by Anne Billson
We were going down - a long way down. Multiglom Tower had hidden depths, like an iceberg. I checked my watch and saw it was a quarter to nine. 'I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.'
'With Murasaki?' For a few seconds there, I thought I'd caught him off guard. 'But of course you know about Murasaki.'
'Of course,' I said. 'It's obvious. Murasaki is the Japanese word for purple.'
If Grauman was impressed by this demonstration of arcane learning, he showed no sign of it. 'Your watch has stopped,' he said. 'It is now nearly ten o'clock.' He paused, then added, 'And what makes you think she won't drain your veins as soon as she sets eyes on you?'
'Perhaps she will, but I was hoping to play it by ear.'
For the first time he allowed himself to look faintly amused, but I didn't flatter myself it was anything I'd said. More likely he was imagining how I'd look with my veins drained. 'So you dress up like a Halloween witch? You think you will disarm her like that?'
'Well, they fell for it.'
'Sure they did. Oh yes, it certainly looked that way when I arrived.'
'They did - until someone saw my reflection in the mirror.'
He chuckled. 'Mirrors! Damned mirrors! We all see things in them that we do not want to see.'
Speak for yourself, I thought, but I didn't dare say it out loud. The thirteen years had left their mark on him. I guessed he would be in his mid-forties, but his hair was the same old straw colour, and now I was certain it was bleached. It was tied back in a ponytail, and he was wearing a scuffed leather picket instead of the Turkish bazaar number, and straight jeans instead of flares, but there was still something about him which made my flesh crawl.
I asked him whether he was taking me to see Violet. 'If you like.' He shrugged, then put his head on one side and regarded me thoughtfully. 'So you are here as a delegate of Duncan Fender?'
'Not at all. I'm an independent operator.'
He nodded sceptically. 'I would very much like to believe that, but I have learned from experience that I must take everything you say with a pinch of salt.'
The lift stopped and we stepped out into a concrete-lined room upholstered with cream-coloured leather. 'Please take a seat,' Grauman said, and vanished through a door to his left.
I took a seat; there wasn't much else to do. Nothing to look at: no windows, no pictures, no magazines. I was in Multiglom Tower all right, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to find my way out again. I felt as though we'd journeyed to the centre of the earth. The subterranean silence was oppressive, broken only by the creaking of leather whenever I adjusted my position. This was often, because I was still suffering from headaches and stomach cramps. I wished I'd remembered to bring some Paracetamol.
After a few minutes, Grauman reappeared and sat next to me, spreading his knees, the way men do, so that one of his legs was nestling uncomfortably close to my thigh. I tried to wriggle away, but space was limited and I didn't want to show I'd noticed his proximity and was made uncomfortable by it. I hadn't been looking forward to seeing him again, not after what I'd done, but now he was here, it was almost like meeting up with an old friend - an old friend whom you intensely disliked and distrusted, who you knew had every reason to want you dead - or worse.
'Show me your hand,' he said.
My head was still dancing with playing card metaphors, and I didn't respond, so he reached out and took my wrist, wrinkling his nose as he stripped the soggy glove off in a single rapid movement and let it drop to the floor. He lifted my hand the way you might lift a dead animal, and held it up in front of his face, scrutinizing it with interest over the top of his spectacles. He seemed particularly intrigued by the missing joint.
'Well,' he said eventually, 'what a mess you have made,' and he smiled a thin-lipped smile and deliberately jammed his thumb into the palm. I yelped with pain and tried to snatch it away, but he merely tightened his grip.
He glanced sideways at me. 'So, Miss Vale. Which finger would you like me to break first?'
I stared at him aghast. He grinned wolfishly, and I saw the past thirteen years had not been kind to the teeth he had worried about so much. 'Just kidding,' he cackled. 'I like to have fun with you, Dora. I know you have a very peculiar sense of humour. Just like me.' And he carefully replaced the hand in my lap, back where he'd found it. 'I should have that attended to, if I were you. The smell of the blood is very strong, and the streets are full of sharks.'
