The Assassin's Keeper

by John McClements

  They had got to Rosa’s house a while ago, and had been sitting in the car and talking for nearly two hours. When Rosa moved to get out, Pedro leant forwards and gently kissed her on the cheek.

  As they parted, she looked down at him with giant stunned eyes, studying his face, certain that he was studying hers. It was silly but incredibly sweet, she thought, Pedro spending so much energy trying to figure her out.

  Just as she was about to open her front door, she called out and waved. "See you soon."

  Pedro nodded. “Soon.”

  Chapter 28

  Rosa woke up early. Feeling happy, she tossed her pillow to one side of the bed and kicked her feet out from under the sheets. Dangling her foot from the side of the bed, she knew she'd have a busy day ahead of her at the studio. She pushed aside the white louvred closet doors and ran her hands over the rainbow of clothes, the bright pinks, the summer whites. And then without thinking, she reached out her arms and went for the black suit. It made her think to herself how different it had been a year ago and how her life had become a little boring. The break-up of the relationship with her boyfriend had been bad. It was difficult to explain how ordinary your life could be, even when extraordinary things were happening around you. She felt sick, as though she had stomach flu. She lost weight during those weeks. She couldn't keep any food down. Every few days there was a message on her answering machine, and the voice as all too familiar: "Rosa?" her friend Lisa would say. "If you're there, would you kindly pick up?" After a lot of help from her friend she began to feel more confident, and her dancing helped too. During those weeks, much of her life was predictable.

  Today, she was keen to get to the studio. She wasn't walking, doing a sort of shuffling run instead while trying to keep her upper body still.

  Later that day she had her favourite student. Marcos was a young boy, perfect for the dance she had in mind.

  She told him, "You must start a movement and step at the exact moment the sound appears, or instantaneously follow it. In this composition, the movement must correspond perfectly with the music. You must rehearse, more, and more."

  "Okay, I understand," he replied.

  "Reacting to the music is not the same as dancing with the music."

  Marcos nodded. Exhaustion was licking at his muscles, and although he smiled he looked tired.

  "When you react to a sound you hear there is a time delay, as if the movement is not inside the music. A dancer is more than an organism that merely reacts to sensory information. You are also interpreting the story of the music by telling it. You have to catch the spirit of the music."

  Life could not have been better for Rosa right now.

  The office telephone rang. Anne, the office clerk, trotted across the room towards her.

  "Rosa, there’s a call for you from a guy. He won’t give me his name."

  Rosa picked up the receiver in the office. “Hello?”

  A deep, thick voice replied, “Hello,” and then, after a brief pause, “I am a friend of your grandma and she told me to give you a call if I ever came to London. And well, I am visiting London next week."

  He sounded American with a distinctive Spanish accent, and his pronunciation was familiar. There was something about the way he said “Rosa” which was bugging her: She knew his voice.

  Her grandma had died a year earlier. Rosa wondered whether this was an old friend of hers who wanted to share something important with her.

  She was under a lot of stress at the moment: The dance school was busy and she was spending a lot of time trying to get the dance event right. She decided to check the guest invites, with Anne sitting beside her on the couch. The ancient, much abused cushions sank severely under their weight until they ended up pushed up against each other, arms touching, which was fine with her; she just wanted everything to go well. By the time Anne was done, the whole room buzzed with efficiency. Rosa was lucky to have her working alongside her. Rosa patted her on the shoulder and shuffled the invites. "That's it, yup." She nodded.

  Knowing she was far too busy, Pedro didn’t call for a while. Unbeknown to him, she really wanted to be intimate with him and hoped that one day they could be together.

  When her phone rang, she flicked a glance at the display and quickly shut it off, telling herself that she needed to concentrate.

  "You should pick up, Rosa," Anne said.

  When it rang again, she answered. It was her grandma’s friend.

  "This is Santiago."

  "Who?" Her body stiffening immediately, a concerned look on her face.

  Then she realised who it was. He sounded much friendlier this time. She felt giddy for a moment and had to clear her throat before agreeing to meet Santiago sometime next week. She thought, I don't know what my reaction is supposed to be: shocked, consoling, disappointed? My grandma never confessed any troubles. The fact of the matter is, something is not right.

  ***

  She was on her way to meet a friend after a busy day. Lisa had called Rosa and asked to come round. She was funny and always made her laugh but the only thing was that she had a tendency to get a bit bossy and liked to take charge. Rosa wanted to tell Lisa all about Pedro: He was so sexy, so gorgeous and handsome. He was one of those guys – good looking in a way that was impossible not to notice. He made her feel so much like a woman every time she saw him. He'd be fumbling with his pen or something, and it made her feel really excited every time she looked at him. But the thing with this guy was that he was more than good looking:. He was stupidly handsome. And he'd somehow moulded attractiveness into the belief that he wanted to achieve the best for everyone. Women didn’t just want him: They saw him and decided that he was the source of their future happiness. He was the perfect combo of bad boy and knight in shining armour.

