‘This is Neo-Classical,’ Suresh said, looking at the villa. ‘It’s okay, but in my country there’s much better. Even my father’s house, it’s bigger than this.’
‘Is that so?’ Tunde said, without looking at him.
‘Oh, yes,’ Suresh continued, encouraged. ‘Small garden, crumbling old house – pah! In Kalutara you can put up your house right on the beach. Old or new, whatever you want. Plenty of land. Even near Columbo.’
B and I glanced at each other and laughed, but Suresh only looked away as if he had spotted some fine art in the distance. I wondered how much the Metzlers’ new house had cost, what one would have to do to be able to live here.
I called Claudia from the telephone in the kitchen, but there was no answer. I hadn’t made a note of her mother’s number. There was a phone book underneath the telephone, but there were too many Schlegels listed and I guessed she might be ex-directory anyway.
The Metzlers agreed to pay us extra to unpack the boxes. They were exhausted by the little they had done and couldn’t face the sorting out themselves. I didn’t mind; it was early enough in the day.
There were five bedrooms, two sitting rooms, a dining room, a laundry room and a den for the children. I got confused between the daughter’s room and a spare bedroom. At one point I walked into her room by mistake and she was chatting with Tunde as he fitted her bed together. They both looked at me with blank faces. I couldn’t think what to say.
‘I’m roasting,’ I blurted. My T-shirt was soaking. I should have worn shorts instead. I could make out the glint of the Havel beyond the window. I hadn’t noticed it from the ground floor.
‘Ah, ah, – if you were not so extra-large-fries-and-chocolate-milkshake all the time you wouldn’t be always complaining now, isn’t it?’ He laughed. He was trying to amuse the girl, but she didn’t understand what he was saying.
I called him a prostitute, who did it for free, who even paid, and he laughed in my face again. I hadn’t meant it as a joke.
B, Rainer and the other employee dealt with the precarious jobs, while the rest of us emptied boxes where instructed. When we had finished, Tunde suggested we go out for some beers.
‘The devil’s nectar,’ Suresh said, nodding towards Tunde, as if all his suspicions had been confirmed.
‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Maybe tomorrow.’
‘You don’t want to know how I handled the girly?’ he said, looking from Suresh to me.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘She’s got my number.’ He winked.
‘And you think she’ll phone?’
He pulled out a Filofax diary page on which was written a telephone number and a name – Leyna.
Suresh said, ‘It means “little angel”.’
‘What does?’ I asked.
‘Leyna, of course.’
‘So, you’re going to meet up then?’ I said, turning away from Suresh.
‘Who knows,’ Tunde shrugged. ‘She’s a young girl, and anyway, the mama is more foxy. She can call me if she wants.’ He tucked the number into his breast pocket and patted his chest.
I guessed nothing would happen after that. He had only wanted his ego stroked for the thrill of it. He was so used to women queuing up for him it didn’t mean anything any more.
I couldn’t face the journey to Frau Schlegel’s again, not knowing whether anyone would be in, or what crisis might greet me.
Rainer dropped me off near the centre of town and I made my way to the Ku’damm, to the telephone section in KaDeWe. I glanced through the selection of answering machines and bought the first one that looked appealing.
When I arrived home, I showered and fell on my bed. I hadn’t intended to sleep, but I woke up an hour later. Claudia had left a message, but I hadn’t heard the phone ring. She said she would call later. I tried her number again, but there was no reply.
I thought I should swim – I didn’t want to break the start of a routine – but I was too tired. I hadn’t returned to Zip to see Thomas about the brief. I had forgotten to provide the information for Elena’s captions. I didn’t know what I was doing.
I put on clean clothes and hid what remained of my earnings from the removal job underneath the enlarger in the darkroom. As I was leaving, Dieter emerged from the Zimmermans’ apartment across the hall.
‘Hey, Vinny,’ he grinned. ‘What’s happening? You going out tonight?’
I didn’t like it when he was familiar. He was probably high. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘For a while.’ I didn’t ask him what he was doing in the Zimmermans’ place. ‘And you?’
‘After midnight, maybe,’ he said. ‘It’s too early now. First I must get some sleep.’
