Shake Off

by Mischa Hiller

  I had no love of the beach, but to spend some time with Helen without Professor Zorba knocking on her door would be good. The only fly in the ointment (as Jack would have said) was the liberation of my people from occupation. I had no idea how long the Cambridge meeting would take.

  “I would love to go,” I said, but I was still thinking about her trip to Turkey. We parted with a hasty kiss and she strode off to college. The cursory nature of our parting hurt me, as did the knowledge that she was on her way to be near that man. I told myself not to be an idiot and to concentrate on what was important. I went to Knightsbridge to pick up some money and ID from my safety deposit box in Harrods, as I was going to Cambridge the next day.

  Twenty-One

  The first thing I registered about Cambridge Railway Station was that it had only one exit, whatever platform you arrived at. There was also just one exit from the station building onto the street. I phoned Rachel, the estate agent, and she offered to come and get me. I waited outside, noticing that a single road led to and from the station; this meant that it would be easy for one person to watch for arrivals. I wondered why only one person was working the security for such an important meeting; a team of six to ten would be needed to do it properly. I was trying to work out Abu Leila’s thinking when Rachel’s black BMW came up the road, just as she’d described it.

  I’d dressed to give an impression of money: in an expensive but casual suit and shirt, no tie, and good shoes. She stopped at the curb and I got into an air-conditioned interior that reeked of cloying perfume. She looked too small for the BMW. She wore a pinstripe suit with a skirt that was very short when sitting down. Her uniformly blonde hair was tied up hard at the back of her head. Her make-up was copious but meticulously applied, and she had a gold Star of David around her neck. The star didn’t bother me, except that, according to Abu Leila, it was not unknown for pro-Israeli Jews outside Israel to be asked for help by the Israeli “competition.” Someone who could provide empty properties would no doubt fall into that category. On the other hand, I had given my name as Roberto Levi, so she could just be wearing it for my benefit; sales people will stop at nothing to clinch a deal. She may have fished it out of a drawer, perhaps forgotten since she’d been given it by her grandmother.

  But I was being unfair to Rachel; I was tired and irritable from waiting up for Helen last night, not wanting to take any codeine and fall asleep in case she knocked on my door. But she hadn’t come home and wasn’t there when I knocked early in the morning. I’d thought about picking the new lock but decided it wouldn’t be a good idea, just in case she was inside. I sat back in the leather seat of the BMW while Rachel explained the housing market in Cambridge. I listened to very little of what she said, but her voice was pleasant enough and it was a nice car with comfortable seats. Every once in a while, when it was safe to do so, I treated myself to an eyeful of her legs.

  The first house we went to was unsuitable. I knew it before we even got out, but I didn’t say anything. It was a semi-detached house on a narrow street of terraced houses; exactly what I had said I didn’t want. It would be a nightmare to secure. We went in anyway. Rachel had to put her heels on before getting out of the car, but even with them on she only came up to my shoulders. She looked worried.

  “You don’t like it, do you, Mr. Levi?”

  I shook my head.

  “I knew it wasn’t right, but my boss made me include it—he’s been trying to shift it for months.” She seemed genuinely upset.

  “Don’t worry, Rachel. Let’s look at the ones that you chose for me.” We drove for ten minutes to another property, and I could see a finger-width of stocking top. I wondered what it would be like to be with her, and whether she wanted me to wonder. She was intent on the road though, having to peer over the top of the steering wheel because she was so short. She was not the type of woman I ordinarily found attractive, she had made too much of an effort with her appearance so that you noticed that more than the person underneath. Though I was vaguely interested in knowing what she was like under all that make-up, pinstripe and perfume. Helen possibly went to the same effort but always looked like she hadn’t bothered. Again I wondered if she’d spent the night with Zorba somewhere, to avoid bringing him back to Tufnell Park. I didn’t understand Helen and her insistence on maintaining contact with that buffoon. I hated myself for being drawn to her, knowing it to be a weakness and a distraction from what was important.

  “I think this is more what you’re looking for,” Rachel said, as we turned off a main road onto a quiet street with large detached houses. Each house had its own big frontage so it was set back from the road. She turned in to one of them. A gate led onto a drive, but it looked like it had never been closed and you didn’t want to attract attention by changing the status quo. Rachel was telling me that the owners were in Australia and needed tenants for the summer. I’d told her on the phone that I needed the house for a group of businessmen of various nationalities who were looking to buy into some of the innovative technology companies starting up in Cambridge: I had done my research. They didn’t want to stay in a hotel, I told her, because of the expense, but needed somewhere comfortable.

  “I like this one already,” I said, as we drew up on the gravel drive. She unlocked the front door for me and ushered me inside. It was expensively furnished and had several rooms downstairs, six bedrooms, two bathrooms, a TV. Rachel kept up a running commentary as we went around. I walked outside and looked around the garden. None of the house was overlooked, although the bottom of the garden could be seen from the adjacent houses. I couldn’t imagine that whoever was staying would have time for the garden but there would have to be some rules, some areas would be off limits. I’d said to Abu Leila that if I was going to arrange this then I needed to be fully in charge of security and be able to lay down the law. No wandering into town on their own, no telephone calls telling family or mistresses where they were, no visitors. People were stupid when it came to security, even those who should know better.