He got to his feet and walked over to the door. 'Murasaki will see you now,' he said, holding it open. He stayed on the outside.
I went in.
I walked into darkness. The only light was from the doorway, and when Grauman shut that, there was nothing. It was pitch black.
But there was sound. There was music, some sort of tuneless singing in a language I couldn't identify. I had no choice but to stand and listen as it swelled to a climax and tapered away.
After a while, I heard her say, from somewhere in front of me, 'Forgive me, but you were a few minutes early. Vec Makropoulos by Leos Janacek. You know it?' The voice was soft, little more than a whisper, but somehow it bypassed my eardrums and penetrated directly into my brain. I shook my head. I assumed she could see me, even if I couldn't see her.
'It is about a woman who is three hundred years old. She has been good, and she has been bad. Now she realizes it makes no difference whether she sings or keeps silent. Life no longer has meaning.' She paused to let her words sink in, though I had understood them perfectly.
After a while, she went on: 'I listen to this piece of music at least twice a day. I would like to take this opportunity of recommending it to you. Then perhaps you will come to see things the way I see them.' The voice was coming from behind me now, even though my ears had picked up no sound of movement.
'I am not what I seem,' she said.
I tried to turn round, but misjudged the manoeuvre badly and nearly toppled over. The darkness had stolen my sense of balance as well as my sense of direction. She waited longer than was necessary before saying, 'But my dear child, what am I thinking of? You can't see a thing. Let me provide you with some illumination.'
There was the swish of rapid movement, followed by the dull click of a switch being pressed. The lamp cast a small pool of light on to the desk-top where it stood, but it didn't do much to brighten the rest of the room. I blinked, trying to accustom my eyes to the contrast between light and shade.
'Sit down if you like.' The voice came from the darkness beyond the desk. 'I am not going to hurt you. At least, not yet.'
I could think of several cute answers to that, but swallowed them all. Now was not the time to be cute. I groped around and found an armchair.
'Now let us get things straight,' the voice continued. 'I know your name is not Patricia Rice. I know who you are. You have grown older, but I remember you, Dora. I still have the taste of your blood in my mouth.'
I held up my left hand with its four and a half fingers. 'Ah yes,' she said. 'And I can see you remember me.' She sounded genuinely amused. 'Andreas tells me you led him a merry dance, like Medea. He would have killed you, you know, if you hadn't forced him to stop and pick up the pieces.'
'I know. That's why I did it.'
There was a sound which might conceivably have been a chuckle. 'Tell me, do you like Andreas?'
The question caught me off guard. I wondered whether to lie, but I had the feeling she would know instantly if I didn't tell her the truth. 'I can't stand the sight of him,' I said.
She emerged from the shadows far enough for me to see her face floating in the darkness like a white mask. The rest of her was black on black. 'You can't stand the sight of him,' she echoed. 'And he can't stand the sight of you. This is an excellent start, don't you think?'
I was immediately on the defensive. 'What do you mean?'
She sighed. 'At one time, I had high hopes for the two of you. That is why I wouldn't let him have you killed, even though there was nothing in the world he wanted more. His pr
ide was damaged, you see. He is only human, after all, with an inclination towards rash action which he may later regret. All these years, you've owed your life to me. How do you feel about that?'
I wasn't sure what to reply. The idea of me and Andreas Grauman - together - was so preposterous I wanted to burst out laughing, but if this was what it took to keep my veins undrained, I certainly wasn't about to pour cold water on it. 'Grateful, I suppose.'
'Poor Andreas.' She sighed again. 'Fate has not been kind to him, and neither have I. I suppose I should feel guilty, but I don't. When you get to my age, you don't feel guilty about anything much. But I should like to see him happy. And I know - better than he knows himself - what will be good for him.' The white mask danced and settled down behind the desk and tilted forward into the pool of light. The lips were very red. The lashes cast long shadows on her cheeks. 'And why are you here? They said you were looking for freelance work. Is this true?'
'In a manner of speaking. I'm always on the lookout for career opportunities.'
'And what is it that you do?'