I went downstairs and he bounded up to his apartment, seeming in need of no sleep at all.
I caught the U-Bahn to Krumme Lanke and walked to Frau Schlegel’s building. The cabriolet was in the same position, but the rug on the balcony had disappeared.
‘Vincent! What a surprise.’ Frau Schlegel greeted me with a kiss. Her hair was pinned back with a butterfly clip. She wore a long tweed skirt and a white cotton blouse cinched in at the waist with a wide leather belt. Her brown boots clicked smartly as she strode across the sitting room. She looked every inch the consummate professional flying into Tegel for a power lunch. ‘We’re out on the balcony. What can I get you to drink?’
‘Um …a beer, if you’ve got one,’ I said.
‘Of course. I’ll bring it out.’
The apartment was immaculate. I hadn’t wiped the floor, but now the wood gleamed. There were no signs of breakage, no stains. The books were back on the wall unit and the photographs had been reframed. The dining table was clear of the items I had piled there. The only noticeable change was the gaping hole where the television had been. The Persian rug was back in the centre of the room, the stains evaporated and invisible.
It took me a millisecond to recognize the head of one of the women sitting on the balcony. She had her back to me, but the blonde hair was unmistakably Sylvie’s.
Claudia waved and called and I moved uncertainly towards them.
‘Hello again,’ Claudia said.
Sylvie regarded me coolly from her chair.
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Hello.’ She squinted up at me, which could have been due to the sun or her scepticism. I couldn’t tell.
‘Sit down,’ Claudia said. ‘I tried to reach you. You haven’t been in all day.’
‘No, I was working … on a job.’ I didn’t want to explain. ‘Out of town.’
‘This weather surely can’t last?’ Frau Schlegel said as she returned. ‘We must take advantage of it before it disappears.’
‘True,’ Sylvie said. ‘What’s the point of heading off to the Med when it’s glorious right here?’ She pulled her mane through one hand, then flicked it up and down a couple of times, like a whip. My heart jumped.
‘None whatsoever,’ Frau Schlegel said. ‘We’re spoilt rotten this year. I’m already dreading the winter.’
‘We’re going to Wannsee tomorrow, to the beach. You should come. You’ll like it,’ Sylvie said to me. ‘Oh, but I forgot – you’ve already been there.’ Her acting skills were as poor as her manners. I wondered when someone was going to mention yesterday’s incident.
‘What are you hiding there?’ Claudia pointed to the carrier bag in my lap.
‘It’s nothing.’ I gave it to her. I felt foolish now. ‘It’s for you.’
‘Me?’ Claudia smiled and squinted into the bag. ‘An answering machine? For me?’ She sounded as if her horse had come in at the races. ‘Thank you.’ She reached out and touched my arm. There was more of a reaction about the gift than about last night’s episode.
Sylvie smirked at Claudia like an older sister. ‘Finally, you’ll return my calls,’ she said, as if it was an old joke.
As the evening progressed, there was still no reference to the broken glass, the missing television, Frau Schlegel’s condition the day before. I noticed once
when she left for the kitchen, she was almost tiptoeing, but she never alluded to the pain in her feet. After a while I was convinced I had imagined the whole event.
As I was leaving Frau Schlegel asked me to wait while she went to her room. Claudia took the empty glasses and cups to the kitchen. I glanced at Sylvie, but she only looked away towards the pine trees.
‘What happened here yesterday?’ I asked.
‘Maybe you should ask Claudia,’ she sighed. ‘I’m not the one to say.’
Claudia reappeared, followed by her mother.
‘This is for you.’ Frau Schlegel proffered a woman’s shoe – a canary-yellow brocade with an hourglass heel.
‘For me?’ I was parroting Claudia now.
‘Yes, for you,’ she said. ‘You can’t give us things and not have something in return.’
‘Mum designs shoes,’ Claudia said. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed. Lacroix, Gigli – a long time ago she used to work for Vivier … Roger Vivier.’
I looked at her blankly; the names meant nothing to me. I turned the shoe in my hand. Light. Expensive. I didn’t know what to do with it. ‘I can’t take this,’ I said. ‘It’s too much, and … it’s not my size.’