  Rachel followed me around like a happy puppy, pleased that I was pleased. I made her show me where the house was on the map, which she had to clack off in her heels to get from the car. Looking at the map, I liked what I saw and told her that we didn’t need to look at any other places.

  “I’m happy with this one, Rachel.” I looked at my watch, it was only mid-morning.

  “Do you want to go and do the paperwork then?” I looked at her round, powdered face. Her mascara-thickened eyelashes moved up and down rapidly. We were standing alone in the large open-plan kitchen, alone in the “good-sized, well-appointed house.” Maybe Helen was right, maybe I shouldn’t get too attached to her; perhaps she wasn’t the right person for me after all.

  “When does your boss expect you back?”

  “We were due to see four places, well, five, with the one he threw in, so I’m not expected back until later this afternoon.” She splayed her stubby fingers on the worktop, her immaculate red fingernails contrasting against the shiny black granite. She raised her shaped eyebrows and smiled. “Why, Mr. Levi, what are you thinking?”

  I smiled. I didn’t know what I was thinking. I was thinking Rachel and I could go upstairs and try the “well-proportioned bedroom with queen-sized bed” and I could forget about Helen. “What I am thinking is that I have never seen Cambridge. Maybe you could show it to me and we could have lunch. What do you think?”

  “I think I would like that.”

  “I’ll tell your boss that you showed me all the houses,” I said.

  “You’re a nice man, Mr. Levi, not everyone would do that.”

  “Call me Roberto.”

  She locked up the house as I waited in the car. I watched her walk around and get in. She turned to look at me, taking in my face and said, “Where shall we go first?”

  “I understand there’s an airport here?”

  “You want to see the airport? It’s tiny.”

  “Indulge me, Rachel.”

&nb
sp; The Star of David sparkled at her neck as she refreshed her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. The lipstick matched the color of her nails. It was such an intimate thing to do, I thought, as she reversed—to put on lipstick in front of a stranger.

  Twenty-Two

  Back at King’s Cross Station I left a message on the Berlin answer machine to the effect that I’d sorted out the accommodation and identified several opportunities for an actual meeting place. I got on the bus up to Tufnell Park. I’d left Rachel three months’ rent and filled out some paperwork back at her office. I didn’t pursue my curiosity about her, although I sensed that she would have been willing, particularly after her two glasses of white wine at lunch. She’d shown me around town and the colleges and I’d pretended to be interested in all that history. On the other hand, I didn’t give her, as Jack might say, the cold shoulder. I told her I would be back in Cambridge over the summer and would look her up: it would be useful to have a local contact there. I had her business card in my wallet, her home number written on the back in fountain pen. I even got a kiss on the cheek in the car, when she dropped me off. I was glad when I was on the train, it was hard work playing Roberto Levi all morning, even though I did get a bit of a kick out of the whole thing.

  It was early evening when I knocked on Helen’s door.

  “Michel, at last, you’re here.” Wearing a strappy summer dress and sticking an earring into her earlobe, she looked like she was ready to go out. She took in my clothes. “You’re looking expensively stylish—been on a date, have we?” I shook my head but she wasn’t interested in my answer. She grabbed something from her room then came out into the hall.

  “Looks like you’re going on a date yourself.” She twirled on some shoes with a slight heel, a third of the size of Rachel’s.

  “You approve?” She pulled a wrap around her shoulders. The whole effect was offset by her masculine watch.

  “I take great pleasure in your appearance,” I said.

  “You’re such a smoothie, but I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled on my sleeve. “Come with me, Michel.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My departmental end-of-year party. I need you there.” She stood holding a small handbag covered in little shiny sequins. How could I have even thought about sleeping with Rachel? Everything about her now seemed so contrived and overdone as I stood next to Helen. The truth was that spending time with Rachel had made me ache for Helen.

  “Can’t we go into your room so I can take more pleasure in your appearance?”

  She smacked me on the arm with her handbag. “Later, when we come back. I want you to, I really do.” She kissed me and pulled me by the hand down the stairs I had just come up.

  Twenty minutes on the upper deck at the back of the bus and it hit me, where we were going. I stopped caressing her neck. “Won’t Professor Zorba be at this party?” I asked.

  “Yes, he will, and his name isn’t Zorba.” She pulled her shawl over her shoulders where I had tugged it to expose her lovely skin. She said, “He’ll be there with his wife.”

  I thought about it for a minute, him being there with his wife. “So are we going as a couple?”

  “Yes, we are. I want them to see us together.” She put her head on my shoulder and squeezed my thigh. “Aren’t you pleased?”

  I had to consider whether I was pleased. “It depends,” I said reluctantly.

  She sat up and frowned at me. “On what exactly?”

  “On whether the idea is for him to see us together or for his wife to.”