'Creative consultancy.'
'Oh yes, one of those non-jobs. It means whatever you want it to mean, am I right? Well, in that case I am sure we can find some use for you in the teeming multinational network that is Multiglom.' Her voice had taken on the barest hint of sarcasm. 'Quocunque modo.'
I sensed the interview was coming to a close, and abruptly leapt in with both feet. 'The truth is,' I said, taking a deep breath, 'we've known for some time that you're back.'
'We?'
I kept quiet. The white mask stared at me impassively, then it said, 'I assume you refer to yourself and Duncan. Tell me, did he receive my billet-doux?'
'You mean the note?'
'I mean the note. I mean the girl, as well. You might say she was a love letter also. What was her name? Laura? Louise? I trust Duncan had fun with her.'
The room seemed very cold all of a sudden. I felt my skin prickle. 'Her name was Lulu. Yes, I think he had fun.'
'Like he had fun with me. Though, of course, I had a lot more staying power. No one is capable of providing quite so much fun as I.'
'Of course not,' I agreed.
'Would you like to see what he did?'
'Not really.'
'Well, I am going to show you anyway.' A white hand floated up and peeled back some of the blackness surrounding the mask. She tipped her head back to give me a better view of the neck. It was encircled with a thick line of puckered scar tissue, a scarlet necklace marking the place where the head had been fixed back on to her shoulders.
I said, 'I don't know what to say.'
'I have many such mementos. Our surgeons wanted to get rid of them. They can do that now, you know, especially in Japan, which is where Andreas took my parts for reassembly. But I wouldn't allow it. Scars are important to me; they are the nearest I will ever get to the creases of old age.'
'Most people try to avoid wrinkles.'
'Most people,' she said, 'are not three hundred years old. Please believe me when I say you can have too much of a good thing. Now I want to ask you a question.'
I nodded. She extended her arms towards me. There was one white hand, and there was the other, which was encased in a black leather glove. She started to peel the glove off, and I wanted to ask her not to, but didn't dare. What was underneath was flesh-coloured, but was not flesh. She flexed the fingers, and I heard the faint mechanical gurgle of an hydraulic apparatus operating beneath the artificial skin.
'You see? I should like to know what happened to the hand.'
In my mind I saw a mass of fizzing bubbles attacking a lump of white marble. 'What do you mean?'
The fingers flexed and gurgled. 'Don't be afraid. You can tell me. What did you do with it? I would simply like to know.'
I eyed the mechanical hand. I didn't want it coming any nearer. I told her what I'd done. The acid, then the parcel.
There was a flicker of a reaction. 'So,' she said. 'A part of my anatomy is on public display in a far country. I guessed it had to be something like that. An eye for an eye. A hand for... a fingertip. Not much of a bargain from my point of view, is it?'
There was a silence, and then I plucked up courage to say, 'Perhaps I can ask you a question in return.'
She gazed at me evenly. 'Of course.'
'What are you trying to do here?'
She paused, as if to consider the implications of this, though I hadn't meant it to sound so complicated. 'Here in Molasses Wharf, you mean? Or in this room now? Or here on earth? I am merely looking after... other people's interests. I am a figurehead, nothing more.'
'And what do you want from Duncan?'
'Oh, now we're really getting down to it,' she said, suddenly smiling in a way which turned my blood to ice. 'That is more than one question, you know, but I will answer all the same.'
I didn't see how she did it. Not once did I take my eyes off her, nor did I see her move, but one second she was on the far side of the desk, and the next she was right in front of me, blotting out the light so she was no longer black and white, but all shades of darkness, and grasping me by the armpits, hoisting me out of the chair so my feet were dangling in mid-air. I struggled to refill my lungs, but they seemed already to be bursting. Her eyes were so close I couldn't focus on them properly, but I saw enough there to make me try and twist my head away. Her breath was not like that of the vampires in the bar; it was dead, but sweet, and it made me feel weak.
