Through Every Human Heart (9 page)

‘Stop there!' Feliks raised one hand, kept the other behind him to keep the girl back.

‘Oh, this is a friend of Dina's,' Miss Arbanisi said.

‘Look here, old boy, calm down. I'm harmless,' the man said at the same time, taking a step backwards.

Feliks looked from one to the other.

‘What?' the girl was squeaking behind him.

‘This man is your
friend
?' he turned to her.

‘Irene, what on earth are you . . .?'

‘But this is the man who attacked you.'

‘Well, not exactly,' she began, ‘You sort of attacked him.'

She was crazy. They were all crazy. He needed Lazslo to back him up. ‘Lazslo!' he shouted. Again, louder. Nothing.

‘You. Whoever you are.' He faced the blond man, ‘Tell Miss Arbanisi what happened yesterday. Tell her.'

The man smiled, as if the whole situation simply amused him.

‘Oh, I don't think that's necessary, do you? People might get hurt. You don't want that.'

The world shifted, as smoothly as a piece of music changing key. It was the look in the fellow's eyes, not the words, not even the tone of his voice. It seemed to Feliks that he had met this man not once before but many times. In a uniform or plain clothes, on the side of the powerful, against the side of righteousness, he was the man who didn't care. The man who always had the last word, who would sleep soundly at night no matter what he had done. Reading Shakespeare, in his student days, Feliks had considered the playwright mistaken. In his experience, it was quite possible to read the heart in the face.

‘Irene, would you and Dina wait for us in the garden? Feliks and I need to have a little talk,' the man said.

Irene looked up from her hand. ‘Oh Charles, don't be silly. Dina's fine. She's not hurt at all. He came to meet me, and I want to talk to him now.'

‘We can talk later, Miss Arbanisi,' Feliks said. ‘Please do as he asks.'

He studied the man's clothing for a bulge, saw none. There might be a gun, nevertheless. Dina was staring at him. ‘Go,' he implored her silently. ‘Don't argue. Do what I say. Go.'

He saw she was baffled, hesitant, as if waiting for the older woman to tell her what to do. He shaped the word, ‘Please', begging her to trust him without a reason, to be sensible for once, to recognise that something important was happening.

‘Irene, let's go. Let them have their talk,' she said.

Outnumbered, Miss Arbanisi went reluctantly out with her into the sunlight.

 

‘You're not actually a friend of hers?' Feliks said.

‘Of course not.'

He was relieved. But who was he then, and where the hell was Lazslo?

‘Who are you working for?' he asked.

‘Who do you think?' the blond man smiled again.

Clearly a man who liked to show off his fine white teeth. American? The Americans were famous for their fine dentistry. He sounded English. He could be anything. He could be the devil incarnate.

‘There are people above,' Feliks said. ‘If we remain here, they may easily descend and interrupt us.'

‘Oh well, we can't have that, can we? We'd better find ourselves a nice private corner.'

Dina looked round the courtyard. One car that hadn't been there before. The driver was leaning against the boot, talking on his phone, paying no attention to them at all.

‘Irene? Who
is
that? He told me he was fixing the washing machine. How do you know him?'

Irene was holding the ring up to the light. It sparkled magnificently.

‘Irene, who
is
he?'

‘Who?'

‘And why on earth did you say he was a friend of mine?'

‘Well, I didn't know it was meant to be a secret. He was very worried about you. I think this
is
genuine. It's much bigger in real life than it looks in the painting. It's almost indecent.'

‘What painting?'

‘You know, sweetie, you might have mentioned him before now. Where did you find him?'

‘I didn't. He was in the flat when . . .'

‘Don't worry, I'm not jealous. He's very concerned about you, you lucky girl. I suspect he's giving that horrid man a real talking-to. I just hope that's all he does.'

‘Irene,' Dina began, through gritted teeth, repressing the desire to scream, ‘You're not listening. I've only seen him once in my life. And it was a real fight, Irene, the other man got stabbed – '

‘Oh, don't flap, Dina. The police told me about it. I know it was an accident. He told me all about it on the phone last night. But he didn't mention this.'