Frau Schlegel laughed and wrapped the shoe in crêpe paper and placed it in a box. She reached up and kissed me once more and when she stepped back the box was in my hands. I noticed her eyes were streaked red. Her touch was as frail as an old woman’s. I guessed the evening had been a strain for her after all.
‘When will I see you again?’ I asked Claudia.
‘Soon,’ she said. She did not elucidate and I didn’t insist. Already I had learned not to depend on her reliability.
I waved to Sylvie who remained on the balcony. She held up a hand; she hadn’t moved from her position since I first arrived, and she did not stir now.
21
I COLLECTED THE brief from Thomas at Zip magazine. It seemed straightforward enough – show up at the Kempinski with one of the staff writers. There was a list of what Bessie Corday did and did not want: I wasn’t to photograph her left profile, I could only use soft lighting, I wasn’t to mention her first name – she had a temper and her patience was easily tested.
I wrote the descriptions Elena needed and took them into the office on my way to the leisure centre. The pool pitched and crashed with the traffic of the holiday season. I tried to maintain an hour of uninterrupted laps. I was learning to avoid the busiest times, but hadn’t quite worked them out. There was a scare at one point; someone discovered a lump of excrement bobbing in the water. People began to flee. The lifeguard fished out the offending article, but it was only a plastic turd from a joke shop. The pool was less crowded after that.
I floated on my back for a couple of lengths, wondering about Lucille and her lawyer in London, Matty and Peju, and the enigma of Frau Schlegel. I didn’t know what I was doing with Claudia. I closed my eyes against the peeling paint on the ceiling, the screaming children, the new arrivals. I pushed my body on as if I couldn’t work it hard enough, to overcome the ache of the removal job, the fatigue of the past few days.
Claudia was outside my apartment building, pacing on the opposite side of the street. She held a package under her arm.
‘You haven’t been waiting long, have you?’ I asked.
‘No, not at all. I’ve just been to the end of the road and back. I wasn’t bored.’
‘You should have phoned earlier. I would have come much sooner. I was only swimming down the road.’
She looked in the direction I had pointed as if she half expected to see an open-air pool in the distance. I spotted Frau Lieser and Frau Bowker darting back and forth at the window. They had probably noticed Claudia the minute she arrived, and kept a vigil ever since. As soon as we crossed the road, the net curtain flew back and Frau Lieser called, ‘The young lady was waiting – one, two hours! You should have told me – I would have let her in! For tea at least!’ Frau Bowker shrilled, ‘And strudel!’
‘Thank you, Frau Lieser,’ I called back. ‘It’s okay now.’
‘Thank you, he says,’ Frau Bowker spat. ‘If it were winter, she’d be a corpse by now.’
‘Pleasant evening,’ Frau Lieser interjected. ‘Nice to go walking, yes?’
Claudia nodded at her and smiled.
‘Always new ladies,’ Frau Bowker started up again. ‘When will there be peace? Ladies, boys, boys looking like ladies, the idiot girl with no hair.’
Frau Lieser slammed the window shut. They had never seen Claudia before. I wondered who had visited when I had been in London.
‘What’s she talking about?’ Claudia asked.
‘I don’t know. She lives in her own world.’ I smiled up at the two women standing mute behind the closed window, their mouths making shapes.
Dieter was on his way down as we reached my landing. ‘What’s happened to Caroline?’ I asked. ‘I haven’t seen her for weeks.’
‘She’s upstairs, sleeping,’ he said. ‘We’re going to Vengeance tonight.’
I nodded as if I understood.
Instead of continuing downstairs, Dieter knocked at the Zimmermans’ door. I pretended to search for my key until Ingo Zimmerman answered. I turned and waved and said ‘Hello’. Ingo was wearing a pinstripe suit and a bowler hat. In one hand he carried a brass-tipped umbrella. He was startled by the audience and shrank back into his apartment.
‘See ya later,’ Dieter called and sauntered in as if he lived there.
‘Your neighbours?’ Claudia asked.
‘Yes. But Dieter – the one with the mohican – lives upstairs with Caroline.’
I showed Claudia the bathroom and the sitting room, the kitchen area. It took less than five seconds.
‘I was going to tidy after my swim,’ I said, which was the truth.
