The Severance Trilogy Box Set

by Mark McKay

  ‘Feel up to telling me who did this to you?’

  ‘How did you find me?’ she asked. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Try and concentrate.’

  She sighed, a very long sound. ‘It was that big man. What is his name? Rubik, something. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Rubashkin. What did he say to you?’

  She blinked a few times. ‘He asked about the drugs. Where were they? I said I didn’t know, which was the truth. He said he was sorry, but he didn’t believe me. Then he started hitting me. He said I needed to remember. But I passed out.’

  ‘Do you remember what happened after that?’

  ‘Yes. I woke up. Don’t know how long I’d been unconscious. But he was gone, and I managed to call for help. And that’s all, really.’

  Nick squeezed her hand. ‘I put them in the hotel safe. You should have told him.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  He wondered if Rubashkin thought he’d gone too far, and had just left Marielle to die.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Paula told me where you were.’

  She nodded and closed her eyes. ‘Do you think they’ll ever leave us alone?’

  ‘Well, I sent the drugs back to Dubrovsky earlier today. So yes, I hope so.’

  ‘I was worried about you. In Moscow. You disappeared.’

  ‘Later. Would you mind if I stayed at your place for a while?’

  She shook her head and almost smiled. ‘Of course not. But be careful. My visitors aren’t very friendly.’

  ‘I’ll put a sign on the gate. “Trespassers will be shot.” That should keep them away.’

  Marielle hadn’t heard him; she’d drifted back into a morphine addled slumber. He wondered if they really ever would leave her alone. Once she was out of here, he would have no choice but to hope they would. He couldn’t hang around indefinitely. He opened the locker next to the bed and fished through her bag till he found the house keys.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ he told her. She didn’t answer. He slipped out the door quietly and made his way back to the car. It might be interesting if Rubashkin did call again, in truth. He was almost looking forward to it.

  Marielle was discharged a week later. She was to rest as much as possible, no undue exertion. He drove her to Berlin and put her in the care of Paula Klein. Then he went back to the house by the sea. The weather here was changeable but mostly mild and sunny and he thought the sea air might do him some good, if nothing else did. He felt responsible for Marielle’s continued safety, but it was all beyond his control. If Dubrovsky was still determined to eliminate everyone who knew what he’d done to Liesa so long ago, then it was just a matter of time before he got round to crossing Marielle off the list. Any other man would have just left well alone; there was no evidence to back up a claim of murder against Dubrovsky. But he wasn’t entirely rational in his actions. It was a dilemma. One that couldn’t be solved by removing Dubrovsky from the equation, because he’d been expressly told not to do that. If Nick could just get some guarantee of Marielle’s safety, his conscience would be eased. But he couldn’t see where that might come from.

  He liked being at Marielle’s house. He made it as secure as he could against intruders. He made sure all doors and windows were locked and placed little obstacles around the place to trip people up. Let them come, he thought. He would relish it. But no one did. This was as good a place as any to ‘recuperate’, as Mariko had put it.

  Marielle had made him promise to call her at exactly 8pm each day. If not, she would send the police out. She was making good progress, but as much as she liked Paula, she was getting a little restless in Berlin. At some point she’d be coming home. Nick decided to call Herr Schmidt again, just to make sure his parcel had arrived.

  ‘Yes, it did,’ said Herr Schmidt, who surprised him by answering the call almost immediately.

  ‘Was there any response to my message?’ Schmidt was being no more forthcoming than he’d been the last time they spoke.

  ‘He was happy to get your parcel. That’s all I can tell you.’

  That was the end of that conversation. At least he knew now that Dubrovsky had the drugs. He would have to be content with that small sliver of reassurance.

  When he spoke to Marielle that evening, she asked him to come to Berlin.

  ‘I want to go out,’ she said. ‘To the theatre, a movie, anything.’

  ‘Doesn’t Paula take you out?’

