She sat smiling, thinking of it, then said, “So what’s your excuse? Why did you disappear?”
“I didn’t disappear. I just, you know how it is ... you’re so busy doing whatever it is you do.” He picked up his tea and took a sip, invigoratingly hot, a blend that had plenty of Darjeeling in it.
He was about to try another feint by commenting on it, but she got there first, asking, “And what exactly is it that you do?”
“It sounds more exciting than it is,” he said, putting the tea down again. “A small venture capital company in Zurich, THS; I’m the H.”
“THS,” she repeated, clearly not believing him, making him wonder if rumors had ever passed along the grapevine about him. “Funny, I’ve never heard of it.”
“Maybe you haven’t been listening hard enough. I did say it was small.” He imagined her going into work the next day, making some checks, finding that it existed after all and that he was the H just as he’d said. She was an old friend though, onto something and running with it, uninhibited by any reputation he’d earned since, seeing no need to tread carefully around him like some people would.
“I heard you were a spy or something, or ...” She trailed off.
He raised his eyebrows, slightly mocking, and pressed her, “Or what?”
“I heard you were a hitman,” she said, trying to laugh off the embarrassment of how fanciful it sounded. It sounded fanciful to him too, even after all this time, certain that it was a coincidence, that someone had made it up rather than having heard a proper rumor.
“A hitman?” he said in response, astonished, reinforcing her doubts. “Why would a history graduate become a hitman? How?” Once again it was a good point, one he’d put to himself countless times, never really coming up with an answer. After all, why did anyone end up doing it?
She smiled, deferring and saying, “I know, it’s ridiculous. But you can hardly blame people for speculating when no one hears anything for all this time.”
“I suppose not. Who told you anyway?”
“I don’t know where it started. It’s almost like an in-joke now.” She sipped her tea and continued, “And in its own way it makes sense. I mean, you never told anyone at college you could shoot. If we hadn’t come to Switzerland we’d never have found out.”
“So? I hardly think a youthful interest in biathlon marks you out for being a hitman.”
“It’s not just that,” she said defensively. “It’s ... I don’t know, it’s just so easy to believe I suppose. Of you anyway.” The emphasis on the last three words knocked him slightly off balance, a glancing blow with its innocent suggestion that the deficiency had always been there, just like in a person marked for crime or serial killing or any other socially outcast trait.
“Why do you find it so easy to believe I could kill people?”
She laughed at the hurt quality of the question and said, “I don’t know! Don’t read too much into it. It’s just ...”
She seemed to catch up with her thoughts as she looked at him, her face freezing before she said in a more subdued tone, “Oh my God. It’s true isn’t it?” He could still easily persuade her otherwise, but it felt liberating somehow to be a simple admission away from her knowing. He’d come here to escape all of that for a few hours but now he wanted her to know. And he wanted to know, too, why it had been so easy for people to see him in that role, one he’d never even imagined for himself.
The question still hanging in the air, he looked at her and nodded, finally putting it into words. “It’s true.”
Though she’d guessed, she still looked stunned. “That’s amazing,” she said. And then, “You’ve actually killed people?”
“I wouldn’t be a very good hitman if I hadn’t.”
“But when? How recently?” There was probably only so much honesty she could stomach, and the six in the last two days had been personal business anyway, so thinking back to the last proper job and embellishing it, he said, “Er, let me see, just over a month ago. I can’t tell you where but it wasn’t in this country. It was someone involved in the arms trade, someone who was threatening British interests.”
“So you’re like a soldier?” she said, falling for the spin he’d put on it. “Is it dangerous?”
“Not really.”
“Do you carry a gun?” He nodded in response. “Even now, here?” Another nod. “Can I see it?”
“Do you want to?” He was puzzled by the request, something he might have expected from a male friend and which he’d have refused because of that. Coming from her though, it was different and when she confirmed that she wanted to he took it from the holster and laid it on the table between them, the silencer pointing away into the corner.
She stared at the gun without saying anything, transfixed, as if she couldn’t quite believe it was there. She reached out and touched it lightly, once again as if to prove it was real.
“Do you want to hold it?” She shook her head and he said, “Shall I put it back?”