“You should take a holiday,” she said, echoing Danny. “A couple of weeks in some resort. It might have blown over by then, and even if it hasn’t, at least we’ll have a better idea of what’s going on.” He wondered whether the we referred to the two of them or whether more likely it was collective. After all, she was an employee, not freelance, and like all employees had a tendency to slip into the comfort blanket of the organization, forgetting that it was just as likely to smother as to protect.
“No, I know I should take a holiday, but I have some leads and I’d rather follow them while they’re still alive.” He didn’t really have any leads though, apart from the one he wanted to avoid, Holden, the Bostridge connection.
It had been that wish to avoid the trip to Vermont that had brought him to Esther, convincing himself that she’d be able to help in some way. But maybe she couldn’t, and if she couldn’t there was no one else he could think of, certainly no one he could trust as much as her.
As if reading his thoughts then she said helpfully, “I could make some inquiries, low-key, see if I turn anything up.”
“Do you think you’ll get anything? I got the impression things had shut down tight.”
“For the most part,” she said. “There are people I can contact though. Janet Dyson’s an old Russian hand; she might be able to tell me something.” He nodded though he didn’t recognize the name, then felt his thoughts stumble and pile up into each other as he heard Esther ask, “Where are you staying?”
“What?” He’d heard her but had automatically stalled, deciphering what it meant for her to have asked that simple question, where was he staying? She would never have asked it normally, would never have expected an answer either unless she thought she’d caught him unawares, particularly at a time like this.
“In case I find anything out,” she said, “where can I reach you?”
He was stunned, stunned that she’d fooled him, that perhaps his thoughts were muddled enough to have been lulled by her familiarity and warmth. He played on the air of confusion, on her supposition that he wasn’t thinking clearly, answering absentmindedly, “Of course. I’m at the Halkin, for the next couple of days anyway.”
“I love the Halkin,” she said, smiling, the familiar Esther again, the possibility there that she’d simply made a mistake, not thought of the implications. It seemed unlikely though. “A great place to eat too.”
“Yeah, it’s my first time back there in a few years. I’d forgotten how nice it is.” He looked at the whisky in his glass and drained it, sitting forward, more businesslike. “Speaking of which, I should go. Like I said, it’s not a good idea for you to have me here.” He stood and added, “Try your Russian contact though.”
“I’ll do it right now.” She leaned forward and picked up the phone.
“I’ll see myself out then.” She raised her hand, taking his in it and holding it against her lips for a second, what looked like real affection again. And maybe it was real affection, heightened because she knew she was about to betray him. He knew how it was, nothing personal, never anything personal when it came to business. For whatever reason, because she was involved with the true process or because she’d been fed some alternative truth, she was willing to conspire now to have him killed, an enemy to be eradicated.
“Be careful,” she said as she let his hand go, another genuine sentiment from the past, like all the others she’d used to conceal the reality that was there between them. And he’d fallen for it, till she’d slipped and made that one mistake, asking him where he was staying, leaving him disappointed, and insulted that she’d thought him capable of missing it.
He smiled at her and walked out as she began to punch the numbers on the phone. Opening the front door and closing it again without leaving, he stepped into the small recess for coats to one side of it. Esther was already speaking a little too cheerily to the imaginary Janet in the background. He listened as he stood among the coats, one of them full of the stale stench of cigarettes, another giving off a trace of some fragrance, a man’s aftershave perhaps.
Esther’s voice grew louder as she stepped out of the living room to check that he’d gone and then, once she was satisfied, stopped altogether. He eased his hand inside his jacket and pulled his gun. When he heard her speak again she was back in the living room, talking quietly. He stepped into the open, a couple of paces on his toes across the black-and-white mosaic floor, stopping near the bottom of the stairs once she was in earshot.
“I don’t know,” she was saying. “If it wasn’t Danny, maybe he has someone who’s better informed.” A pause and then, “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s staying at the Halkin.” The obvious question from the person at the other end. “Yes, I’m certain. Of course, it’s possible he was bluffing but I can’t see it; I know him too well. And anyway, why would he suspect me?” There was the insult put into words, leaving him not so much hurt as baffled that she could have come to think so little of him, that he could have thought he’d known her so well.