  ‘For coffee. Being here with her makes me remember the old days. She’s on the phone quite a lot, arranging appointments for her girls.’ She laughed. ‘I think if I stay here much longer, she’ll try and persuade me to go back to work for her.’

  ‘Would you do that?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I lost my enthusiasm for it a long time ago. I doubt anyone would want a call girl with a broken arm and stitches in her abdomen, anyway. And I’m too old.’

  He didn’t agree with her on that last statement. As far as he was concerned, age had only worked in her favour. The vapid prettiness of youth had been replaced by a more knowing, experienced beauty. The kind you acquire when you’ve lived a little, and had both pain and joy in the doing of it.

  ‘So you want me to come and take you out instead, is that it? OK, I don’t mind if you’re old with a broken arm. When should I come to Berlin?’

  ‘Tomorrow night? I have a catalogue of what’s on. I’ll pick something. It will be a surprise for you.’

  They agreed to meet at Paula’s place, around 6pm. When he hung up, he realised he was looking forward to it. It would be nice to actually go out and take in a show with someone he liked. Felt almost normal. The last few weeks had been anything but normal. He laughed; he might even have to buy a new shirt for the occasion.

  Marielle looked elegant and lovely when he picked her up the following evening. She came to the door wearing an off the shoulder black dress, with lace sleeves. Her hair was pinned up and around her neck was a blue pendant necklace, a shade lighter than her eyes. She saw him looking at it.

  ‘It’s blue topaz. Do you like it?’

  ‘Yes, suits you. You look great.’

  ‘Thank you. Actually, it belongs to Paula. I’m borrowing it.’

  Her left arm was in a sling, and he helped her into her jacket. One sleeve hung loose, but her shoulder was covered. She called out to Paula, to let her know they were leaving.

  ‘Don’t let him keep you out late,’ came the response. Marielle said something in German that made Paula laugh and then she took Nick’s arm in hers and they made their way down the stairs. They had time for a pre-theatre drink. Afterwards, they were going to have a late dinner somewhere.

  ‘You haven’t told me what we’re seeing,’ he said, as they came out into Christstrasse.

  ‘It’s a musical. “Tanz der Vampire” - “Dance of the Vampires.” The theatre is about ten minutes from here by taxi.’ She suddenly gasped, and stopped walking.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh Nick, I’m sorry. I’ve just realised, it’s all in German. You’ll be bored.’ She managed to look amused and repentant all at once.

  He laughed. ‘It’s fine. Tell me what it’s about, if you can. I’ll guess the rest.’

  They found a bar at the end of the street and ordered prosecco. Marielle fished out the catalogue of what was on in Berlin, and found the relevant page.

  ‘Yes, there’s a summary. So, a professor and his young assistant go to Transylvania, determined to find vampires…’

  Five minutes later he had the gist of it. When they got to the theatre an hour or so later he was impressed by the grandeur of the place. The foyer was high-vaulted white marble, hung with crystal chandeliers. It was thronged with a humming crowd of well-dressed Berliners, and no doubt plenty of tourists as well. All doing their best to grab a quick drink before curtain up.

  He enjoyed the show. The costumes and make up reminded him a little of the “Rocky Horror Show”, just with sharper teeth and more blood
. The finale consisted of a Vampire’s ball, after which the heroine bit the hero and they lived happily undead ever after.

  ‘Where to now?’ he asked her, once they were standing outside looking for a taxi. Marielle had insisted on picking the restaurant, too. Which was fine with him, she knew this town much better than he did.

  ‘It’s near the Tiergarten. Good food, quite expensive, and very few tourists.’

  They found a taxi queue and after ten minutes they were safely ensconced in the back of one of the ubiquitous cream Mercedes, and on their way. The restaurant looked anonymous and small from the outside, but once you were inside it extended well back, with private little cubicles along the wall. They were guided to one of these by the proprietor, once he’d got over his surprise at seeing Marielle. As Nick couldn’t follow their conversation he could only conclude it must have been a while since she’d last graced this place with her presence. The proprietor left them to look at their menus, only to reappear a few minutes later with two glasses of something bubbly. Marielle grinned at him.