  "When I first met him I thought he had to be Italian with all that black hair."

  “He sounds like my kind of guy." Lisa nodded.

  She poured Rosa a glass of wine and told her to drink only one glass; she didn’t want her to have a hangover tomorrow.

  "Aren't you worried that some guys only use women?" Lisa asked.

  "No," Rosa replied, "This feels different."

  She told her friend that the other day they’d had dinner at a restaurant in Soho: sea bass and Chablis. During some dates she'd been on in the past she’d run out of things to say, felt dull-witted, bored. But no, not this time; they’d talked all night.

  Lisa's Pete was due home soon, sweaty and salty and beer loose from a day at the football. They would hear the key turn in the lock, and Pete would wander in. Lisa would curl up on his lap and ask him if he'd take her out. "A really stressful week," he would say. "Wear this, don't wear that. Do this chore now and do that chore when you get a chance”, and by that he meant there and then. Her mum had a few things to say about him too, such as, "He can't even be home on time." Lisa would hold up her arms, as if to say, “Stop there. I'm not having this conversation again, Mum. It's a waste of time."

  Even though she was enjoying their chat, Rosa felt like she shouldn't be there. She looked at the clock on the wall.

  "Hey, I've got to go, it's past midnight.

  Chapter 29

  The following week Santiago arrived in London. He had a car meet him at the airport which took him to the London Hilton on Park Lane. The doorman opened the car door and welcomed him to the hotel.

  His room overlooked Hyde Park. Santiago was tall and very well-dressed. His thick dark hair was just beginning to turn grey at the temples. The first thing he did was sit down and open his packet of Marlboro cigarettes. He had a habit of inhaling deeply and for much longer than other people did, and usually finished his cigarette after four to five puffs.

  Room service arrived with his club sandwich and a bottle of whiskey. He had an old-style briefcase which had leather straps and a buckle used to fasten them. He opened it and took out his diary before lighting another cigarette and writing down an account of his movements as well as his plans for the r
est of the day. After just one long puff, he left his cigarette in the ashtray to burn itself out. He seemed calm, untroubled in a serenely peaceful manner.

  He picked up the phone by the bed and dialled a number. "Can we meet?"

  Rosa suggested they meet for a coffee but not that day as she was trying to open up a dance show.

  "Yes, that's fine, there's no rush. We'll have time to get better acquainted later. But I want you to know I've followed your career closely and I'm a big fan."

  Santiago was generally a very calm person and took his time to do anything, so it wasn’t difficult for him now to just sit in his hotel room or in the park writing in his diary. On Tuesday morning he contacted Rosa again and they agreed to meet at a coffee shop on Kensington High Street the following day.

  It was 6.30 a.m. on a chilly Wednesday, and the birds could clearly be heard chirping. It was daylight when Santiago left his hotel, and the traffic noise was getting louder. He decided to walk to Kensington as there was plenty of time; Rosa was going to be there at 9.30 a.m. He stopped to buy an English newspaper, rolled it up in a tube and just carried it in his hand rhythmically tapping it on his leg as he walked slowly down the high street. He was clearly deep in thought.

  He arrived at the coffee shop a little early. He sat down and ordered a small coffee and lit a cigarette while he waited for Rosa. By 9.45 a.m. Rosa had still not arrived. Santiago just sat there waiting patiently and had another coffee. When she arrived, she just stood by the coffee shop door looking at him, as if trying to figure him out.

  "Over here, Rosa," Santiago called out. He met her eyes, his jaw tense all of a sudden, before his smile turned into a full grin.

  "Please sit down, very nice to meet you."

  When she met his gaze, the jaunty, almost amused light started to drain from his eyes.

  "How was your flight?" she asked.

  "It was terrible,” he replied, “But I hate flying, so unless it’s a particularly smooth flight I always complain. Do you mind if I smoke?"

  "That's fine," Rosa said. "So, Santiago, what brings you to London?"

  "I was a friend of your grandma. In fact, when I was a young man she used to look after me. I was really upset that she passed away last year. She was a special woman."

  "I know," Rosa said. "So why are you in London?"

  "I made a promise to your grandma that I would watch out for you."

  "That's very kind of you, Santiago, but I really am fine."

  His order was ready. "Excuse me," he slid the cash across the counter and returned with a plate of muffins and two coffees balanced in his hands. He sat back down.

  "Tell me," Rosa asked, tearing off a large of blueberry muffin and putting it into her mouth. "I feel as if I know you from somewhere else. Have we met before?"

  "Maybe when you were a tiny girl." He wiped his mouth with a napkin and burned a path down his throat with his swig of coffee.

  "Where are you staying?" she asked.

  "The Hilton on Park Lane. You should come and see me one night. We could have dinner and talk properly."

  The waitress brought over two more coffees. Santiago was keen to get to know Rosa a little more.

  "Have you got a boyfriend?"