She continued to speak in the same mild, even voice as before. 'You must understand,' she said, 'that Duncan is mine. He always has been mine and he always will be mine. He is the only thing - the only thing - I care about in this wretched existence, and if you interfere again I will kill you.'
She dropped me back into the chair and turned away in disgust. 'You smell like a slaughterhouse. If you wish to survive the night, you had better get my Hatman to take you home. Now get out.'
Back in the concrete-lined room, Grauman was sitting with his hands behind his head and ostrich boots up on the leather upholstery. He watched with a disinterested expression as my knees gave way and I collapsed on to the seat opposite and took a number of very slow, very deep breaths, trying to slow down my galloping pulse.
'The headmistress was strict, huh?'
Her last words were still echoing in my head. The journey to W11 stretched in front of me like an endless void and I knew I couldn't make it on my own. 'She said you're to take me home.'
'But of course,' he said, looking at his watch. 'Say in about one hour. Then we can get a lift. I have no wish to negotiate the London Underground. Can you walk?'
I nodded.
'Then perhaps you would care to inspect the penthouse while we wait?' I nodded again, not really listening. He could have broken every single one of my fingers just then and I wouldn't have felt a thing.
He got up and disappeared for a few minutes. I breathed in and out, counting slowly. When he came back he was wearing some kind of shit-eating grin.
As the lift shot upward, I felt the silence of the tomb fall away from my ears. It was replaced by a rapid-fire popping. 'The hospitality suite,' Grauman announced as the door slid open. 'Fiftieth floor.' We stepped out on to a black marble floor which reflected the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretched out in all directions, bright lights on a matt black background. 'Hampstead,' said Grauman, waving his arms like a ringmaster. 'Westminster. Crystal Palace.'
'Very impressive,' I said, wishing I could get more worked up about it.
'Let me get you a drink. I mean a real drink, none of that Profondo Rosso, or whatever they call it. You tried it, yes? And it was the vilest thing you have ever tasted, am I right? I too have tried it, and it was completely revolting. Perhaps you have started to wonder how anyone can ever develop a taste for such unpleasant stuff. I ask myself such questions all the time.'
I eyed him warily as he produced a bottle of Bollinger from the refrigerated bar. 'What is there to celebrate?'
'A new era,' He said, removing the wire and easing the cork out with his thumbs. 'A new city - one in which the trains run on time. And a new collaborative spirit. I gather Murasaki offered you a job.'
'Sort of,' I said, still suspicious. He was being too chummy by half.
The cork came out with a gentle phut and he filled a couple of glasses and handed me one. 'To this new job of yours, whatever it turns out to be,' he said, raising his glass. I raised mine back and took a sip and instantly felt a whole lot better. Grauman lowered the bottle into a bucket and packed it with ice. 'Let us sit over here for a while and savour the view,' he said, settling down into a seat by one of the windows and patting the empty place next to him.
I hesitated, feeling manipulated. 'Did Violet tell you to bring me up here?'
He seemed genuinely puzzled. 'Of course not. Why should she?'
'You're being very friendly all of a sudden.'
'That is because I have realized we are no longer enemies, Dora dear. We are on the same side.'
'Uh-huh,' I said. I'd heard that one before. I sat down, but not where he'd suggested. I maintained a safe distance.
'You are going back to Notting Hill Gate tonight?'
I nodded.
'And you will see Duncan Fender?'
'Perhaps.'
Grauman rocked gently back and forth, tapping the glass against his front teeth. After a while he said, 'What I am about to say must go no further. You understand?'
I said I understood.
'You will not be surprised to know that I do not want them to get together. Not again.'
'Yes, I've gathered that.'
He hummed and hahed for a bit, then said, 'And I know that you do not want them to get together either.'
'That's right.'
'So we are wanting the same thing.'
'I suppose so. Same as before.'
He bared his horrible teeth at me. 'But this time you will not double-cross me.'
'Wouldn't dream of it.'
'Good,' he said. 'Have some more champagne.'
I held my glass out and he topped it up. I said, 'Perhaps it would have been better if you'd told me more about what was going on. I don't like feeling like a pawn in someone else's master plan.'