  ‘You remembered, Siggi. Thank you.’

  Siggi was a generously built middle-aged man with short blond hair. Nick thought he might be wearing a touch of make-up, certainly around the eyes. He grinned back, and left them alone. Nick took a sip of his wine.

  ‘Nice. They treat you well here, don’t they?’

  ‘This is Krug champagne. I used to come here quite a bit, once, and I’d drink too much of this.’

  He wanted to ask if she’d come here with Max and Liesa, but knew that would only kill the evening stone dead. He looked at the menu, instead. It seemed to be a mixture of fine French cuisine, with a section for more traditional German dishes. Once they’d ordered and a bottle of Krug had been brought to the table to keep them company while they waited, Marielle’s mood became more serious.

  ‘Nick, in a few days I’m coming back home. I miss the place, and I want to paint.’

  ‘I understand. I won’t try to hide the fact that it worries me, though.’

  ‘I know. Will you stay with me for a while?’

  ‘Sure. But I don’t know how long I can stay.’

  ‘I want you to teach me how to fight. And how to use a gun. I won’t hide from people like this Rubashkin man. If there’s a next time, I want to be ready for it.’

  He looked deep into the brilliant blue eyes. ‘It will probably be another four weeks before you can use that arm, again. What about the stitches?’

  ‘They come out tomorrow.’

  He thought for a while. Yes, teaching her to protect herself was the most practical thing he could do, given the circumstances. He’d have to teach her to shoot one handed until the plaster came off. If he stayed another month after that, he might also be able to teach her to defend herself without a gun. By that time it would almost be winter, and if anyone still wanted to harm them they would surely have tried it on by then.

  ‘I’ll stay for two months,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell Mariko, but I don’t think she’ll object. Any longer though, and she may have something to say about it.’

  Marielle covered his hand with hers. ‘Thank you.’ She raised her glass. ‘Let’s talk about happier subjects, now.’

  He tapped his glass against hers. ‘That might be challenging, given what’s been going on recently. I know. What did that young girl say to the innkeeper in the first act? Just before he started chasing her round the stage? I got a bit lost, there.’ He knew perfectly well that the nasty innkeeper had been trying to seduce the dusky young maiden.

  Marielle went with it. She sighed in mock frustration. ‘Fine. Pour me some more champagne and I’ll tell you the story from the beginning, again. I thought you English understood this kind of thing. It’s just like a pantomime, isn’t it?’

  They talked and ate and drank, and for a while the world beyond the restaurant door was forgotten. Marielle was a charmer, tonight. She told him more about Berlin; particularly about its history and its people, many of whom were quite eccentric. It was only when he remembered that she had once charmed other men professionally, and probably in this same restaurant, that the spell was broken. Then he felt ashamed at being so small-minded. He couldn’t remember her looking so relaxed and almost happy in all the short time he’d known her. And she was certainly making him smile. He ordered more Krug.

  It was 1am when they got back to Paula’s place. They were both a little drunk by then. Marielle hung on to his arm while she removed her high heels before negotiating the stairs to the apartment. Outside the door, she gestured for him to stay quiet while she found her keys.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she whispered. ‘Can you find your hotel, from here?’

  ‘I’ll manage. Thank you, too. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

  She pulled the catalogue from her bag and handed it to him. ‘We should do this again,’ she said. ‘You can pick the show.’

  ‘Good idea. Now try not to fall over. And don’t wake Paula.’

  She kissed him on the cheek and then opened the door. ‘Good night, Nick.’

  He walked back to his hotel along silent streets. The city, or at least this part of it, had retired for the night. When he arrived the night porter looked up from his book long enough to bid him a good morning. Nick returned the greeting and then took the lift to his room. Fifteen minutes later, he was in bed and sound asleep. Perhaps it was the champagne; there were no bad dreams that night.