‘What’s to tidy?’ she said. ‘After the state of Mum’s …’ She checked herself. ‘What’s in here?’
The bedroom window was closed. The room smelled of stale air and old sweat. ‘This is where I work.’ I steered her towards the darkroom. ‘I have something to show you.’ I reached up to the clothesline. ‘Remember this?’ I held out the photograph of her sitting at the piano with the boy at the Andreas Grob gallery.
‘Wow, that’s good! Is that really me?’ she said.
‘It’s going in the magazine – Off the Wall. In the next issue.’
‘Me? You’re joking?’
‘No, not at all. There are more copies. You can keep that one if you want.’
We returned to the sitting room and I made lemon tea with ice. I thought about what I was going to say while Claudia knelt down and flicked through my record collection. She got up with an Art Blakey album still in her hand and gazed out of the window at where she had earlier been pacing.
‘There’s a very tall black woman walking down the street,’ she said. ‘She’s hand in hand with a tiny little man. He looks like a professor or something.’
‘That’s not a woman,’ I said. ‘Or she didn’t used to be. Clariss lives upstairs too.’ I went to the window and handed her the tea. ‘The man she’s with is called Frank. He’s a film-maker. Well, he makes porn, anyway. She thinks she’s in love with him, thinks he’ll rescue her from all this.’
Clariss seemed to be dragging Frank along the pavement. As they crossed the street he had to skip to keep up with her. I could only imagine the expression on Frau Bowker’s face.
‘Your mother,’ I asked. ‘Is she all right?’
Claudia drank her tea and continued to stare at the street after the odd couple had disappeared.
‘Mum’s fine,’ she said. ‘She just works too hard sometimes. It’s not good for her health.’
‘Yes, but she was drunk that day. More than drunk. She could have really … hurt herself.’
Claudia’s eyes wandered the room. She picked up the package and thrust it towards me. ‘Here, this is for you. It’s yours,’ she laughed. ‘I nearly forgot.’
It was my old check shirt, w
ashed and ironed. I sighed. I brushed the back of my hand against her cheek. ‘You’re so mysterious.’
‘You smell like a swimming pool,’ she said.
Bessie Corday wasn’t as difficult a subject as her assistant.
‘Mizz Corday requires absolute control,’ he warned. ‘That’s enough from that angle. Isn’t that too much light? You speak English, right? What’s that accent – Dutch?’
Bessie sat and sipped tea and mineral water and observed everything. She smiled serenely as we flapped around her. The staff writer had interviewed her before the shoot, and now sat to one side and conversed with her as I photographed. They would visit the restaurant terrace afterwards to complete the interview.
‘Bessie, could you look down, to one side?’ I said. ‘A little lower, like this. And, maybe a hint of a smile?’
The assistant hissed in my ear, ‘That’s enough Bessies from you. It’s Mizz Corday. Got that?’ his whisper as subtle as a cat’s mewl.
Bessie gazed at me through the lens. Her eyes twinkled as if she wanted to explain how used she was to her assistant’s ridiculous fussing, and that it didn’t mean anything. I found my irritation turning to amusement and let slip another few ‘Bessies’ solely to hear him screech again.
I spent the night at Claudia’s. In the morning it was difficult to get up. My body seemed on the verge of something: collapse or regeneration. Claudia woke and left the room for a long while. I could hear her muffled voice in the sitting room. I must have fallen asleep again because when I woke there was a note on the bed – Mum’s not feeling so good. Did not want to wake you. Sorry about tonight. Maybe another time? – C.
I returned home and worked on the photographs of Bessie all morning. In the afternoon I gathered my swimming things and walked to the pool. I didn’t think of it so much as exercise, a way to shed pounds: it was a place to stretch out my thoughts and gaze at them, and put them away again, examined. I liked the way the water bore my weight. I could move easily from shallow to deep end and not tire.
I had begun to recognize the regulars: the old woman who took ten minutes to swim a single length; the middle-aged couple who did nothing but gossip as they clung to the side of the pool, not swimming at all; the family whose two boys, round and robust as dumplings, refused to separate. We smiled at each other now and chatted between lengths, called out our tags, wondered when the heat would end.
Goodbye Lucille Page 18