The ring, the whole ring, nothing but the bloody ring! She wanted to snatch it off Irene's hand. Which he? What phone call? It was too much. The sun was in her face, high and blinding.

‘I know, it's very beautiful, Irene, but something's wrong. Something's really wrong here. I think we . . . could we just get in your car and – '

‘Don't paw at me, Dina. You don't understand. I've dreamed all my life about going back. My father died talking about it. Now it's all starting to come true.' She held up her hand. ‘Look at it, sweetie. It's the Sisi Emerald. It was a gift from the young Empress Elizabeth to the Archduchess. It's absolutely priceless.' Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at the tower. ‘This is ridiculous. I know he was upset, especially at the idea that you might have been involved in the burglary, but they should have finished their little squabble by now.'

Dina watched Irene check the back of her hair, then step carefully across the grass towards the entrance door
.
Involved? What was she talking about? Not one word of apology, or sympathy, or concern. She didn't know whether to weep, laugh, scream or all three.

Something glinted in the grass beneath her feet. Car keys. Bending down she recognised the tag. These keys belonged to Lazlso's car. She looked around. It was still where it had been. Irene had parked the Lexus at the far side where there was some shade under the beech trees. No sign of Lazslo.

The car was less than twenty feet away. She had the keys. She didn't have to stay a minute longer, didn't have to be here in the middle of all this insanity. It was nothing to do with her any more. Hadn't the ugly one said so himself? Why should she care what happened to him?

‘Why is he so rude all the time?' she'd asked Lazslo. They were in the queue in the chemist's, and Lazslo was looking at his watch,

‘He hates everyone,' Lazslo had answered. ‘Women especially.'

‘Why?'

‘A woman ruined his life.'

He paid for her purchases and they went outside. She asked to go into another shop to buy underwear and a new blouse. He stood beside her as she searched the rails, trying to make suggestions as to what she might like.

‘What did she do to him, this woman?' she asked, trying to sound casual.

‘Nothing. She died because of him. He knew it was his fault. So then he got drunk, always the big drinker, you know? But this time he crashed the car. He was broken everywhere,' Lazslo gestured up and down his own body. ‘The face, you see that yourself. We thought he was dead, but in fact he ran away. In fact, he's a complete kastrat.'

‘A what?'

His face went pink.

‘I mean, he went to be a priest.'

She didn't think that was what the word meant. But maybe it didn't mean what she thought it meant. She stared at the display of silver bangles and rings in a locked glass cabinet. When the bangles lost their excitement, she turned her attention to the shoes next to them. Expensive brands and not her style, but there were some sandals, reduced. She grasped the first pair of size fours, tried them and held them up for approval. He made no objection. Again he paid for everything, in cash.

But even if that part of his story was true . . . he might be wrong about the hatred thing. He'd been all right when they were drinking tea during the night. He had stepped in front of her, when the blond man arrived, as if he wanted to protect her. And such intensity when he'd pleaded silently to her to leave. None of that felt like hatred.

Not that she cared what happened to any of them, but just thinking objectively, she decided, it probably wasn't as simple as Lazslo thought It was more like self-hatred, with a lot of misery mixed in. She'd seen some of her father's patients react that way – farm workers with injuries from machinery, or lobster fishermen out on their own who'd been careless in bad weather. In Aberdeen she'd nursed one young man who'd hurt himself badly, lost all his left-hand fingers on a rig in Angola. Of course it turned out he'd been left-handed. He'd cursed all day, but he'd been seen crying in the night.

The two German families were coming out of the tower. Down at the end of the lane, more cars were arriving. A woman driving the first one, with a man on the passenger side. And behind it, unmistakeably, a police car.

Walking, running, Dina reached and crossed the entrance room, saw no one on the first floor and ran up the first spiral staircase, only to be blocked by Irene.

‘Oh Dina, get out of the way . . .'

‘The police are here!'

‘The police? How the hell did they . . .? Oh, do move over, Dina!'

