her. For a second Anna could not think what to do. His stance, his whole manner were so threatening that they deprived her of the power of movement. Then, almost unconsciously, she knelt and picked up his copy of Böll’s novel, handing it to him without a word.
Barzel peered at the jacket until he was sure it had suffered no lasting damage. Anna was about to pass on her way to the sink when he again restrained her.
“Where you come from,” he grated, “it’s just a book.” He paused, as if seeking the words of a magic spell, the only thing that could possibly influence such an alien being. “I know that.”
Anna swallowed, said nothing.
“Don’t… ever … touch any book of mine again.”
She wanted to protest that it had all been an accident, but the expression in his eyes prevented her. He was, she saw, on the brink of violence. She stood quite still, waiting for the storm to break or pass, one or the other.
Barzel let go of her and went to sit down at the table, not taking his smoldering eyes off her face. Fortunately, at that point Gerhard entered the kitchen.
“Good morning.”
He spoke in English, so presumably this salutation was directed at her. Anna nodded curtly. “I need some air,” she said.
“How about the terrace? I’d like to talk to you.”
“We’ll go for a walk.” She nodded at Barzel. “And I think we’ll leave the dog at home.”
When Gerhard sought Barzel’s assent with a silent expression of interrogation, that really shook Anna. In their world, the one she’d shared with Gerhard up until now, he doled out the permissions. He’d given his consent to her practicing as a banister, sleeping with him, marrying David. She remembered the day her father sold his shops to the chain and invited the buyers home to dinner; that night, for the first time, she had realized he now no longer was the boss, he had a boss.
“Don’t do that,” Gerhard whispered warningly as they left the house. “You can’t play games with him, Anna.”
“I know. He’s proved it.”
“What?”
“Forget it. Take me to the church on the other side of the bay, the one you can see from my room. I want to explore.”
“That’s too far.”
“So what are you going to do?” She stopped dead, causing Gerhard to bump into her, and swung around. “Shoot me?”
He stared at her. “No,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t. But …”
“But Barzel could, yes, I know. Don’t worry, I can guess the rules. We’ll walk to the church. If we meet anyone, I won’t try to speak to them. I won’t try to escape. I give you my word. There! Does that satisfy you?”
It satisfied her, she discovered, to make a promise she had no intention of keeping, because by doing that she entered his world on his terms and thereby secured her only chance of escape. When Gerhard reluctantly nodded, she walked away from him without a backward glance.
The approach to the church lay along one of those paths with myriad branches always splitting off and then coming together again to make islands. The church itself stood in a cypress grove. Two or three goats were tearing at the thin grass that sprouted between its damp walls and the surrounding earth; at first Anna wasn’t sure how to deal with them, fearing from their impatient expressions that they might trample her. But after standing still for a while they went back to their lunch.
Between the church and the side of the hill she found a graveyard sheltered by cypresses and one large, shady birch. Anna could see only five graves. Two of them were old, mere grass-covered mounds, but the others looked recent. The biggest had a marble surround. Stone chips of a lurid and, Anna thought, singularly inappropriate shiny green color overlaid it. The stele, surmounted by an Orthodox cross, bore a faded photograph of the deceased, an old woman whose gray hair was drawn back tightly enough to be painful. Her cheeks were not so much sunken as collapsed, making
her appear already dead, but the eyes were wide open and unmistakably quick. They contained a hint of challenge, not unmixed with humor. Her own mother’s mother had looked just like that, sometimes.
She sat down on the marble tomb, suddenly overcome by memories. When Gerhard finally caught up with her she glared at him, resentful of the intrusion. “Do you remember Nan?” she asked him.
“Of course.”
“I was thinking how she helped me. After that awful business at school.”
“Yes.”
“Only she died soon afterward.”
“Oh, Anna …”
“Leave me alone. I want to think.”
But that was hard, when memories of her grandmother would insist on forcing their way through.
Nan had taken some of the sting out of being an Elwell only child. She always resolutely sided with Anna, infuriating Anna’s mother. Then one day Lydia had come to the new school, the one Anna had been sent to after the debacle at the convent. It was lunchtime; Anna found herself dragged from the table, into the headmistress’ study, wondering what fresh misdemeanor was to be laid at her door. There was no crime, however, only punishment. Nan had died in the early hours of the morning, of a heart attack. Anna could go home now.
From her seat in the shade of the cypresses, a cool sea breeze ruffling her hair, she could not quite recapture the flavor of that day, no matter how hard she tried. She had been dreading afternoon school, because it was netball and she hated netball. As she ate her lunch she was thinking she would do anything to get out of it. Anything … but not kill Nan. She felt confused now, as she had done then. She knew in her brain, because Gerhard had shown her, that Nan’s death preceded her desire to be let off netball, knew also that she must have realized it at the time, but something more powerful than any brain would insist on muddying the waters. If it had not been for her desire to escape the day’s sport at any cost, Nan would still be alive.
The man standing with his back to her, hands in pockets, had patiently explained, many times, that this was a normal reaction. But also he had, she felt, ever so gently derided her feelings about the incident, breaking his pattern of treating what she said with serious concern.
Krysalis: Krysalis Page 24