  She gave me a look. “That’s a shitty thing to say.” Maybe she did want me to be there for her sake, or to show him that she’d moved on. But maybe she’d thought this up with him last night, perhaps after they’d had sex. They’d possibly had a laugh about it when she explained how easy it would be to get me to come along and play boyfriend for the evening. Perhaps she even teased him with the idea that she might have to sleep with me afterwards. I tried to rein in my thoughts but instead I just saw him on top of her. “Why don’t you go home then, Michel, if it’s going to be a problem for you?” The bus had turned onto Euston Road.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, although I wasn’t sure what for. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “Neither did I, as it happens.”

  “I don’t want to know what you were doing.”

  She snapped her head round. “What’s that supposed to fucking mean? You really are behaving like an arsehole, Michel.” She took out a tissue from her bag and blew into it. I put my arm around her but she shook it off. She shredded the wet tissue. “I was with Maria, an old schoolfriend. We were talking most of the night.” I gave her a cotton handkerchief, which she blew into noisily. “We were talking about how I always manage to fuck things up.” She looked at me. “I was telling her about you, about how you might be different.” This said as if to suggest that maybe she’d got it completely wrong.

  “I’m sorry, Helen. I imagined all kinds of stupid things—I don’t know what to say…” Her mascara had smudged onto her cheeks. I told her that I didn’t think we should go to the party.

  “I thought it would be a good idea, but maybe you’re right.” She blew her nose again and gave me my wet handkerchief back. “They all hate me anyway.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I said.

  “Then you’re a fool—I’ve been sleeping with the head of the department, remember.” Her voice was full of bitter self-loathing.

  “You can’t tell who you’re going to fall in love with,” I said, although I found the idea of her being in love with him nauseating.

  She snorted. “Love has nothing to do with it, Michel. You really don’t know me at all.” She pulled away again and looked out onto Euston Station.

  “Then we need to get to know each other better,” I said, pulling her back to me.

  She relaxed into my shoulder. “Is that so? And how do you propose we do that?”

  I had rehearsed the answer to this. “Eating, talking and making love,” I said.

  “You’re such a charmer,” she said, sniggering in my ear and prodding my ribs. “Seriously though, I like those suggestions—I’m just not sure I like the order they’re in.”

  We did eat first though, at a vegetarian Indian restaurant behind Euston Station. I resisted the urge to ask her if she’d taken Zorba there or whether she was still going to Turkey with him, and I was pleased that I didn’t spoil the mood. We ate, then took the bus back to Tufnell Park.

  After we had made love she told me she was going to visit her mother in the morning. I asked her whether her father was still alive, as she never mentioned him. We were lying naked on her bed, her throat and chest still flushed. The window was open and a cool breeze dried the sweat on us. She’d chosen a different scarf to cover her bedside lamp; one that blocked out most of the light. She had a drawer full of silk scarves, and one was still tied to her right wrist, although I’d undone the other end from the bedstead. I had to repeat the question about her father.

  “Do you have to think about whether he’s alive?” I joked.

  She sighed. “I want to believe he’s alive, but I haven’t seen or heard from him since he disappeared three years ago, so I’m not sure.”

  I looked at her. She had that look I’d seen on her face once before, like she was older than her years. “Disappeared?”

  “Yes. Mum and I came home one evening after a girls’ night out to find that he had cleared out all his things. Clothes, papers, letters, books, toothbrush, even his umbrella. Everything that was his. It was as if he was trying to expunge himself from our lives. There was no note, nothing. He was just gone.”

  I had to think about what she had told me. After a minute I asked, “Did you try to find him?”

  “What do you think? The police said it was not unknown for men to disappear like that, although usually they just leave everything behind. Apparently it was unusual that he took all his things. My mother thinks that he may
have had another woman somewhere. He traveled a lot, he was—maybe still is—a successful businessman.”

  “What about his business? Surely—”

  “Michel, we followed up every lead. He’d sold the business some weeks before leaving. We were well provided for. It was all very carefully planned.”

  “So what do you think happened to him?” I asked.

  “I don’t know; maybe he had another family somewhere. Or maybe he committed suicide.”

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  She turned away from me but I held her close. “I don’t know. It was more important than us, whatever it was.” I started to mutter platitudes but I could see she’d set her face hard so I shut up. “He did leave one thing,” she said. She reached out to the bedside table and put something cold and metallic in my hand. I could tell without holding it up to the light that it was her big stainless-steel watch.

  Twenty-Three

  Before Helen left the house to visit her mother the next morning she kissed me and said, “I’ve not told anyone about my father, Michel, except for Maria.” Maria, I recalled, was the friend she’d been with two nights ago, someone she’d known since school, someone she confided in. I was pleased to be a fellow confidant; it answered an unspoken question, although I wondered whether Zorba had used the scarves in the same way I had. I tried to put that from my mind. Did it even matter? Yes, somehow it did. The more I thought about it, the more it mattered. What did she see in that fool? I did extra sit-ups until I could do no more and had to lie on the floor till the fiery ache in my belly subsided. It was a first for me, that business with the scarves. I’d found the whole thing disturbing and exciting, but I didn’t want to reflect on why it was disturbing, just as I didn’t want to reflect on why I hadn’t gone back into the house after Mama’s screams had ended and the men had left.