  "No, I am put off by boyfriends. Plus I don't have any time.” When he pressed her for more information she continued, “I trusted someone once and he lied to me. A few months into the relationship, my credit card balance had gone from £5,000 down to zero. Yes, I had been showered with attention, diamond rings, flowers; I just didn't know at the time I would be paying for all of it, and that was only part of the problem. I discovered that he had lied about his educational background, credentials, status, profession. Then I found out my diamond ring came from his ex-lover's dead body. When I went to the police, they just said 'Lying is not a crime." Rosa paused for a little while and took another bite of her muffin before continuing. “Look, I would really love to talk more, and to hear more about grandma."

  Santiago drank some more of his coffee and shook his head as though simply mentioning what had happened to Rosa had upset him.

  "I take it you disapprove." Rosa shot him a questioning look.

  Santiago brushed back his hair with his right hand and shrugged. "Listen, I know I don't know you that well, although I would like to. I know you're a private person - I am, too; I get that, it’s just that you have to be careful in this world, you just don't know."

  He’d suddenly tensed up as he tried not to think about how terrible it must have been for her. He wondered how she’d coped.

  Rosa noticed that his expression and smile had lost a little of their energy.

  Her hazel gaze was a heartbreaking combination of pain and hope. Santiago opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was was left unsaid.

  It was 11.30 a.m. and Rosa had to get back to the studio. Santiago stood up first and held out his hand to her.

  "There is something very familiar about you - it's as if I've known you for years," she said.

  Leaving the shop, she waved to Santiago and said she’d see him soon. From the bus stop, she could see him walk out of the coffee shop. Only now did she realised that one of his legs was shorter than the other. Walking seemed to cause him pain as he was shifting weight from side to side and the shorter leg had to be dragged up from behind. She paused for a moment, a little nervous and unsure of what she had just realised. This was the person who was with her grandma the day her mama went missing. She started to shake a little and felt really strange. She knew that she had to stay focus to make sense of it all at this pivotal time in her life.

  On her way back to the studio she felt baffled. Thinking over and over again, I really do know this guy. She had no idea where this left her. Would they see each other again? She'd hoped for clarity but still didn't have any. Instead she was confused about what to do next.

  Chapter 30

  By the time Friday night rolled round, Rosa was so nervous she could barely think straight. The entire day she'd been trying to carry on conversations with people while her heart was beating in her throat.

  She rifled through the closet until her hands latched onto a tight black Amanda Wakeley outfit. She didn't mean to spend so much time on her hair, but everything had to look just right tonight.

  The doorbell rang. God! Rosa zipped into the closet and grabbed a pair of black heels. The car was waiting to take her to the opening night of her dance, and despite her nerves, she was relieved that it was finally here, and rejoiced in the achievement.

  When she arrived at the studio, she noticed her fingers were shaking slightly. The turn-out was great – a quick look around confirmed that plenty of journalists were in attendance as well as representatives from the Council and a large group of Latin American ex-pats. She truly hoped this was it. She had only been standing there waiting for a minute or two but it felt like an eternity. Trying to keep her shaking hands under control, she walked up to the stage to welcome her guests and introduce the first dance. From the corner of her eye, she saw Pedro watching her and giving her a little encouraging wave. This was it, it was now or never.

  The evening was fabulous and all the dancers were immaculate. They looked wonderful and the main dancers were spectacular. When they ended the dance in a great dramatic finale, all the guests cheered. The press were loving it, and one journalist even called Rosa over and said that it had been wonderful: “I loved how poetical the dance was, and how you used Latin character in the choreography to tell a story.”

  The reviews would all be glowing and praise the “mesmerising” choreography; with one in particular pointing out that the main male dancer was “a talent to look watch out for.”

  It was true that the performances had been exceptionally moving. Looking around the room after the finish, Rosa noticed that people were crying, and even she had tears in her eyes. The main lead’s style was unique, and not something seen before; it was clear that he had put his whole heart into sharing a compelling, engaging story
, and this was what had kept everyone glued to their seats. It was not because of personal stories or struggles, it was about the dance that told a story. The dancers moved about the stage without ever saying a word, choreographing a full arc, from exposition to climax to denouement, and you could feel it all the way into your soul.

  Pedro didn't know how the rest of the evening was going to go, but he was wishing with every fibre of his being that it would all go to plan.

  He said to Rosa, "I hope you’re going to take things easy now, and have a break."

  She told Pedro that she'd find it hard to rest. She'd worked all her life to get to this point. Pedro told her again she should take a break. He beamed at her, then surprised her by leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek.

  Pedro's eyes lit up. Standing up in slow motion, he wagged a mocking finger at Rosa. She gave a wolfish smile. "Please can you introduce me to that journalist over there as I recognise him and would love to chat to him." Pedro fell back into his seat, glowering. His smile was wide and bright, and a rare pleasure. There were no nerves, not even when she seemed surprised. Pedro had so many sides and each one was more confusing then the next.

  "He is one of the most famous people I know. He is a journalist and writes for a well-known newspaper. He specialises in royal gossip and has a reputation for supplying juicy royal stories to the tabloids."