She pushed past.

 

Dina leaned against the wall for a moment or two, recognised that she had no clue why she was doing this, decided to go on, and climbed up the next short flight. There was no one on the second floor either. Was there another way out? The next set of stairs was narrower and longer. She ducked through a low doorway, finding herself on the parapet.

The wall was waist high. No handrail. She edged cautiously round the corner.

Feliks and the other man were fighting, locked together.

‘The police are here!' she yelled. ‘Stop it!'

But they
had
heard, for the knot untangled, and they fell apart. Flushed, dishevelled, Feliks turned.

‘They're here! The police!' she shouted at him.

He didn't seem to understand. But the fair-haired man did. He ducked, swung at Feliks and pushed past towards her. Feliks lunged, trying to pull him back.

Move, her brain said, but there was nowhere to go. Whirl, rush, tumbling, and something hard smacking the breath out of her, she was off her feet, sliding down something rigid and hot, pain in the back of her head, scrabbling for something to hold. At last her shoes caught, held against something . . .

. . . she heard whimpering, the sounds of a small, hurt animal. Then she understood that she was the one making the sounds, that she was on her back on a steep tile roof, that the blueness filling her eyes was sky, that if she moved the slightest fraction she was going to come apart and be concertina'd into a heap of bones on the gravel below.

Someone was talking somewhere. The world beyond her tightly-shut eyes was bright with shining points of light, then went darker. There was a weight on top of her, over her face. She couldn't breathe. It shifted. She screamed, or tried to. No sound emerged from her mouth. More weight, across her middle. Then a voice right in her ear, telling her to be still. When she opened her eyes, Feliks's face was inches from her. She could smell his sweat. His beard was touching her forehead.

‘I have you. Don't move.'

He said it again. A strange high, mewing noise came out of her.

‘Put your arm around my neck. All the way round.'

She couldn't. Her arms were rigid at her sides, fingers pasted to the burning roof tiles.

‘Listen to me. I have a secure place. I'm not going to fall. If you hold onto me, you will be all right. Do it now.'

She found his neck, embedded her fingers in it.

‘Now, the other hand.'

‘No.'

‘Yes. You can do this.'

But she couldn't. Not till his hand was on hers, prising it off like a starfish, finger by finger, then placing it over his shoulder to meet and clutch the first hand. At least the high whimpering sound had stopped . . .

Now they were moving slowly, her body beneath his, the tiles scraping her back, and the back of her head, but they were moving, sideways, and all the time he was talking, telling her all was well, she was safe, all would be well . . .

When she could open her eyes, she was standing upright facing a stone wall. Light all around her. So she was outside. He was behind her, supporting her, his arms locked around her. They were, she realised, on the second tower, separated from its twin by about twenty feet of steeply sloping roof. She had evidently fallen on this. Somehow he had reached her and covered her, moved the two of them sideways to safety. If she had fallen more to the right . . .

‘Miss MacLeod!'

She looked towards the voice.

‘Stay where you are, please.'

It was a man she didn't recognise, standing across from them on the ledge of the upper tower.

‘She is not hurt!' Feliks called to him. ‘I'll bring her down.'

He more or less carried her across a landing to a stairwell. They stood for a while, then she managed a few steps down, with him going backwards, holding her by both arms.

‘You can't,' she said. ‘You can't go down. I think he's a policeman.'

‘Yes, I believe so. It's all right.'

‘But you can't let them get you.'

‘Unless we can quickly grow wings, I think we have not much choice.'

‘But what . . . what am I going to say to them?'

‘Whatever pleases you. The truth.'

Her left foot went sideways. He steadied her.

‘Whatever they ask you, you must tell them,' he said, guiding her onto the next step, and the next. ‘There's one thing I'm curious about. Who is that man, whose eyes are bluer even than Lazslo? Why was he there with you?'

She stopped. ‘He was in Irene's flat when I got there. I don't know him. And I don't think Irene knows him either.'