  Chapter 17

  A week later, he drove Marielle back to her own house. It was September now. The weather was still mostly warm and sunny on the north German coast, but Nick could feel a change of season approaching. The days were perceptibly shorter and the evening breeze blowing in from the sea came with a sharp, Scandinavian chill.

  They were a few miles away from the main beach resort at Kühlungsborn, and as a consequence he never saw many people out here. In an attempt to retain some fitness, he’d started running on the beach in the morning, before breakfast. Occasionally he’d meet a solitary dog-walker, but that was it. The run served its purpose, but it was also a constant reminder of Kamiko’s death. First, he’d think they should be together on this beach right now, doing their early morning Aikido practice. He would run on, remembering other times they’d had together. Then he would get angry, because the very activity he was using to try and distract himself from thinking about her had only succeeded in making him do the complete opposite. That usually made him pick the pace up until his protesting lungs and burning legs forced him to stop.

  It was no different this morning. This is what Mariko meant by ‘recuperation’, he thought. A euphemism for grief. Sometimes you could ignore it, but if you could be sure of anything it was that Grief would turn up again the next morning, around 7am. He was hoping that one morning he could go running with Acceptance instead. Then maybe his recuperation would be done.

  When he got his breath back, he began walking back to the house. Grief aside, there was something deeply peaceful about being on a beach alone this early in the morning, with only the gulls and the breaking waves for company. Seeing the curved horizon so far away made the world seem so vast. Every time he looked at it he could feel his mind opening a little more, just to embrace all that space. He had to concede that if there was an ideal place to heal, this beach was probably it.

  When he got to the house, Marielle was up and making breakfast. This was their routine, now. After breakfast she would go to her studio and paint. At the moment she was working on a still life. There were flowers arranged in a huge blue porcelain vase on an old, cracked oak wood table she’d dragged into the studio. More flowers were strewn carelessly over the table top, but the vase was the centrepiece. He couldn’t name any of the flowers, but whatever they were they formed a riot of contrasting colours. Reds, blues and violet blooms filled the vase, and the table top was a sea of yellow. She’d been working on it for a week, now. He thought she was doing a good job of it, too.

  He went upstairs and had
a shower. He came back down just in time to see her bringing the breakfast plates through to the dining room. He poured himself some orange juice and they sat down.

  ‘How was the beach, today?’ she asked.

  ‘Not a soul on it. I feel like the only person in the world sometimes when I’m there. It’s uncanny.’

  ‘Yes, that’s one of the reasons I moved here. I like the solitude.’

  They ate in silence. Marielle had been glad to come home and lose herself in her art. He knew that it was her way of dealing with not having Louisa here and also with the guilt about what she felt was her responsibility for the deaths of Max, Alix and Kamiko. They hadn’t openly discussed any of this, but it hung there anyway; studiously unsaid. In an attempt to raise awareness of Louisa’s plight she’d started an online petition calling for the release of all the members of Beaver Rampage. In the two weeks since she’d arrived home, it had got 25,000 signatures. When and if it got to 100,000, Marielle and Lothar and Cornelia from Amnesty intended to present it to the German chancellor. The weight of public opinion might encourage the government to apply some political pressure for the girls’ release.

  ‘I’ll wash up,’ he said, once they’d finished eating. ‘Self-defence class at 11. Don’t be late.’

  ‘No, sir. Oh, Nick, I have a request.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘When I’ve finished this still life, I’d like to paint you. Will you sit for me?’

  He laughed. ‘Me? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes of course. Why not? You have an interesting face. And I like doing portraits. It isn’t as though you have a lot to do, either.’

  She was right, of course. ‘A portrait. OK, I’ll give it a go.’

  She looked amused. ‘Did you think I was going to ask you to take your clothes off?’

  ‘It occurred to me.’

  ‘Well, for your information, I have painted male nudes before. Don’t worry, you can stay dressed.’

  ‘In that case, I’d love to sit for you. Just let me know when you’re ready.’