The sound of voices rumbled up from below. From here on down the steps became wider. There was a metal handrail. Feliks kept her other hand, turning to face the way down, finally letting her go. She hesitated for a few moments, pushing her hair behind her ears, trying to dust her brand new shirt front, trying to straighten her skirt, but it hurt her hands too much.

The entrance hall was full of people. Feliks was being talked to by the man who had shouted at them. There were men in police uniform, and a stout woman in plain clothes, and the custodian and another policeman trying to get a couple of ordinary people not to come in.
I need to sit down
, Dina told herself.
I need to lie down, really.
Abruptly there was the stout woman holding her by the arm, saying her name. Out of the blur, someone offered her water in a bottle, which she drank greedily. They were all being ushered out into the courtyard. She tried to see where Feliks was, but the detective woman held onto her, which was annoying. The water was so beautiful. She'd forgotten cold water could taste so good. She could see it running down her throat like a long silver line . . .

‘Can I sit down, please,' she said.

‘Just a moment.'

‘I need to sit down.'

Her legs felt like jelly. So ignoring them all, she sat down on the grass. She put her head between her knees as they'd been taught to. It helped a little.

‘Where's the Arbanisi woman?' the stout woman asked, bending down to her. ‘Where is she? Is she inside?'

Dina raised her head. The custodian lady was standing on the path, talking to a dark-haired man in a navy sweater. They were both watching her. And there was Feliks, not so far away.

‘I don't know,' she said.

Feliks called to her, ‘Have you seen Lazslo?'

‘He wasn't here when I came out with Irene.'

‘What's that?' the woman asked sharply. ‘Was she here? Who is this Lazslo?'

‘Something is wrong,' Feliks called again. ‘He wouldn't leave without me. And the car is still there.'

He was right. Dina's hand went to her skirt and felt the keys. She looked round for the blond man, but he was missing too. And no Irene. What was happening? Had aliens beamed everyone up?

The male detective barked instructions at the uniformed officers, who scattered. He took over from the woman. He steered Dina by the elbow a little further away from Feliks and the policeman beside him. He drew her to her feet. His fingers were hard, like steel pincers, right on the places that were already sore . . .

‘What are you doing?'

‘Calm down. Nobody's going anywhere . . .'

Which was, she thought, a ridiculous thing to say, since everybody had already disappeared off the face of the earth . . .

‘This is going to be a lot easier if you just relax. You don't need to talk to that guy over there, he's doing his own thing, he's not in any trouble. I'm the one here with you. Anything you want to talk about, talk to me.'

She didn't want to talk to him at all, with his bony fingers and bad breath. She wanted Feliks. He looked so miserable. All she could think was that Lazslo and Irene and the man called Charles had all gone off together, had abandoned him, abandoned them both, Irene with her head full of the stupid emerald, and Charles because he knew he was in trouble, and Lazslo because . . . oh, because he'd just had enough. It wasn't fair. Everyone could run away except her . . .

‘Are you arresting him? He hasn't done anything. It was that other man . . .'

‘Of course it was. No, stay with me, petal. No one's being arrested. We'd just like to clear up some stuff. You're in quite a lot of bother, you know. There's a man dead, and we know you were there. You need to answer a few questions for me.'

Later she wondered if it was the word ‘petal' that did it, more than fear, mention of a dead man, or the shock of being accused, or the smell of him and the pain in her elbows. She pulled herself free and was running before he could stop her. She keyed the doors and jumped into the car. Suddenly Feliks was falling in at the other side, trying to wrestle the key from her hand, but already it was in the ignition, and the engine roared into life. Someone thumped on the bonnet. She jammed the car into reverse, then catapulted forward, too close to the wire mesh fence on one side, doing dreadful grinding damage to the paintwork, and the engine roaring, revving in too high a gear, out into the approach road, and Feliks clinging to the inside roof and the seat, his door open. At the main road, without even looking, she swung left, changed gear and floored the accelerator. The passenger door fell shut as she swerved. From somewhere behind them came a squeal of brakes and a loud bang, but she didn't look back.